Enemy of Mine (26 page)

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.

I shouted at the man, my pistol still trained on him. He swung his weapon toward me, then back at Jennifer, as if he couldn’t make up his mind. In a low voice, I said, “Knuckles, you got a shot?”

“Yeah. Clean headshot.”

“I mean a nonlethal hit. Can you take him down without killing him?”

“Not now. Need to get him away from the car. All I have right now is his upper body.”

“All right. Got it. I’ll get him to walk toward me, then knock him down.”

“Your call, but no promises. It’s not like I’m holding a custom long-gun here. I’ll hit him, but if it rips into his femoral or tumbles somewhere else, I can’t stop it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

I shouted again, getting the gunman’s attention, feeling like a cop trying to talk a meth addict off the ledge. The guy even looked like a meth addict. I pointed my weapon at Aziz, still subdued on the ground by Brett. The gunman followed the barrel, and recognition dawned for the first time. His eyes wide, he began screaming again. I waved him forward, then raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. My weapon was pointed harmlessly in the air, but my subconscious was screaming to split his head open.
This is why I would never have made it as a police officer.

Feeling more confident, he walked slowly toward us, sighting down the barrel of the AK. He broke the plane of the front of the vehicle, then whipsawed onto the ground as if his thigh had been hit with an invisible sledgehammer. A split second later, the crack of the bullet reached our ears, and I was on him, first subduing, then providing first aid for the large in-and-out hole in his thigh.

We reached the foothills of the Chouf Mountains, and I saw Aziz’s eyes squint, in his mind believing I had lied, and he was now being turned over to the Druze for some incredible torture. I told Brett to signal Knuckles and Jennifer in the car to our front, then pull over.

“I wasn’t lying before. I mean you no harm. We came here because it’s the only safe place I know. I have no idea who’s going to be looking for you in the
Dahiyeh,
but nobody here knows what’s gone on. Samir specifically asked for my help because he was afraid of another civil war. I was told I couldn’t harm anyone, and I tried to live up to my promise.”

He looked at me with distrust, but there was a little spark of hope in his eyes that made me think he was putting on an act.
Maybe this’ll work out.

We’d fled the scene of our assault immediately after Knuckles’
sniper shot, linking up with his car south of the airport. He’d hit the guy hard in the thigh, but had missed the femoral artery. We bandaged him with some QuikClot and morphine from our aid bag, checking his vitals every few minutes. He’d live but he wasn’t going to a hospital anytime soon. We’d packed all of them into our van and left their two vehicles behind. I’d flex-cuffed each of their ankles and wrists, but offered water and treated them with respect.

I said, “We’ll get your man to a hospital as soon as we can, but I want you to watch something first. Will you do that?”

Aziz nodded his head, and Decoy sat him upright. I placed a computer in front of him, and explained what he was about to see, lying about how we had gotten it.

I hit play, keeping my eye on Aziz’s facial expressions. The jerky image began, and I could tell immediately that Aziz recognized the surroundings, even if we didn’t. That was a definite plus because he’d know we hadn’t faked the film. No way could we have re-created some inner sanctum of Hezbollah. The boy entered the frame, and the truth began to solidify. Aziz began to believe. When he saw the boy die, he strained against his bonds so hard I had to hold him back. I knew at that moment that Samir was safe.

The WAV file ended with Lucas still on the screen, a grainy, bloody image that punctuated his crimes. I waited.

Aziz said, “What do you want from me?”

“Do you see?”

“Yes,” he hissed, “yes, I see who is to blame. And he will pay, no matter where he goes.”

“Well, then, we’re on the same sheet of music. I want him to pay as well, and you people know more about him than anyone else. Did you give him anything we can track? Any cell phones or other devices? Anything at all?”

He smiled for the first time. “Why would I help the CIA? I can do this on my own. Leave us be. I understand your methods and won’t seek retribution. Samir is safe.”

Brett and Decoy heard him and smiled, thinking we had mission-complete. They waited on me to say something sane, like “Okey-dokey. We’re out of here.” Instead, I said, “We don’t work for the CIA. We don’t work for the U.S. government. Infidel is personal to us. I want him, and you can help. If you get him first, so be it, but I’m still going to hunt him.”

I saw Brett shake his head and scowl. I waited on Aziz. I could see his mind working over the issue, wondering about potential downsides. Wondering what he could give us that would let them go. Something harmless.

He finally said, “He had a cell phone, but he’s no longer using it.”

“What’s the number?”

He gave it to me, and I didn’t recognize it as a Lebanese number.

“What’s this? Where’s it from?”

Samir spoke up. “It’s their internal network. An internal phone.”

Shit. No good to us.
It wouldn’t work anywhere outside of Lebanon. I saw a small smirk on Aziz’s face. He’d given what he could and knew it wouldn’t help.

I said, “Watch them,” and exited the van, walking to Knuckles’ car.

He rolled down the window. “How’s it going back there?”

“About even. Samir’s okay, but I’m getting little help on Lucas.”

“Well, let’s call it a win.”

“Maybe. You have a Taskforce phone?”

He looked at me warily. “Yeah. Why?”

I passed him the number. “See if they can track this. Get us a historical pattern. I’m looking for his bed-down site before he left. Last ninety-six hours, focusing on repeated locations.”

He studied the number, then said, “Pike, they need to know the network. They can’t just crack ‘Lebanon phone directory.’ This number doesn’t even look real.”

“It’s Hezbollah’s internal network.”

“What the hell are they going to do with that?”

Jennifer spoke up. “You sure it’s the internal network?”

“Yeah. No doubt.”

She turned to Knuckles. “Tell ’em to look at Cedar Hill’s reporting. He’s already cracked the network and passed it to them. They’re sitting on it right now.”

“Cedar Hill? Who’s that?”

“Louis Britt, the Taskforce case officer here. The one that helped us infil you and gave us the location of the computer we hit. He’s already passed the information on Hezbollah’s network.”

Knuckles pulled out his smartphone and started typing a secure text to a number that would never be used again. I was a little concerned that the request would bounce back to Kurt in one way or another, but figured the little minions who did such work would just assume it a standard request from a deployed team. Especially since it was coming from Knuckles’ phone and not mine. At least that’s what I hoped. If Kurt found out we were operational without Council sanction, I was going to get roasted.

It took a couple of back-and-forths over text, but eventually, the hackers in the rear locked onto the network. In twenty minutes, Knuckles had the tower track of the phone. The last connection was more than forty-eight hours ago, but when we brought up a map, we had one location it had stayed overnight for two consecutive nights. A hotel.
The bed-down location.