Enemy of Mine (6 page)

He didn’t see a choice.

T
hey were through the Jedid gate
and into the maze, a small knapsack filled with equipment bouncing against Retro’s back, when the next call came in.

“She’s stopped in a courtyard, sitting on a bench next to a mosque. It looks like a women-only mosque. We’re sticking out big time.”

Shit.
Crusty was proving to be pretty damn smart after all. “Clear out. Can you send a guy through the courtyard every few minutes? Does it naturally lead somewhere else?”

“Yeah, it does, but I’m going to run out of people in three minutes. We can’t park our ass here.”

“I’ve got two more. Start the rotation and we’ll follow up. We can start back the other way one by one if we have to. Where are you?”

Instead of directions, Knuckles heard, “I have no idea. Sending a picture.”

Knuckles pulled out his phone, got the SMS text with the picture, and saw the mosque, a small one hemmed in by the usual stone-and-stucco buildings left and right, separated by less than four feet. Knowing the photograph was geo-tagged with its location, he initiated the GPS feature of the phone and loaded the picture. Within seconds, he had an arrow directing him to Johnny’s location, along with a distance scale showing three hundred meters.

“Got it. On the way.”

By the time Knuckles reached the courtyard, Johnny had used up
all of his men, one after the other slowly walking through the open space and continuing on. Knuckles knew the individual walks of thirtysomething males would look out of place to anyone on the hunt, regardless of whether they did anything suspicious. He began calculating how to camouflage what they were doing and saw it was impossible. They’d get one pass each on the mosque. Maybe two at the most, but no more than that.

We need Jennifer for this bullshit.

The thought came unbidden and surprised him.

There had been a lot of discussion about females in the Taskforce after Jennifer and Pike had stopped a terrorist strike the year before. Knuckles, along with everyone else in the Taskforce, had argued against the idea. There had never been a female on the sharp end of the spear, and he, along with plenty of other operators, was determined to see that didn’t change. There was no way a female could do what they did. Sure, Jennifer had risen to the occasion, but she was different. It wasn’t like they all would.

During the debate inside Taskforce headquarters, Pike had said nothing. He’d simply looked at Knuckles with disappointment.

Now Knuckles realized why. Pike had never argued the point at the time because he knew words alone would do no good. The men would have to realize what Jennifer brought to the table on their own.
Like now. A man and woman together could spend all day in that courtyard and not draw attention.

He stopped short of the entrance to the courtyard, inside a cobblestone alley with brick-and-stucco residences built hundreds of years ago hemming him in. He sent Retro in first and backtracked out of the alley. While wandering through a meat market, waiting on Retro’s call of being off target, he got their first indication of movement.

“All elements, she’s off the bench and standing on the steps to the mosque. There’s a woman in a burqa walking toward her.”

Burqa?
The full-length dress that covered a woman from head to toe was not unheard of in Tunisia, but it certainly wasn’t competing
as a lead in Tunisian woman’s fashion. Knuckles had seen very few in his multiple tours here.

He said, “Keep eyes on. Keep eyes on.”

“She’s eyeballing me. I can’t. I’m off target.”

Knuckles broke protocol and sprinted to the entrance of the courtyard, slowing down to a walking pace when he came within view of the mosque. He saw the burqa take a bag from the mistress as they both walked up the steps and entered the mosque. The gait of the covered woman triggered a memory in Knuckles’ mind, gleaned from countless hours of surveillance.

Crusty.

If it
was
Crusty, his plan was pretty ingenious, since there was no way a western male would be able to penetrate a female-only mosque. Crusty didn’t have to run any countersurveillance on his mistress, as they’d be able to lose whoever was on them just by entering.
Except we have some tricks as well.

He called Blaine, sending him the geo-tagged picture of their location. “Get Birdseye up. Crusty’s got some plan of escape out of that mosque, and I’m betting it’s the roof.”

Blaine said, “He’s already airborne, doing a ‘pipeline survey’ north to south. He’ll be on team net, ETA thirty seconds.”

Knuckles smiled at Blaine bending his own rules, and poked him in the eye. “What happened to one shot with the bird?”

“He’s circling north of the city. You’ll still only get one pass. Don’t push it.”

“Roger that.” Knuckles switched back to the team net. “Johnny, do some research on the buildings adjacent to the mosque. If he were going to jump, which one would he go to?”

Birdseye came on. “Knuckles, on station. You get about five minutes on target before I deviate from my flight plan. After that, it’s a thirty-minute turnaround from the oil fields.”

“Roger. You got eyes on the roof?”

“Clean shot. Can see it clearly through optics.”

“Retro, you getting the feed?” He knew that Retro had stopped what he was doing as soon as he heard the Birdseye call, locating a concealed position that would allow him to set up his downlink and handheld video screen.

“Roger. Nothing moving right now.”

Johnny said, “Looks like the buildings left and right are apartments. The one to the rear is a small hotel. It also has an alley that leads to the Medina wall.”

That’s it.
He gave instructions to Johnny, setting his team up in a box around the hotel. He left Retro in place and called Decoy to meet him in the alley as the assault element. Before Decoy arrived, Retro said, “Got movement on the roof. Burqa woman and the mistress just exited.”

“Decoy, what’s your status?” Knuckles said, “If that’s Crusty, we’ll know shortly. He can’t jump from roof to roof wearing that sack.”

“Two minutes. Brett and I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Retro said, “Mistress went to the left/east wall and looked across to the adjacent building.”

East? That’s not the hotel.

“Say again? Which wall?”

“She’s running. She’s across. East building. I say again, east building.”

Shit.

“Burqa’s off. It’s Crusty. He’s throwing the luggage across.”

“Roger all. Johnny, box the east building now. We’re on the way.”

Knuckles took off, running into Decoy and his other teammate when he rounded the corner. They said nothing, just falling into step behind him.

Johnny came on. “We’re set. Only way in and out is the north and south.”

“Which one will he use? Where should we stage?”

“North. Stage north in the alley. South fronts some shops. He’ll probably want to stay out of sight this close to the mosque.”

Yeah. Why would he come out so close? Risky.

Retro came on. “They’re still going. They didn’t enter the building. They’re going to the next building to the east. I say again, the mistress just jumped to the next building to the east. Crusty’s throwing luggage.”

Jesus Christ!
Johnny came on before he issued a command. “Moving. This building makes more sense. Exits north, south, and east. East exit is just a walkway, but it leads to the Medina wall. It’s hemmed in on both sides by buildings.”

“Roger.” Knuckles knew they were falling behind Crusty because they had to run about twice as far around the buildings as he did straight across them. If Crusty sprinted down the stairs and out the door, they might miss him. It was going to be close.

“Knuckles, this is Birdseye. We’re out of space. I’ve got to continue on.”

Knuckles couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. At a dead sprint, panting into his Bluetooth earpiece, he said, “Negative. Do not leave. I say again, do not leave.”

“Not my call. Can’t risk the cover and I’ve already deviated wide from my flight plan. I’ll give you optics as long as I can, but it’s going to be a rear view from a distance.”

Knuckles swore, but knew he was right. If they managed to get Crusty, and someone mentioned strange aircraft orbits that tied it to his disappearance, the ensuing investigation would be catastrophic. They’d already raised their signature by running all over the place like a Laurel and Hardy movie.

He reached the corner of the third building and held up, pulling out his smartphone. He initiated the moving map and saw Johnny’s team setting up, each man a glowing green icon. “Johnny, I’m coming in now. I’ll be passing your south team shortly.”

“Roger. I got you.”

“Knuckles, this is Retro. The camera angle’s off. They’re across the building, but they disappeared behind the roof access. I don’t know if they went in or not.”

“Can’t you see if they break out? Onto another roof?”

“Stand by…. Feed’s breaking up. Birdseye’s out of range.”

Dammit
. “Wonderful. Since you’re free, start working exfil procedures. Figure out how we’re going to get out of here with up to two extra. Johnny, your guys see anything?”

“We can’t see past the parapet, but nobody’s looked down, I’ll tell you that.”

“We’ll take the east side of this building, in the alley. Move the guys there to the next building. Are they prepared to assault?”

“Negative. They’re equipped for surveillance only.”

Spread too thin.
“Okay, tell ’em just to trigger. If Crusty keeps going, we’ll fall back into surveillance mode. Try to track ’em to a bed-down site.”

Knuckles and his men rounded the corner to the small alley, a cobblestone path with barely enough room to walk two-abreast. He slowed his pace, looking left and right for exits or Peeping Toms from adjacent buildings. He saw none. Just litter here and there. He located the doorway from the building thirty feet ahead, noticing that it was actually an alcove that sank inward a few feet. He motioned Decoy to the other side, mimicking working a pistol. He was drawing his own Taser when the recessed door swung open, taking him by surprise.

A man, exiting in a hurry and looking backward, smashed into him. The man whirled around, and Knuckles smiled.

“Hello, Crusty.”

T
he Ghost followed the Hezbollah
tough through a maze of alleys, moving deeper into the neighborhood and farther from his car. Eventually, the man pointed to a shop that was no more than a hallway, hacked off at one end with plywood. Four tables lined the length of the place, one with two men sitting, drinking out of small espresso cups no bigger than shot glasses.

They had to be aware of his arrival, but paid no attention. Another power play. One more than the Ghost was willing to endure. He strode right to the table and sat down, letting them say the first words.

Nothing happened for a pregnant second, the two taken aback. Then the older one, with a gray-flecked beard, looked from him to the tough and said, “You wish to disappear?”

“I wish to dispense with the posturing and get to the business of why I’m here. It has been a long drive from Tripoli and a longer time to find this shop. If you have nothing for me, I’ll leave. If you try to stop me, I’ll still leave, only a little more winded.”

The bearded man sized him up, saying nothing. Then he smiled. “You don’t look it, but you are who they said you’d be.” He held out his hand. “I am Abdul Majid. This is Ja’far Hussein. Thank you for coming.”

The Ghost shook both their hands without giving a name, then waited.

Majid said, “We believe that the Palestinian cause—your cause—is
being hijacked. The Palestinian Authority has agreed to a peace overture from the United States and Israel. A meeting is being set up in Qatar, where money will exchange hands. Money that will kill the Palestinians’ right of return. We have contacts in Hamas who would like this meeting to be stopped.”

The Ghost bristled. “Hamas? Why on earth would I care about them? At one time they would never have agreed to anything short of Zionist annihilation. Now, they’ve joined in a unity government with the Palestinian Authority. They are like everyone else. Giving in when it suits them.”

“Not all in Hamas agree with the unity government. But you’re right about one thing: They have political concerns and won’t do this themselves. Neither will we, which is why we’ve contacted you. We can put you in touch with some men here who are not Hamas or the Resistance. They have contacts with a financier in al Qaeda who uses a bank here in Lebanon. A bank that we control. This group will give you further instructions, if you are willing.”

“Willing to do what? You haven’t said.”

“Kill the American envoy. The Palestinian Authority is almost bankrupt. They cannot continue because of the sanctions the West has placed on them due to their political reconciliation with Hamas and their bid for statehood with the United Nations. They have asked for covert funding, saying the moderate Palestinian elements are in danger of being swept away. The West has agreed, and the envoy is bringing it. Kill him, and the peace falls apart. Hamas gains political control of the Palestinian Authority, and your goal of the return is still within reach.”

Of course
, he thought,
Hezbollah—or Hamas—needn’t worry about funding as long as the Shia dogs in Iran keep them in baksheesh.
He knew these men cared not a whit about the return of Palestinian refugees to their historic homeland. They only wanted the discord with Israel to continue to give them a reason to maintain their arms. As a “self-defense” force.

Ja’far spoke for the first time. “One thing: You cannot kill the man here, in Lebanon, no matter what this other group says. The al Qaeda financier has said he preferred it here, but we have told him no. They may push you that way. Do you understand?”

The Ghost said, “No, I don’t. If that’s the easiest, that’s what I will do.”

“You don’t need to understand why, but you will not kill the American here. It will produce repercussions that will ultimately affect our goals.”