Enemy of Mine (34 page)

I backed out and found Decoy.

He said, “Bathroom’s behind the entrance door. Clear.”

“Start searching. See what you can find.”

Five minutes later we had all we were going to get. There was very little to exploit—no computers, cell phones, or other electronic devices—but we found enough evidence to say that Lucas hadn’t been lying about the bed-down location.

Knuckles had discovered several maintenance uniforms for the Burj Khalifa building, and Decoy, spraying an aerosol can on various items in the room, had turned a backpack splotchy pink. The can held an explosive residue reagent, and the color meant the backpack had contained plastique of some type.

I was coming up with how I could use what little evidence we had to convince Blaine to let us continue fishing when Brett called.

“Man entered stairwell. Unknown on the way up.”

T
he radio call caused everyone
to perk up.

I remembered where the tenant worked and said, “What’s he wearing? Traditional dress?”

“No. He’s wearing some sort of maintenance uniform.”

The words hung in the air as we each stared around the tiny room for a place to hide in ambush, looking like we were in a seventies sitcom. There wasn’t even a lampshade to put on our heads.

“Decoy, bathroom. Let the door open, then close it behind him. Knuckles, other room. When he enters, let’s get on him quickly. No Tasers. The threat is him screaming. Don’t let him make any noise.”

Just as we got situated, with Knuckles facing me on the opposite side of the bedroom entrance, I remembered a potential giveaway and whispered into my radio, “Decoy, lock the door. I say again, lock the door.”

I heard a whispered “Roger,” then the distinct click of the old lock, hoping the man in the stairwell was either deaf or too stupid to recognize the sound.

Thirty seconds later the lock snicked again, then I heard the door creak open. What I didn’t hear were any footsteps entering the room. No shuffle, no keys thrown on a desk, nothing. I gave Knuckles a quizzical look. He just shrugged, both hands on his weapon.

The man spoke up in Arabic. I didn’t understand the words, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out what he was saying.
Anyone in there?

We’d left the room a mess, and he’d seen evidence of our search. I held my breath. All we needed were three small steps. Just enough to clear the door.

I strained my ears, trying to determine if he’d entered or not. He said the same thing in Arabic again, clearly suspicious. Then I heard what sounded like a piece of lumber hitting a wall.

I breached the doorway and saw Decoy dragging an unconscious Arab into the room from the landing.

He said, “He was about to leave. I clocked him with the door. I didn’t think it would knock him out, but it did. Lucky he didn’t fall down the damn stairs.”

I closed the entrance door while Knuckles and Decoy searched him, finding key cards and identification for the Burj Khalifa but little else. I radioed Brett and gave him a status, asking him to check out any reaction on the lower landings.

He came back moments later. “You’re good to go, but I’m claiming this fake watch. Had to buy it to support my reason for being in the stairwell a second time.”

“Let me guess. You got the gold Submariner.”

“Hell no. Omega Seamaster. That’s what James Bond wears.”

Chuckling, Decoy and Knuckles tied up then gagged the unconscious man. I filled a glass with water from the bathroom sink and splashed it in his face. He woke up instantly, whipping his head left and right. Seeing white boys, he attempted to leap to his feet and found he was trussed like a pig for slaughter. His eyes grew wide, the terror clearly evident. His hands began to tremble in the flex-cuffs like a man with Parkinson’s disease. It wasn’t the reaction of a master terrorist.

He’s never been in the arena. Never done any operational acts.

It changed my approach. I had planned on using the information we knew to try to elicit more data from him, tripping him up with my supposed omniscience. I figured there was no way he would freely give me anything, and I would have to outwit him using trickery. He had
no idea what I did or didn’t know, and I hoped for him to give me something new because he thought I already had it, as a stalling tactic.

That interrogation plan had been based on a hardened terrorist. Someone who understood the risks and the pain that would come if he were captured. A terrorist like that could resist pressure for a great while. We only had about an hour to figure out what was going on, not nearly enough time for any sort of physical threat or action to sway a man who’s prepared and has the strength of will to resist. Now, seeing the man cower, I decided to go full bore as the mean guy, see if he would crack.

I put on my best Shrek face and leaned in close. “Tell me you don’t speak English and I’ll rip out your tongue. Understand?”

He nodded his head vigorously.

“We’ve been hired by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid to track a man called the Ghost. He’s here to kill an American. We know he’s using the Burj Khalifa for the attack. We’ve watched you for days and know you are also involved.”

Hell, might as well throw a little omniscience in there as well.

He shook his head violently.
Time for the bad guy.

“Hand me the pliers.” Knuckles gave me a pair of vise grips he’d found in the back. I held them up to his nose, so close he could smell the grease on them.

“Don’t shake your head again. What I told you is fact. Denying it doesn’t make it go away. I’m first going to crush your toes with these pliers. Then your fingers. Eventually, I’ll work my way to your genitals. The duration is up to you, but I assure you that you have enough appendages to keep me busy for quite a while. Do you understand?”

His eyes grew wet, and a single tear tracked down his cheek. He squeezed them shut and nodded.
Success.

To solidify it, I went to good cop. “Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t harm you at all. I have no desire for that. I simply want to stop the attack. You work with me, and you walk away with your life, your limbs intact. Understand?”

He opened his eyes, wanting to believe what I said, but unsure. I could see the walls breaking inside him. He nodded again, with more force.

I returned to bad cop. “Lie to me, even once, and the pain will be immediate. I know quite a bit of what’s been planned. You people have been sloppy. You say something wrong, and I might start with your penis.”

Decoy removed his gag, and the man began talking. A fountain of information that we couldn’t have shut off if we tried. Within six minutes I was sure we had everything the man knew, and the information wasn’t pretty.

After he grew quiet, I said, “You’ve done well. I’m going to untie you now. You’ll be coming with us.”

He looked confused and said, “I thought you would leave if I told you everything?”

“I’ll leave when your information pans out. If it doesn’t, I’ll be your personal nightmare. Hold out your wrists.”

He did so, and I saw his brain working. Wondering why we would uncuff him if we really worked for the sheikh of Dubai.

“I’m setting your hands free because I can’t have anyone talking about this in the souk. I don’t want word to spread that you’ve been taken. You must act naturally all the way to our vehicle. If you don’t, you will disappear. Understand?”

He nodded, I cut his wrist ties, and Decoy pushed him to the door. I said, “Get him to the van. I’m calling Blaine.”

Bundling him out the door, Knuckles said, “You had
me
convinced he was in for some pain. What were you going to do if he clammed up?”

“Nothing. Just bag him.”

I let them get down the stairs, then dialed the TOC.

“Sir, I’ve got most of what’s going on. The attack’s at the Burj Khalifa, like we thought, but it isn’t any frontal assault. They’re using the elevators. The guy doesn’t know how—he’s really a maintenance
man—but he helped the Ghost get access to the elevator shafts. I’m headed there now.”

“Can you defeat it before they get there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have an accurate itinerary. Just call Kurt and tell him to relay not to use the elevators in the Burj Khalifa.”

“Doing it now. Get your ass moving. According to what I have, he’s either there or en route.”

I made it to the van without issues, seeing all three of my teammates outside arguing.

“What’s the problem? We need to move.”

They all looked at me sheepishly, then Knuckles cracked open the sliding door, allowing me to see inside. One man was trussed on the floor, a bag on his head. It was the guy we had just captured.

“Where the fuck is Lucas?”

I knew the answer even before I asked the question.

Knuckles held up a carbon-fiber knife with a broken blade. “Gone. Like the last time we had him. I knew we shouldn’t have left him alone.”

Jesus Christ. That guy is Houdini.
I remembered Jennifer was in his hotel room and immediately dialed her phone. It went to voice mail.

Decoy said, “We already called her. No joy.”

Every fiber in my body was screaming to get back to the Bustan Rotana, to get her to safety. The men were all waiting for a decision, wondering which way I would go after my call in Lebanon.

McMasters was on the way to the Burj Khalifa, and the Ghost was already there. But Jennifer was in real danger. Lucas, while he had apparently told us the truth about his mission, was a psychopath. A threat on the loose.

The mistake in Lebanon surfaced in my mind, when I’d almost compromised the mission because I’d been afraid for her welfare.

She’s trained. She can handle herself. He’s probably not even going back to his hotel.

“Load up. We’re going to the Burj Khalifa. Keep trying to call her while we drive.”

S
eeing that Lucas had wiped the history
of his Internet usage, Jennifer powered down the laptop and inserted a thumb drive into a USB port. Turning it back on, the forensics device began to troll for random bits of data in the BIOS and hard drive of the computer. Within minutes, she had a list of websites used in the past twenty-four hours. Four were for hotels around the main train station in Frankfurt, Germany. Three were for different travel websites.

She clicked on one, bringing up a search for airlines and flights to Frankfurt, Germany, from Dubai, all for the following day.

She minimized Explorer and began searching his hard drive, looking for anything related to the envoy’s visit. She found the envoy’s itinerary, then the same passport information for the Ghost that she’d already seen.

Looking at her watch, she decided to simply image the hard drive and study it later, in the TOC. She pulled out the original thumb drive and inserted the same type system she had used in Lebanon. Two clicks later she had a bar saying ten minutes until download complete.

She moved to his luggage and began sorting through his clothes. She found nothing of interest. Lucas apparently had very good operational security, leaving little to be found by a snooping maid.

She found a leather satchel and zipped it open. Inside were small
knickknacks that she found odd. A kitchen magnet with the picture of a couple embossed inside. Two separate key chains, one with a bottle opener from a hotel in Reno, the other with the name “Dani” dangling from it. And three driver’s licenses.

Finally. His alias documents.

She looked at the first, seeing it was for a woman of about sixty.
No way could he use that.

She looked at the second and felt a shock so great it made her knees weak. She made the connection with Lucas and sat heavily on the bed. She stared at the picture, then the name, making sure she wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t. She slipped the license into her pocket behind her phone and stood up, thinking through the ramifications. She didn’t realize someone had entered the bedroom until he spoke.

“Well, well. Looks like my day isn’t going to be all bad after all.”

She whirled around and saw Lucas between her and the door to the living room of the suite, a flex-cuff still attached to one wrist, the other wrist raw and bleeding. She eyed him warily, but he remained where he was.

“Come on. I’m not going to do anything. You can leave. Right through the door there.”

She said nothing, keeping her distance. He shuffled to the left and glanced at the closet. She followed his gaze, and he struck, closing his hands on each of her wrists in a steel grip.

Reacting instantly, she windmilled both arms in a circle, breaking his hold. She slid into his body and hooked her right leg behind the one bearing his weight. She jerked upward with her leg and pushed as hard as she could against his chest, slamming him to the ground.

She turned to run to the door, only to have him kick it closed from the ground. She whirled around and moved into a fighting crouch as he leapt to his feet. He grinned at the stance, then swung a slap at her face. She parried it with her left arm and lashed out in a jab, popping his head back.

When he returned her gaze, he was no longer grinning. He touched
his nose, wiping a wisp of blood with his finger. “A fighter. I like that in a woman.”

He launched into her, throwing a flurry of combinations in an attempt to knock her down. For several seconds, the only noises were the slapping of skin and the panting of the combatants, Jennifer furiously protecting herself against every blow. Lucas backed off, having failed to harm her.

Jennifer reached behind her, blindly trying to find the door handle. Lucas saw the move and came in again. This time, having gotten a feel for his technique, Jennifer not only stopped his attack, but she landed two more jabs to his face.

Lucas backed off again, breathing hard. “You fucking bitch. You’re just making this hard on yourself.”

She said nothing, reaching behind her again for the door handle. Lucas feinted in, and she returned to a crouch. Instead of closing the distance, he grabbed a lamp and hurled it at her head. She ducked, feeling the porcelain shatter against the door above her. Lucas was on her before she could recover, slamming his shin into her thigh, drawing a cry.