Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

“What business are you in?” asked the official.

“Pest control. I’m consulting with hotels here and in Qatar.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Al Bustan Rotana.”

The official had him look into the camera-stalk for a picture and stamped his passport, grudgingly giving it back. Man, they’ve got more photos of me than the Enquirer does of Angelina Jolie. Last time I’ll set foot in this country.

He passed through customs, collected his rental, and took the short drive to the Al Bustan Rotana Hotel just east of the airport. The midday sun was blistering, causing his sunglasses to fog on the brief walk from the parking garage to the lobby.

Inside, he could see the early preparations beginning for the envoy’s visit. Metal detectors were in place on the front door, but not yet operational, and one bank of elevators was undergoing some sort of inspection. Checking into his suite on the fourth floor, he played stupid when the receptionist directed him to the south bank of elevators, asking why. He acted surprised when told of the arrival of the U.S. delegation, saying, “I hope it won’t cause too big a disruption.”

She said, “As long as you stay on the south side, you’ll be fine. The delegation has the entire northeast wing of the fourth floor. Please avoid it for security reasons.”

He hadn’t purposely asked for a room on the same floor, but was pleased it had worked out that way. If the Ghost planned an attack here, it would be better to be closer, although he didn’t see any way that could happen. The hotel would be a fortress in two days.

Inside his suite, he immediately connected to the Internet on a tablet computer, bringing up the track of his beacon. The Ghost had taken the briefcase earlier this morning, and the track showed him inside the spice souk in Deira old city, right on the banks of the Dubai Creek. The beacon had remained there for six hours. Clearly, he didn’t have the briefcase with him, which was expected. All Lucas wanted was a start point. He had plenty of time to work with. The Ghost surely had a plan and would begin implementing it, but the envoy wasn’t due for three days. Plenty of time to develop a pattern of life and eliminate the threat.

The souk posed a problem, though. It was a place that would prevent him from conducting surveillance for any length of time. He’d be able to blend in with the usual jerk-off tourists, but couldn’t hang around without drawing attention. He knew from experience that areas like this were transitory in nature, with a constant flow of people. Tourists wouldn’t get a second glance. As long as they moved on. Attempting to maintain surveillance on the stairwell of the beacon location would invite scrutiny that would be remembered by the locals manning the stalls.

He shut down the tablet and thought about his options. The kill would have to be quiet. Someplace that would allow him to escape Dubai before the body was found. Which, given the enormous number of cameras all over the damn city, meant jerking the Ghost into a van or some other vehicle. It also meant he’d need help, but that was okay. He’d already planned for that and alerted the Hezbollah contacts here. He just didn’t know if they were still on his side.

He’d had no trouble in Qatar, getting explosives from a Hezbollah cell that was eager to help, but that had been more than twenty-four hours ago. No telling what had come about during that time. He had two hours before the meeting he’d established, but decided to go early to see if he could catch anyone setting up. Better to be prepared.

He left his rental in the garage and took a cab to the Dubai Mall, a monstrous shopping center that housed everything from high-end jewelry stores to an indoor aquarium.

In order to ensure his safety, he needed a meeting spot in a crowded location that allowed him to blend in. Some place where the preponderance of people weren’t Arabic. On his reconnaissance two days ago, the Dubai Mall had fit the bill. Frequented by tourists and expats from Europe and Asia, he would have no trouble wandering around without drawing attention.

Finding the operational setting, he had begun to search for the tactical components he needed. A place that had a single chokepoint, allowing him to identify his contact before the meeting. He had found it in the indoor aquarium.

Like everything in Dubai, from the towering Burj Khalifa next door to the indoor ski slope a few miles away, the aquarium had its own “best” pedigree, with the largest plate of acrylic viewing-glass in the world. Lucas didn’t give a shit about Dubai’s endless attempts to set another record, but he had liked the entrance of the ticket counter that channeled everyone into the aquarium.

He took a seat at an ice-cream shop across from the admission counter, ordered a sundae, and waited. Thirty minutes before the meet he saw two Arab men approach the ticket booth. Both were dressed in Western clothing, like everyone else entering the aquarium. They stood out anyway, as most of the patrons were Western tourists or Arabic families with children. They didn’t talk to each other in line, like the other patrons, but instead nervously swiveled their heads left and right, as if they were afraid a pickpocket was on the prowl.

Strike one.

The instructions had specifically stated the contact should come alone. The fact that two men were together didn’t necessarily mean that something was amiss, since Lucas had no idea what the contact looked like, but it certainly amped things up a bit.

One of the men was rail-thin, with a long neck that showcased a large Adam’s apple. The other had a pudgy gut held in by sweatpants, giving the man the appearance of a couch potato. Observing closer, Lucas saw long, powerful arms that belied the first impression, reminding him of a gorilla. Sinister and simian.

Lucas waited until the meeting was two minutes out, seeing four other possible contacts entering as singletons. It looked like he’d been wrong about the demographics, with more single Arabs entering the aquarium than he’d predicted. There was no way they were all out to get him, and one of them was the contact.

Only one way to find out.

Lucas entered the aquarium. Ignoring the displays to his left and right, he wound around to the back, threading through the throngs of people. He saw two of the singletons gazing at fish tanks and discounted them. Reaching the rear, he glanced at his watch, then burned thirty seconds at a souvenir kiosk, pretending to look at trinkets, but really eyeballing a stairwell. Nobody went up except kids.

Lucas’s final tactical consideration for the meet had been a location that prevented anyone from closing on him while he was conducting it. A secure area that allowed him to observe those around him without announcing he was conducting any business. He’d located it in a rope bridge that traversed throughout the aquarium. Hanging just below the roof and connected to faux trees from a simulated rain forest, it facilitated unobstructed views to the pathways of the aquarium below and canalized anyone approaching by restricting them to the rope bridge itself.

At ten seconds out, he mounted the stairs, brushing past children bouncing up and down on the bridge. Ahead, at the first anchor tree, the skinny man with the Adam’s apple leaned on the ropes of the bridge, looking down. He held a metro schedule in his right hand.

Right time, right place, right bona fides. His chubby partner was nowhere to be seen. Lucas approached and said, “This mall is amazing.”

The man started, then, in a stilted voice that spat out syllables like a metronome, said, “It is the largest in the world.”

Lucas grinned at his pathetic delivery and held out his hand. After they shook, he said, “I’m the Infidel, and I understand you can help me.”