Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

What the hell is he doing?

I racked my brain trying to find connections. Nothing here indicated anything with the peace process he’d tried so valiantly to “protect,” yet there was no way these two State personnel weren’t involved in it. And the fact that he was even looking told me he was as well.

I brought up the final website and saw a plane reservation. For one Lucas Kane. To Qatar. I flipped to the State page and saw it was the same flight.

I thought about the implications and realized something else. He’s just entered into the Taskforce crosshairs again. Officially. That fucker is mine.

I shut the computer down, dialing my phone. “Knuckles, get the men back to the hotel. Pull off Lucas now.”

“Yeah, yeah. You sound like a broken record.”

“No, dammit. Get them back before they get any more burned. We’re going to need them. Lucas is going operational.”

Back in the hotel, I contacted the Taskforce through our company VPN. Before talking to Kurt, I needed additional evidence, so I had some analysts do a little research first. While they plugged away, I considered what I was going to say. How I could soften the blow of the team’s location and current activities. I didn’t come up with anything solid, and, after getting my research answers, decided to simply tell the truth.

Kurt was smiling on the screen, but I was fairly sure I would knock that grin off pretty quickly.

“Hey, Pike. Good work the other day. Your usual high-adventure, but the Council was impressed.”

“Great. We’re going to need the love. Where’s Blaine and the support crew right now?”

“The Taskforce bird ‘broke down’ in Shannon, Ireland. I know it’s BS, but let it go. Why?”

Here we go. “You need to get them to Qatar immediately. Lucas Kane is doing something operational. I don’t know what, but he’s headed there in six hours.”

There goes the grin.

“What the hell are you talking about? How do you know anything about Lucas Kane?”

“I tracked him to Frankfurt. I’m on him now, and he’s flying to Qatar on the same commercial flight as two State Department personnel.”

“You did what? Jesus Christ, Pike! We have no authority for this. No Omega in Europe. What the hell are you doing? Trying to destroy the Taskforce?”

I didn’t reply, letting him get some steam off. He finally said, “Well? You going to tell me why you’ve got a rogue Taskforce team running amok? Give me some incredible reason why you disobeyed direct orders from the president of the United States?”

“Lucas murdered my family. I came here to kill him.”

His mouth opened, then closed without saying anything, so I continued. “Jennifer found Heather’s driver’s license in his room, along with Ethan Meriweather’s. Lucas killed them both. She also found another license. I ran a check on the name through the Taskforce law enforcement section. It was Meredith Madison, the senator’s wife. Remember she was killed in a hit-and-run? Never solved? And Senator Madison retired shortly thereafter? Lucas killed her as well, for God knows who.”

Nothing came from the computer, Kurt’s face stunned. Reflecting on my statements. Eventually, he focused back on me. “Pike, I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Sir, that’s water under the bridge now. I didn’t kill him, and during the surveillance operation we found evidence that he’s still got designs on the peace process. He’s headed to Qatar, and I need to beat him there. Can you get me a plane?”

“What? Slow down. This is coming a little fast. What do you have?”

I gave him a rundown from start to finish. When I was done, I said, “I need to get to Qatar ahead of him. I’m sending Brett and Decoy on the flight, but I need to prep the terrain, and I need that support package with Blaine.”

“It’s nine hours from Ireland to Dubai. Lucas will be there in twelve. I don’t have time to get them to you first. I don’t even have Oversight approval to begin.”

“Sir, no offense, but Lucas isn’t going to wait on the Oversight Council to pull their head out of the sand. He’s on the hunt, and someone’s going to pay.”

Kurt said nothing for a moment, coming to grips with the threat. Finally, he nodded and said, “Make sure it’s him.”

Yes. An evil grin slipped out. “Trust me, I fucking intend to.”

Lucas arrived at the Qatar Airways counter a full three hours before the flight was due to depart, not knowing what time his targets would check in. He had no idea what they looked like, but he was confident he could pick them out when they approached the counter.

His plan was fairly simple: Like he had with the investigator, he would use an RFID tag to trigger an explosive device that would eliminate the targets, only this time it would be the men alone killed, leaving their luggage untouched. Unlike the other hit, he wouldn’t be using the baggage tag. Instead, he’d use the electronic tag built into the passports the men used.

The idea came to him when he had tried to get another passport in Lebanon and had been told the modern ones were too hard to forge. Precisely because they were now embedded with an RFID tag that contained all of the information inside the passport. It was an electronic fingerprint that could be fed to his explosive device.

The plan posed some significant challenges, not the least being stealing the information in the first place. To allay security concerns, each U.S. passport had a mesh shield embedded in the cover, preventing anyone from gleaning data when the passport was closed. This was the primary problem Lucas would have to overcome; the targeted identities could only be stolen, and the explosive device could only be triggered, if the passports were opened in the respective RFID reader’s presence.

He checked his watch and saw the flight was only an hour and a half from takeoff. SAD boys like pushing it. Probably hungover. A second later, he watched two men in suits glancing at the airline names displayed above each counter. They were both dressed like businessmen, but they couldn’t hide a bluntness. An edge that didn’t fit in with the attire.

When they walked past him, he saw both pulling ordinary suitcases and one toting a Zero Halliburton aluminum briefcase in his other hand. It was swathed in a tangerine colored fabric and had a self-locking zip-tie sealing the container closed. Very smart.

The consulate had prepared the money as a classified diplomatic pouch, and now these two muscleheads would pose as simple State Department couriers, delivering it to the destination. Given the peace summit, the pouch would appear completely natural.

Dip-pouches, by international convention, were inviolate. No security post or government official could inspect the contents; provided the couriers produced the correct paperwork. What puzzled Lucas was the size of the pouch. No way could there be a hell of a lot of money inside a briefcase. The largest denomination the United States currently issued was the hundred dollar bill, and that would fill the available space fairly rapidly.

This had better be fucking worth it. Go through all the trouble only to get a hundred grand and I’ll be pissed.

The men finally committed to the Qatar Airways flight, and Lucas pulled his luggage up behind them, flipping the switch in his carry-on backpack. He watched each man present his passport, praying the lady behind the counter would hold it above the counter. She didn’t.

He stuck with them, continuing the procedure through immigration and security, finally getting a chance to check the reader at the gate. He saw he had both identities.

He raised his head, a grin slipping out. He found himself looking into the eyes of a passenger across the room. The man glanced away, now studying a blank wall. The guy’s demeanor triggered an alarm. He looked vaguely familiar, an indistinct tickle saying Lucas had seen him before. Lucas bent down and pretended to dig through his bag, giving no outward indication that the man had caught his attention, but he was now a person of interest.