Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

He knew this, of course, when he’d agreed to the plan. He was prepared to fight for his life, and we’d planned the takedown, but there were just too many variables that we couldn’t predict.

Best case, we assumed the driver would exit the vehicle and check out the tire alone. That was Decoy’s target. Brett would take out the passenger up front, whether he was in the vehicle or not. That left the man in the backseat for me. Possibly wrestling with Samir over a weapon. Possibly shooting Samir outright.

Jennifer was nothing but eye candy on this one. Her whole mission was to simply lull the opposition. She’d sit in the front with her black garb on, wearing sunglasses to hide her eyes, looking like the meek Muslim woman remaining in the vehicle while Samir’s friend, acting as our driver, went to help.

He would be key. While he would offer nothing in the fight, he was the trigger, which was critical for success. Go too soon, and they’d still be on edge that our vehicle was a trap. Wait too long, and they’d inevitably get suspicious about the driver’s intentions. We wanted to hit a sweet spot, along with hopefully splitting the targets apart when we assaulted. To do this, the driver would attempt to get at least one of the men to our van, stating he had better equipment to help with the flat. If it worked, the trigger would be him opening the door, allowing us to assault. If that failed, and the targets waved off on any help, the driver would signal with a concealed radio, giving two clicks on the transmit button that he’d done his best and was on the verge of drawing suspicion.

I felt the van pull onto the shoulder, but still couldn’t see the SUV. Jennifer said, “One man out. The driver. Two men in the back, one in the front passenger seat. The one on the left rear looks like Samir, but I can’t be sure. The sun’s reflecting off the back window.”

“Knuckles, you got us?” I said.

“Yeah. I got you. Clean shots right now. Tracking the driver.”

“Keep your eye out for the white sedan.”

“Roger.”

I craned to see between the curtain, but couldn’t get a glimpse of anything but the upper right rear of the SUV. Jennifer said, “Front passenger exited. Looking at the van.”

I heard Arabic shouting.

“He’s saying something to me. He’s getting my attention. Driver is engaged with our guy.”

I watched her lean out of the open window, as if she couldn’t hear.

Jennifer’s next words sped things up considerably.

“He’s walking toward me.”

I snicked the curtain shut, leaving a sliver to see through, and took my pistol in a two-handed grip.

“No change to the plan. Take your designated targets. Brett, your target’s walking up to the van right now. We wait this out, until we get the signal.”

I now heard the man talking, trying to engage Jennifer. I peeked between the curtain and saw her staring down, shaking her head, playing the shy wife.

The man leaned in and snatched Jennifer’s sunglasses. He said something else, and I saw his scowl sprout into amazement. Because of the color of her eyes.

He reached in again and yanked off Jennifer’s niqab . Before he could remove his arms, Jennifer exploded into action, locking his elbow joint and causing him to try to climb through the window to relieve the pain.

I said, “Execute! Brett, you have my target. Right rear door. Decoy, no change.”

I ripped the curtain back as I heard Brett and Decoy launch out of the van. I leaned in and hammered Jennifer’s captive behind the ear with the barrel of my pistol, then raced to follow Brett. I didn’t care if I’d knocked the guy out or just stunned him, knowing Jennifer would do the rest.

I could see the two men in the back of the SUV wrestling and knew it was for a weapon. We had seconds before bullets started flying and this turned into a bloodbath.

Brett reached the door and attempted to yank it open. It didn’t budge. Locked. I reached him just as he shattered the glass with the barrel of his weapon. He unlocked the door and I ripped it open, praying Knuckles had subdued his target on the far side of the SUV.

The man held a semiauto pistol, and Samir was wrestling for control, keeping the barrel away from his body just like in a bad movie. The glass from the window glittered in the sun, sprinkled around the head and shoulders of my target. Knowing he had threats to his front and rear now, he desperately pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the floor of the car and causing Samir to let go. He threw his hands in front of his face, screaming as if he could ward off the coming death. Instead of shooting Samir, the gunman whirled toward me.

I parried his rotation with the gun in my right hand, a ridiculous sword fight using pistols. He put another round into the front of the SUV, and I hammered him in the face with a left cross. I controlled his gun-hand and squeezed toward the cab, allowing Brett access to his body. I disarmed him, and in short order Brett had him subdued on the ground.

I scanned for other threats and saw Decoy covering a man on his knees, hands behind his head. Jennifer’s target was still hanging out of the window, but wasn’t moving.

“Koko, you good?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He’s out. No issues. Just holding him here in case he wakes up.”

I leaned into the SUV. “You okay?”

Samir was ashen, but his voice was strong. “Yes. Thank you.”

I wanted to take a moment to relax, but knew we had little time. Sooner or later, someone was going to report this activity, even here in Lebanon. The response would be slow, since the police would more than likely want to sweep up the brass instead of get in the middle of a sectarian fight, but they would be coming.

I leaned down to the man on the ground, figuring since he had the gun on Samir, he was in charge.

“What’s your name?”

He said nothing. Samir said, “He’s Abu Aziz. Head of security for Majid’s cell.”

“Okay. Aziz it is. Look, I know you don’t believe this, but I don’t mean you any harm whatsoever. In fact, I think we can help each other out. You think Samir had something to do with killing Majid, but he didn’t. I think I know who did, and I want him as bad as you.”

Aziz remained mute, his eyes filled with a hatred that radiated out like a physical thing. Jesus. No way am I going to convince this maniac.

I tried again. “The man is an American, but doesn’t work for the government. He’s tried to kill me and some friends of mine, and I want him bad.”

Still no reaction. No response but the hatred.

“He worked for you. I don’t know what name he gave you, but you called him Infidel.”

I saw a flicker in his eyes, a crack in the facade. The name had hit a nerve.

I was carefully choosing my next words when Knuckles called, “Pike, Pike, white sedan approaching at a high rate of speed.”

I heard the supersonic crack of Knuckles’ rifle at the same time I located the sedan, about two hundred meters behind us. It swerved, but kept coming. The right front tire disintegrated, strips of rubber flung out as the driver continued on the rim alone. It screeched to a halt adjacent to the van, sparks flying from the steel rim grinding on concrete and gravel. The driver jumped out, wildly swinging an AK around, finally settling his sights on the closest target-Jennifer sitting inside the van, holding the head of his friend.

He began to scream in Arabic, which did absolutely no good. I trained my pistol on him and spoke out of the side of my mouth.

“Aziz, tell him to put the weapon down. Don’t turn this into a gunfight. Tell him to quit.”

Aziz said nothing. This not being allowed to kill anyone is starting to piss me off.