Brad Taylor - Enemy of Mine

“The Four Seasons is where the entire Quartet is staying for the peace summit. Lucas is at ground zero.”

Lucas saw the line snaking out the door to the Four Seasons before he even began walking up the drive. The security had become extremely tight, with everyone waiting until each piece of luggage was checked and they themselves had been wanded by a security guard. It would have been more efficient to have two lines: one for people checking in and one for people already staying, but apparently that idea hadn’t occurred to the management.

He took his place at the end and slowly shuffled forward. He glanced at his watch, knowing the two CIA escorts would be here at any time. Just as he reached the front and handed his backpack over, he saw a Westerner exit the hotel and speak in the ear of one of the security personnel. After that, he positioned himself at the head of the circle in front of the hotel.

He’s going to meet the couriers to get them past security. A horrendous thought crossed his mind. What if they bypass the check-in? He takes them straight to their room? The plan would fail. They had to check in.

The security guard snapped him out of his thoughts by poking him in the shoulder. “Sir, raise your arms and spread your legs.”

He did so, watching the Westerner as the wand ran up and down his body. A minute later, he was told he could enter the hotel. He walked into the lobby and took a left, toward the reception counter, glancing over his shoulder to the security at the door, trying to see the couriers’ car pull up. What he saw instead caused him to freeze.

The Caucasian from the airplane was now in the security line. Patiently waiting to enter the hotel. Jesus. How the hell did he know where to find me? Options were flitting through his head when the receptionist said, “Sir? Sir? Can I help you?”

“Uhh…yeah. I’m checking in.” He handed her his passport and turned to the right while she tapped on the computer. There, situated at chest height, was his vase. A large, expensive-looking vessel containing real, fresh flowers. The positioning was perfect. The men would leave their baggage on the ground, below the countertop, where the marble would protect it, while their upper bodies would be shredded.

Provided they checked in at all.

He glanced back out the door and was shocked again to see the two CIA men coming through the lobby, led by the escort out front, bypassing the security line. Jesus Christ. If they checked in now, he’d be in the blast radius.

They did so, marching right up to the counter.

The lady helping him asked something else, but he wasn’t listening. He saw one of the couriers pull out his passport and hastily said, “Where’s the bathroom? I have to go.”

“Sir? Sign here and you can use the restroom in your room.”

The clerk helping the CIA men took the first passport in her hand.

Dropping the subterfuge, Lucas snatched his key without signing and fled across the lobby to the far side. He reached the concierge desk, ignoring the stares and watching the receptionist desk.

The clerk opened the passport, and nothing happened for a split second. Then, a violent explosion erupted from the vase. The embedded ball bearings came searing out in a radial arc, decapitating both CIA men and the escort with them. The bodies toppled over, one on top of the other.

The receptionist helping the CIA men had fallen behind the counter. Lucas had no idea of her status. The one who had helped him was shredded from the pottery shards of the back-blast and was shrieking. The orange-covered briefcase was in pristine condition, still standing next to the fallen men. Lucas ran to the site of the blast, as if to aid the downed men. When he crossed back through the lobby, he saw the unknown from the plane, fighting his way through security. And staring right at Lucas.

Lucas had planned on simply taking the case to his room, using the confusion of the blast to cloak his activities. He’d been in many such situations and knew that the initial response was always fractured, and nobody would question him walking away with the bag. They’d all be either catatonic because of the attack or rendering first aid to the fallen. Now, though, there was one man who was neither and was slicing his way through the crowds like wind through a dandelion.

Need to get out of here. Into the city. Then back to the airport.

Lucas snatched the handle of the dip-pouch container and took off running, away from the elevators and toward the stairs at the back of the hotel.

We were at the roundabout a block from the hotel, within striking distance of ending this whole thing, when Decoy called.

“Explosive device just went off inside the lobby. I’m working my way through the usual hysteria and some tight-ass security. I’ll give you a call when I get inside.”

Dammit. That son of a bitch. “How bad? How many dead?”

“I can’t see shit. I’m still outside the security barrier, and the place has definitely turned into-”

I heard nothing but shouting through the line. “Decoy, you still there?”

“I got Lucas. I can see him! I can see him through the door…get the fuck out of my way…he’s got the case, and he’s moving to the back of the hotel…”

I heard muffled cursing and the shuffling of bodies, then what sounded like someone slapping leather. Decoy came back on, a little out of breath. “He’s going out the back. I can’t get to him. Too much bullshit panic going on. There’s a bunch of Barney Fife security guys, and I can’t be sure someone doesn’t have a gun. I can keep pushing, but I might get myself killed.”

“We’ll track him. Take your time and get inside. Give me an assessment of the damage. I need to know who he killed. What he’s done to the peace summit.”

I looked at the map. The Four Seasons was right up against the ocean. If Lucas headed out the back, he was pinned in. He could go either north or south, running parallel to the coast, but unless he started swimming, that was it. North led to the diplomatic area, which meant security. South led to the Sheraton resort, and beyond that, the Corniche promenade. He’s going south.

I called Brett behind us. “Stop where you are and dismount. Lucas is probably on the grounds of the Sheraton by now. We’re at the Trade Center Roundabout. Jennifer’s going to let Knuckles and me off here. You take the south end of the resort. Get into the park. We’ll box him in.”

“What do you want me to do if I find him?”

“Just get eyes on and call. We’ll get to you for the takedown, but if he starts heading into the city before we can close, he’s your target. Keep him on the coast. If he gets across the Corniche road, we’ll never find him again.”

Lucas sprinted down the circular steps to the restaurant below, then plowed through the throng that had gathered, all staring at one another as if their neighbor could explain the explosion, the women holding their hands to their mouths. He reached the back door and burst out of it like a horse at the Preakness. He ran flat out for about a minute, then slowed when he realized he was not being chased.

He thought about his options. First and foremost, he needed to get into the city. He’d seen the Caucasian at the front door, but not the black man. There was at least one unaccounted for on the loose. Which meant there were probably more.

He racked his brain, trying to remember who else had been in first class with him. It was unlikely the men had forces already on the ground, so whoever was after him would have either been on the same plane or flying in behind them. It had only been about thirty minutes since he left the airport, so that left the plane he was on-at least for now.