Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

Knuckles took off, running into Decoy and his other teammate when he rounded the corner. They said nothing, just falling into step behind him.

Johnny came on. “We’re set. Only way in and out is the north and south.”

“Which one will he use? Where should we stage?”

“North. Stage north in the alley. South fronts some shops. He’ll probably want to stay out of sight this close to the mosque.”

Yeah. Why would he come out so close? Risky.

Retro came on. “They’re still going. They didn’t enter the building. They’re going to the next building to the east. I say again, the mistress just jumped to the next building to the east. Crusty’s throwing luggage.”

Jesus Christ! Johnny came on before he issued a command. “Moving. This building makes more sense. Exits north, south, and east. East exit is just a walkway, but it leads to the Medina wall. It’s hemmed in on both sides by buildings.”

“Roger.” Knuckles knew they were falling behind Crusty because they had to run about twice as far around the buildings as he did straight across them. If Crusty sprinted down the stairs and out the door, they might miss him. It was going to be close.

“Knuckles, this is Birdseye. We’re out of space. I’ve got to continue on.”

Knuckles couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. At a dead sprint, panting into his Bluetooth earpiece, he said, “Negative. Do not leave. I say again, do not leave.”

“Not my call. Can’t risk the cover and I’ve already deviated wide from my flight plan. I’ll give you optics as long as I can, but it’s going to be a rear view from a distance.”

Knuckles swore, but knew he was right. If they managed to get Crusty, and someone mentioned strange aircraft orbits that tied it to his disappearance, the ensuing investigation would be catastrophic. They’d already raised their signature by running all over the place like a Laurel and Hardy movie.

He reached the corner of the third building and held up, pulling out his smartphone. He initiated the moving map and saw Johnny’s team setting up, each man a glowing green icon. “Johnny, I’m coming in now. I’ll be passing your south team shortly.”

“Roger. I got you.”

“Knuckles, this is Retro. The camera angle’s off. They’re across the building, but they disappeared behind the roof access. I don’t know if they went in or not.”

“Can’t you see if they break out? Onto another roof?”

“Stand by…. Feed’s breaking up. Birdseye’s out of range.”

Dammit . “Wonderful. Since you’re free, start working exfil procedures. Figure out how we’re going to get out of here with up to two extra. Johnny, your guys see anything?”

“We can’t see past the parapet, but nobody’s looked down, I’ll tell you that.”

“We’ll take the east side of this building, in the alley. Move the guys there to the next building. Are they prepared to assault?”

“Negative. They’re equipped for surveillance only.”

Spread too thin. “Okay, tell ’em just to trigger. If Crusty keeps going, we’ll fall back into surveillance mode. Try to track ’em to a bed-down site.”

Knuckles and his men rounded the corner to the small alley, a cobblestone path with barely enough room to walk two-abreast. He slowed his pace, looking left and right for exits or Peeping Toms from adjacent buildings. He saw none. Just litter here and there. He located the doorway from the building thirty feet ahead, noticing that it was actually an alcove that sank inward a few feet. He motioned Decoy to the other side, mimicking working a pistol. He was drawing his own Taser when the recessed door swung open, taking him by surprise.

A man, exiting in a hurry and looking backward, smashed into him. The man whirled around, and Knuckles smiled.

“Hello, Crusty.”

The Ghost followed the Hezbollah tough through a maze of alleys, moving deeper into the neighborhood and farther from his car. Eventually, the man pointed to a shop that was no more than a hallway, hacked off at one end with plywood. Four tables lined the length of the place, one with two men sitting, drinking out of small espresso cups no bigger than shot glasses.

They had to be aware of his arrival, but paid no attention. Another power play. One more than the Ghost was willing to endure. He strode right to the table and sat down, letting them say the first words.

Nothing happened for a pregnant second, the two taken aback. Then the older one, with a gray-flecked beard, looked from him to the tough and said, “You wish to disappear?”

“I wish to dispense with the posturing and get to the business of why I’m here. It has been a long drive from Tripoli and a longer time to find this shop. If you have nothing for me, I’ll leave. If you try to stop me, I’ll still leave, only a little more winded.”

The bearded man sized him up, saying nothing. Then he smiled. “You don’t look it, but you are who they said you’d be.” He held out his hand. “I am Abdul Majid. This is Ja’far Hussein. Thank you for coming.”

The Ghost shook both their hands without giving a name, then waited.

Majid said, “We believe that the Palestinian cause-your cause-is being hijacked. The Palestinian Authority has agreed to a peace overture from the United States and Israel. A meeting is being set up in Qatar, where money will exchange hands. Money that will kill the Palestinians’ right of return. We have contacts in Hamas who would like this meeting to be stopped.”

The Ghost bristled. “Hamas? Why on earth would I care about them? At one time they would never have agreed to anything short of Zionist annihilation. Now, they’ve joined in a unity government with the Palestinian Authority. They are like everyone else. Giving in when it suits them.”

“Not all in Hamas agree with the unity government. But you’re right about one thing: They have political concerns and won’t do this themselves. Neither will we, which is why we’ve contacted you. We can put you in touch with some men here who are not Hamas or the Resistance. They have contacts with a financier in al Qaeda who uses a bank here in Lebanon. A bank that we control. This group will give you further instructions, if you are willing.”

“Willing to do what? You haven’t said.”

“Kill the American envoy. The Palestinian Authority is almost bankrupt. They cannot continue because of the sanctions the West has placed on them due to their political reconciliation with Hamas and their bid for statehood with the United Nations. They have asked for covert funding, saying the moderate Palestinian elements are in danger of being swept away. The West has agreed, and the envoy is bringing it. Kill him, and the peace falls apart. Hamas gains political control of the Palestinian Authority, and your goal of the return is still within reach.”

Of course , he thought, Hezbollah-or Hamas-needn’t worry about funding as long as the Shia dogs in Iran keep them in baksheesh. He knew these men cared not a whit about the return of Palestinian refugees to their historic homeland. They only wanted the discord with Israel to continue to give them a reason to maintain their arms. As a “self-defense” force.

Ja’far spoke for the first time. “One thing: You cannot kill the man here, in Lebanon, no matter what this other group says. The al Qaeda financier has said he preferred it here, but we have told him no. They may push you that way. Do you understand?”

The Ghost said, “No, I don’t. If that’s the easiest, that’s what I will do.”

“You don’t need to understand why, but you will not kill the American here. It will produce repercussions that will ultimately affect our goals.”