Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

She saw a three-story building that looked like an apartment complex, with two men standing at the entrance holding AKs.

Jesus. We can’t go door-to-door in that place. We’ll last thirty seconds.

“What is it? A housing area? Where do you think they’d have Pike?”

He got the driver moving again and said, “It’s not housing. It’s one of their headquarters. There are no friendlies inside. Pike will be up high. On the second or third floor. It gives them time to hide him if anyone comes inside that shouldn’t.”

By the time they had circled through the maze of alleys and buildings, a germ of an idea had begun to form. The darkening gloom gave her courage.

“Can you guys climb buildings? Did Pike show you that?”

“No. Not specifically, but we learned to climb mountains and rock walls with ropes.”

Dammit.

“If you had a rope coming down, could you climb the back of that building?”

Now parked to the rear, in a lot for an abandoned restaurant, Samir scanned the building, seeing the crude cinder-block walls and pipes jutting out.

Watching him thinking about it, she said, “It’s only three floors. Surely you can do that.”

“Yes. We can.”

She touched a cheap yellow nylon towrope inside the van. It was a half-inch in diameter, and appeared to be long enough. “Tie in some knots. Every three feet. We’re running out of time.”

“Who’s going to get it up there?”

“I am. We can’t get in from the front. We’ll get in a gunfight right off the bat, and they’ll kill Pike before we reach him. We climb the back to the top balcony. I’ll lay in the rope, you guys follow. When we’re ready, we assault from top to bottom until we find Pike.”

Samir said nothing for a moment, looking at the building. When he returned to her, he said, “Are you really an anthropologist?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact I am. But not tonight.”

One of the men finished with the rope, and Jennifer took the last AK-47 out of the duffel, locking in a full magazine and slinging it over her shoulder.

“What’s that for?”

“Pike. I imagine he’ll be wanting to kill someone by the time we reach him.”

They exited the van and moved silently to the rear of the building, the adjacent walls blocking out the last stabs of the sun, covering them in shadow. Nobody challenged them in the alley, the Palestinians’ confidence in their superiority this far into the camp overweighing their security.

Reaching the base, Jennifer’s concern became the myriad of electrical cables coming out of the building. There must have been a hundred, all haphazardly strewn out of the building and across the alley. It would make the climb hard, as anyone following her would have to thread them without the freedom she would have to move left and right, because they’d be using a rope.

She said, “Is this building up to code?”

Samir gave her a questioning look, and she said, “Nothing,” bending down to remove her shoes. She slung her AK across her back, above the extra one, and draped her shoes around her neck.

“Okay. Here we go. I go up first, place the rope, and two follow behind one by one. When we get three at the top, we assault. Have your remaining two men take out the goons at the front door, assaulting that way, but they wait for us to initiate. We go as far as we can until contact is made, then you hit them.” She looked at Samir. “Don’t translate that unless you’re absolutely sure what I mean. Repeat it back to me.”

When she was satisfied, he turned and rattled off about five minutes of Arabic, then pointed at one other man. The remaining two faded from view down the alley, getting a bead on the front door.

She looked at the wall, a ragged affair slapped together with torn brick, broken windows, and stray cables. She knew she could climb it with ease, but wondered if she should. If it was smart attacking a terrorist stronghold with men she didn’t even trust. All to try and find a man who may not even be here, based on a phone grid from hours ago.

Pike, you’d better be inside.

She picked up the rope and draped it over her shoulders, her hands shaking.

Samir said, “You all right?”

“No,” she said. “But I’ll be better when you break the sill of that balcony. Don’t let me down.”

He simply nodded, kneeling down to pull security for her climb.

She took one deep breath, then lightly jumped up and grabbed a protruding pipe. From there, she scampered up the side of the building like a lizard, finding finger- and toeholds out of instinct. She threaded her way through the cables, avoided the second-floor balcony, and reached the third. She hung on it for a second, then did a chin-up until her eyes were level with the edge.

She was happy to see a crude pipe railing to anchor the rope. Beyond it, she saw a sliding glass door partially cracked open, and a man sitting in an old and torn overstuffed chair watching a flickering thirteen-inch television, an AK leaning against the TV stand.

Jennifer lowered herself until she was simply hanging, thinking about her options. She’d seen no other men in the small room, although there was an open doorway leading out. She could probably take him quietly. The TV should mask the noise she made getting over the railing.

But she knew she’d better be prepared to assault on her own. If he reacted before she could close on him, it would be a gunfight, and it would mean game-on. She wouldn’t be able to wait for Samir and his men. She’d have to assault by herself to keep the element of speed and find Pike before they killed him.

She went back and forth in her mind, thinking maybe she should climb back down and talk to Samir about other options.

To hell with it. Pike’s probably getting beat up while you sit here wasting time.

She went hand-over-hand to her left, getting to the farthest point away from the open door. She pulled herself up slowly, making sure the two AK-47s were away from the metal of the railing. She hooked a leg over and used it to torque her body, spinning over the railing and landing softly on her feet.

She flipped one AK off her shoulder and waited, aiming at the door entrance. When nothing happened, she duckwalked to the open door, the TV now bright and flickering in the gathering darkness.

The man was still there, still watching, although his body had shifted.

So he’s awake.

She saw that she could squeeze through the door, but not with the rope and weapons on her back. She could lead with one weapon in a hand, then squeeze through, but she’d be in trouble if he turned around when she was halfway across.

No other option.

She set down Pike’s weapon and the bundle of rope, her shoes still draped around her neck.

Like playing the old game “Operation,” she threaded the AK through the door, then followed it, going as slowly as possible so nothing clanked against the door frame.

After an eternity of inches, she reached the far side. She silently reslung the AK across her back and moved up behind the chair in a crouch. She studied the position of the man’s head for a moment, then struck, wrapping a forearm around his neck.

He became animated instantly, trying to leap to his feet and swinging his arms wildly, but instantly was still too late. She clamped her hands together and used her shoulder to press his head down. Within seconds he had slumped back into the chair, unconscious from the lack of blood to his brain.

She kept the guillotine hold in place for a second longer just to make sure, then released him, springing back and rotating the AK into the ready position. He didn’t move. She rolled him out of the chair and hog-tied his feet to his hands, bending his body backward in an arc. She finished by stuffing a dirty rag in his mouth. Satisfied he was secure, she slid open the door and rapidly tied the nylon rope to the railing, then lowered it to Samir.