Brad Taylor: Enemy of Mine

“Hang on, here,” the SECDEF said. “Yeah, it’s the perfect profile, but so is a takedown of just about a thousand other people. We can do the mission, I don’t question that. But is this guy still worth the effort? After the death of bin Laden and all the other leadership in the old AQ hierarchy? Is he still a player, or is this a Taskforce vendetta based on the fact you’ve never managed to get him?”

Kurt said, “Yeah, he’s worth the effort. Besides continuing to be a conduit of funds for various terrorist groups, we now have indications he’s stepped into an operational role. It’s not something we can pin for sure, but he’s apparently funding an assassination attempt in Lebanon, refusing to provide money unless he gets to pick the target. It’s not a direct threat against U.S. interests, but given the unrest over there, pulling him now can only be beneficial.”

The director of the CIA said, “How sound is that intel? From what I’m seeing, about half is just guessing at what’s going on in the Levant.”

Kurt said, “Honestly, not that good. We’ve got a case officer in Lebanon with greater penetration than any of your assets-no offense-but it’s still iffy. We’re putting a team into Syria in the next few days to see if we can regain a handle there, but that’s not a determining factor here. Forget I mentioned the Lebanon assassination angle. Crusty still needs to go. He’s a threat to U.S. national interests. Always has been.”

The SECDEF and DCI sat back, satisfied. President Warren called the vote, and before Kurt knew, it was over. Omega authority. For a target the Taskforce had hunted since its inception. He didn’t want his emotions to show earlier, maybe clouding the vote, but this was personal.

Finally . He wanted to flee the room right there and send the message to the team.

President Warren interrupted his thoughts. “Okay, on to other business. Who’s going to Syria, and when?”

Kurt smiled. “Pike. Well, Pike’s company.”

“I thought his ‘company employees’ were in Tunisia? Taking down Crusty?”

“They are. It should have taken five months to get a visa for Syria, but the Syrian government pushed it through. Pike’s going with Jennifer. The team will catch up. We can’t waste the opportunity. We don’t know when the government will shut down our entry. Nobody else in the U.S. can get in, but Pike’s cover business worked out perfectly. The government itself is actually helping us penetrate.”

“When’s he leave?”

“Uhh…as soon as possible. We got the visas back today. But he doesn’t know he’s deploying yet.”

I heard Jennifer enter the front door of the office and rapidly began stroking keys, desperately trying to shut down the first-person shooter I was playing and bring up the boring archeology research I was supposed to be assimilating. I wasn’t quick enough, which was about par for the course in the game itself.

Getting my ass kicked by a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, now about to get my ass kicked by Jennifer.

“What are you doing? Are you playing that stupid game?”

Show apparent innocence…no proof…give up nothing.

“What? What do you mean? I’m studying. Just like when you left.”

Jennifer leaned against the door and shook her head, giving me her “disapproving teacher” face. I would never tell her this, because it would only encourage her, but the look really worked. I felt a little ashamed before she even opened her mouth.

“Pike, come on. This is our one shot at a real archeological expedition. You need to know this stuff, if for no other reason than to protect the cover. There won’t be any Taskforce oversight helping us out here. You need to look and sound like you know what you’re doing on this dig.”

Jennifer and I were partners in a cover company called Grolier Recovery Services, which camouflaged Taskforce activity. Ostensibly, we specialized in facilitating archeological work around the world. In reality, we used the company to let us penetrate denied areas so we could put some terrorist’s head on a spike. The cover had worked well so far, because it gave us a plausible reason to travel anywhere that had something of historical significance, which was basically any place on the planet with solid ground-and a few places underwater.

The difference was that we’d really been hired for this job. No Taskforce paycheck on this one, although it was the Taskforce that had linked-up our company with the project. Jennifer was really, really looking forward to the trip, because she was a pencil-neck at heart. A scientist torn between being a plant-eater and a meat-eater.

I said, “Jennifer, we aren’t leaving for at least three months. The Syrians aren’t going to approve a visa for either of us until they’re convinced we aren’t some secret James Bond organization. I’ve got plenty of time to study this boring shit.”

I saw her eyes cloud and knew I’d blurted too much from the heart.

“Wait…wait…that didn’t come out right-”

“Boring shit? Is that what you think? Well how about you do it because I asked for a change? I’ve done everything you’ve asked for the Taskforce. Don’t mess this up for me. All you have to do is a little studying. I promise, you’ll like it. Bloodshed and death. Right up your alley.”

We’d been asked by an American university to help reestablish archeological work at a place called Hamoukar in northern Syria, right near the border with Iraq. The site had been discovered in 1999, with digs conducted every year since then. In 2011, with the upheavals in Syria, the digs had been discontinued. Now, the university was headed back to reopen the dig and had hired us to provide the coordination and on-site security for the work.

The find was apparently one of the oldest cities ever discovered, a treasure trove of artifacts that sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t wait to see the broken pottery shards and old bricks. Okay, that’s a little uncharitable, I suppose. There was one cool thing about the place: The city itself had apparently been destroyed in the first recorded occurrence of urban warfare.

I spread my hands, attempting to salvage the night. “Okay, okay. I’ll study it. I promise. I get it’s important. We still going out tonight? Or am I grounded?”

She squinted for a second, then said, “Maybe I should have you take a test. If you pass, we’ll go out.”

I smiled. “Fire away. I know more than you think.”

“Oh, please. You’ll just make up something and claim I’m wrong. Let’s go. Where’d you decide?”

Tonight was the one-year anniversary of the establishment of our business. We’d tossed a coin to see who’d get to pick and I had won. Which meant we weren’t going to some wine bar.

“Blind Tiger. On Broad Street.”

“Do they serve anything besides hamburgers?”

“Yeah. You’ll like it. I promise.”

I dropped Jennifer off out front and found a parking spot a block and a half away on Church Street. The Charleston weather was perfect, with a warm breeze and the will-o’-the-wisp smell of pluff mud hanging faintly in the air. I passed a wedding reception and had my short walk marred by a rowdy group breaking free and following me down Broad Street. As luck would have it, they came right into the pub with me, apparently deciding that paying for their liquor was more fun than drinking for free.

I scanned the inside of the pub for Jennifer, came up empty, and moved to the backyard patio. I spotted her at a table at the rear of the deck, two drafts of Guinness in front of her. I couldn’t fault her taste.