Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

The contact nodded nervously, and Lucas returned to watching the mass of people below. In short order, he found the chubby man simply because he wasn’t moving. Another reason Lucas had picked this location. Anyone conducting surveillance would be sifted as the rest of the patrons walked through the aquarium, standing out like a rock against the water of a stream.

Lucas continued, not looking at the contact. “The mission for you is threefold, but simple. One, I need weapons. Nothing fancy. A pistol will do. Two, I need you to stake out a place in one of the Deira souks and alert me when a man leaves. Three, I need a van and you to drive it. Can you do this?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. In fact, I have a van right here at the mall. I would prefer to finish the discussion there.”

Lucas agreed. He didn’t mind giving specifics of the mission. If the contact was truly going to help, he would have to know who he was hunting. If he wasn’t, he would be dead.

They walked to the parking-garage exit, near the entrance to the Burj Khalifa observation deck, the chubby man nowhere in sight.

They reached a dented white cargo van, no windows on the sides and enough dust on the rear to prevent anyone from seeing inside. As they approached, Lucas studied the surroundings. The van sat by itself, rows back from more convenient parking spots closer to the mall entrance. Looking at the walls and ceilings, Lucas realized the spot had been picked because it was outside of any surveillance cameras.

Strike two.

Appearing as if he sensed nothing amiss, he entered the passenger seat. The contact circled to the driver’s seat, his eyes wide, a thin film of sweat on his upper lip. He attempted to smile, but failed. He said, “Show me on a map where you wish me to find your target.”

He reached behind the seat, and Lucas considered killing him outright. He decided to wait. He needed the help and wasn’t absolutely convinced the man intended harm. When the contact faced back around he held an ancient revolver.

Shit. Strike three.

Instead of fear, Lucas felt disappointment. His mission had just become much harder to accomplish.

He said, “I suppose we’re now waiting on your friend.”

The contact’s face went white, his hand shaking so much the barrel of the revolver twitched. “I know about you. I was told of your skills. Get in the back. Now.”

Lucas said, “They’re lying. I had nothing to do with any Hezbollah deaths.”

The man gripped the pistol with both hands, attempting to stop his tremors. “I didn’t say anything about Hezbollah deaths. Get in back.”

Lucas did so, before the man cocked the hammer to punctuate his request. As it was, the revolver was in double-action mode, which meant a heavy trigger pull and little chance the contact would accidentally fire the weapon in his nervous state. With the hammer back, the trigger became much, much lighter. Something Lucas didn’t want as he waited for the gorilla friend. He needed to kill them both.

They waited in silence for thirty seconds, then the chubby man entered the back of the van, leading with a semiautomatic pistol. The contact exhaled his pent-up breath and said something in Arabic. The gorilla answered, then turned to Lucas.

“Abu Aziz wants you killed slowly, and after he told me what you did, I can’t wait to get started.”

Lucas took the sentence as a good omen, as he had assumed they meant to kill him right here. It would give him time to think. The gorilla pointed the pistol directly at his face and barked at the contact. Lucas heard the ignition turn over, focusing on the weapon inches from his nose. It was an old Colt 1911, and Lucas found it ironic that he was being threatened by the distinctly American armament.

The van began to move, and he noticed the hammer was down on this pistol as well. The opportunity popped in his head immediately. Unlike the revolver, the Colt was single-action. Meaning it couldn’t be fired with the hammer down at all . It was nothing more than a paperweight.

Dumbass.

Lucas’s hands struck like a snake, using the metal of the pistol itself to lock up the joints in the man’s wrist. He rotated violently and heard the wrist crack, then lashed out with an elbow, crunching the Arab’s nose.

The gorilla bellowed and wrapped his good arm around Lucas’s neck, squeezing with all of his might. Lucas felt his eyes bulge and his windpipe begin to crush. He slammed his head back, but hit only air. He drummed both elbows into the man’s gut, getting little response. He attempted to swim a hand between his neck and the man’s arm, but it was as tight as a python and strong. Very, very strong.

Dimly, Lucas heard the contact shouting, attempting to drive and aim his revolver at the same time. The pain in his neck was blossoming out, strong enough to overshadow the lack of air. He threw a hammer fist between his legs, connecting with the man’s genitals, the sweatpants providing no protection. The man jerked, and Lucas felt the air return.

He snaked his hand low again and closed his fingers like a claw on the man’s penis and testicles, attempting to rip his genitals from his body. He heard a high-pitched shriek, and the arm loosened enough to allow him to snake his other hand underneath it.

Maintaining his grip on the prized possessions, Lucas rotated under and out of the arm. Like a thing possessed, he used his free hand to pound the man’s face, not stopping until he was on top of the prostrate body and the head was bouncing lifeless with each blow.

He was rocked forward as the van slammed to a stop. He rose up on his knees and saw the contact scrambling to rotate around, the revolver in one hand. He snatched the driver-side seatbelt, attempting to wrap it around the contact’s neck while he was still in the seat. He missed, catching him across the face. He jerked to the rear, and the contact’s head whipped back over the headrest, forcing him to bow his body out to relieve the strain.

Lucas kicked the revolver out of his grip and jerked the belt with both hands, bending his spine backward. The contact began to scream, clawing at the belt.

Lucas leaned in, watching the man’s chest rise and fall, seeing the long neck in front of him, the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. An easy target.

He cranked the belt a little tighter and leaned in to the contact’s ear. “You said you knew about me. About my skills. And they sent your skinny ass to take me out?”

The victim’s eyes were huge, wildly rolling around looking for help. Some miracle to salvage his life. His arms ineffectually batted the air, trying to connect with the devil behind. Lucas said, “Time to meet the virgins.”

He hammered the Adam’s apple with a closed fist. The contact thrashed, his destroyed throat desperately trying to gain life-giving air. Lucas hammered it again. Then again. The contact stopped moving, and Lucas took stock of his status.

The mission was more than likely screwed. He had no help to pinpoint the Ghost and had lord knows how many men now hunting him. On the other hand, he could probably hire a local to trigger. Pay him simply to tell when the Ghost left. He’d told the contact he had three requirements. He now had a weapon and a van.

Two out of three ain’t bad.

The Ghost patted the briefcase and said, “Be very careful with this. The components are not shockproof.”

Hamid nodded. “I will, don’t worry. Are you sure you can find the maintenance door?”

“Yes. You said simply exit the mall and walk around the right side of the Burj Khalifa. Find the first stairwell, walk down it, and knock three times.”

“Yes. I’ll be there. With the detonators and the explosives. Don’t forget your uniform.”