Enemy of Mine

She disappeared through a door, and I entered the mausoleum. There wasn’t much to see inside, and I realized that I was itching to know what the Taskforce wanted. I wished I hadn’t given the GPS to Jennifer, allowing her to see the message first. I glanced around for a few seconds, then took off at a fast walk to find her. I entered into the courtyard, which was as large as Jennifer said it would be. I saw her sitting down, looking at the screen.

“Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I did.”

Her demeanor gave me no clue if it was going to be good or bad. “Well?”

She stood up and dusted off her pants. “It’s instructions for a PM.”

Whew. PM stood for personal meet and was spy-talk for a clandestine meeting between a controller and his asset, which in this case would be us. Nothing more than an hour out of our life.

“See. All that crying over nothing. We’ll do the meet and continue on once this visa mess gets sorted out. Kurt probably just wants to pass us instructions to check something out here in Damascus before we head north. More than likely it was just too much data to send using the GPS.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

She handed me the GPS, the smile from earlier long gone.

“The PM’s in Beirut.”

11

Two days later, Jennifer walked into a cafe in the Hamra section of western Beirut, just down the street from the American University. She saw a hodgepodge of tourists and students, with the right wall lined by twentysomethings smoking water pipes and discussing political opinions, one of the few areas where such discussion wouldn’t end in gunfire.

She crossed the threshold at precisely twelve minutes past one o’clock, as the GPS message had stipulated. She was wearing a shirt that buttoned in the front and was carrying a map in her right hand, per the instructions.

She knew she was being watched, but made no attempt to look around. Instead, she went to the hostess and asked for a menu, getting redirected to the menu on the wall.

While pretending to look at it, she sensed someone gazing over her shoulder.

A man said, “This place is supposed to have the best breakfast in town, but I don’t know about lunch.”

She turned and saw a fiftysomething executive in a business suit, swarthy, maybe Mediterranean, maybe Latino, with a large gut protruding over his belt.

She said, “Lunch is probably just as good.”

The man smiled at the correct response. “Join me, if you want.”

She followed him to the back of the cafe, beyond the prying ears of the students and tourists, sitting at the last small table in the restaurant.

He immediately began giving her instructions, a mad minute of information on why they were meeting and what they were discussing, should she be asked later. A facade to cover the conversation and protect both of them.

She said nothing, memorizing everything that came out of his mouth. When he stopped, his serious demeanor left, replaced by a cocky smile.

“My name is Louis Britt, and I guess I’m supposed to help you out.”

“Louis Britt? You’re kidding. Not ‘Abdullah Mohammed’?”

“Unfortunately, no. Trust me, this damn name has caused nothing but trouble over here. I’m sure the idiot who gave me my documents is laughing.”

He picked up the menu and said, “I thought they would be sending me an operator. No offense.”

She smiled back, taking a liking to him for some reason. “They did.”

“No, I don’t mean another case officer, I mean a Taskforce operator. Someone who can act on my information. Kurt contacted me and gave me a dump on a hit in Tunisia, then directed this meeting. I’ve been deep so long, I was shocked when it happened. I thought the world was ending. And now I’m meeting you. You CIA? DIA?”

“Look, I’m just an overeager anthropologist with a liking for Middle Eastern historical sights. I’m supposed to be in Syria on a dig. Unfortunately for me, I also have some other unique skills. So does the man who watched you enter the restaurant. I don’t know what a true ‘operator’ is, since I’ve never been in the military, and it seems like everyone who’s ever held a gun says that’s what they are nowadays, but I do know I’m the one they sent for this meeting. What do you have?”

He leaned back. “Wow. I have been gone too long. The world is just not right.” He said it with a smile, breaking off when the waitress approached to take their order. Watching her walk back to the kitchen, he said, “Man, to be young again. These Lebanese women are friggin’ hot.” He winked. “Not that my age has stopped me any.”

Jennifer gave a tentative smile, wondering where this was going. Is he coming on to me? Really?

She’d never done an operational link-up with a deep asset and was unsure what to make of the guy. On the one hand, when they’d met, he was as professional as anyone in the Taskforce, executing the operating procedures like a robot. Now, he was acting like a drunk businessman who’d come to Beirut for a convention.

He saw her draw back and took her hand. The act sent her instincts into the red zone, until she felt something in her palm.

“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to get in your pants. Unless you’d like it, that is.”

He grinned again and pulled his hand away.

“That’s an SD card with a complete rundown on a hit that happened in Tunisia three days ago. Taskforce took down a guy that was financing an assassination here in Lebanon. Originally, we didn’t care because all the indicators pointed to a simple sectarian hit against some other faction in this fucked-up country. Taskforce now thinks it may be directed against Western interests. Meaning the U.S.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Get this card to someone else? Why were we pulled from Syria?”

He snickered, then saw she was serious. “They didn’t tell you why you were sent?”

“No. All we got were the PM instructions.”

“Well, operator,” he said, “you’re here to save the day. Get the assassin. Protect American interests and all that bullshit. Same thing we always do.”

Jennifer said nothing for a moment, doing the wasted mental calculations of how the mission would affect her trip to Syria. Like a child who’d let go of a balloon, seeing it float inexorably skyward, she tried to find a way to get back what she wanted. She realized Syria was lost for good.

“All right. What can you offer me besides this SD card?”

“Well, for one there’s a very big discrepancy between the information found in Tunisia and what I know. I’ve been hearing about a hit for a few months, but it was always against internal Lebanese interests. Now, the intel weenies think the guy from Tunisia was financing a hit specifically against a U.S. government official. I think they’re wrong.”

“Why? If it’s single-source intel from the mission, it seems prudent. Not something to ignore.”

“It came from the hit, but there wasn’t any smoking gun. You’ll see when you boot up that SD card. The target hasn’t talked yet. The Taskforce intel folks went through his hard drive and pieced it together. They’re keying on the words ‘infidel’ and ‘American,’ and made a leap of logic. It’s prudent if taken by itself, but I’ve been working here for over seven years, feeding the beast quality intel. Those analysts go through one hit and all of the sudden everything I’ve said is discounted. I’ve been hearing those same words used in reference to plenty of assassination attempts, but not as the target.”

“You mean they’re going to kill a foreign national in the presence of an American? At an American-sponsored conference or something?”