Enemy of Mine

Armed Forces. A counterterrorist expert who’d cut his teeth on the operational side, then proven just as valuable on the analytic side, creating an intelligence fusion cell that had grown to be a thorn in Hezbollah’s side. Actually, a thorn in everyone’s side, from the Sunnis to the Israelis. Very, very effective-and nonpartisan. Why the soldier was now working with Hezbollah was a mystery. It raised the hair on his neck. His paymasters may not care, but he wanted to know what he was getting into.

The Druze finally left Avenue de Paris, cutting down to the Riviera Hotel, then hanging a left, going into the tunnel underneath the highway to the hotel’s beach club, a popular tourist attraction on the coast, with multiple bars, pools, and beachfront property.

He wandered around for a moment as if looking for something, then settled onto a stool at a bar, with a view of the entrance to the resort. He ordered a drink and seemed to be just killing time.

Infidel took a seat behind him, on a chair underneath an umbrella, his back to the ocean. He settled down to wait, but it didn’t take long before he saw activity.

A Caucasian came through the entrance and scanned the area. The assassin recognized him immediately, not believing what he was seeing. His stomach clenched in unfamiliar fear.

What the fuck is he doing here?

I entered the Riviera Beach Club thirty-five minutes before the meeting I’d set with Samir. I wanted some time to check out the area, find any vantage points or entrances I’d missed to locate any surveillance that might be following him. I’d given Samir a specific route, then dropped Jennifer off at the tunnel on the Corniche, a chokepoint that was ideal to see if someone was on his tail. Her location would give a good five minutes before he came within view. If she called me, I’d simply disappear.

I glanced around the area, then did a double take. Samir was sitting at the bar.

I stalked over to him, fuming.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I come in first. You follow. Did you forget that?”

He held his hands up. “Whoa. Calm down. I was in the area early and didn’t feel like sitting on a park bench downtown. You’re paranoid. Nobody’s following me. This isn’t the civil war.”

I sat down on the barstool next to him. “You’d better hope not, or we’re both getting our heads cut off.” I then looked into his eyes. “Unless you’re protected and serving me up.”

“Pike, trust me, I’m the one on the inside. This is my country, and I would never put you in jeopardy. I did what you asked and got some information. You were right. You want to hear it, or walk away?”

I grimaced, wanting to punch him, but said, “Give it to me.”

“There’s a meeting planned in Sidon. It’s between a couple of Sunni Palestinian groups and supposedly about the financing of Palestinian efforts with no specific targets. The same stuff that goes on all the time. My contacts have heard that they’re going to talk about a general planning of attacks inside Israel. They’re now worried that they’re discussing an attack against the envoy from America, here in Beirut. They want to stop it, if that’s the case.”

“Okay. Great. Go stop it.”

“Come on, Pike. How many gunfights have you heard since you’ve been here? You think we can just run in and shoot everyone like it’s the Old West? They can’t simply ‘stop’ it, like you say. It’s just a meeting between men, and we still have some semblance of law here.”

“Okay, fine. What can you help me with? Where’s the meeting?”

“I don’t have the address yet, but it’s coming. I do know it’s not in the camps. The meeting is being held in neutral territory in the city proper. Apparently, the two groups don’t trust each other, and, as you know, any territory in the camps is owned by some militia. Even given that, more than likely none of my contacts will be able to get close. It’s a Sunni area, and you’d be surprised at how quickly they can sniff out another sect.”

“Including Druze, I suppose.”

“Uhh…well…yeah. That’s where I’m going.”

“Why can I get in and you cannot?”

“I don’t know you can, but you have a greater chance than me or my contacts do. We smell, look, and act Lebanese, but we don’t belong in Sidon. The city is not like Beirut. It’s much, much more conservative, but if they want to meet in neutral territory, it probably means in an area full of people like you to prevent any overt attack. You don’t belong in Sidon either, but you have a reason for it, as a tourist. You have a good shot at getting what we want.”

I considered what he said, knowing it would be very, very dangerous. He saw me thinking and thought my resolve was faltering.

“We can’t get into the site, but we’ll be there on the outside. Providing security.”

That didn’t give me any confidence.

“Who? A bunch of lunatics who would just as soon cut off my head?”

He smiled. “No, no. My men. Druze. They have no other allegiance than to me. They will do what I say.”

“Are they any good?”

“Just as good as me. I trained them. And you trained me.”

I threw down the toothpick I was playing with.

“Well, that doesn’t give me any assurance. Today, you fucking ignored all of that training.”

He held his arms out and smiled. “Today there was no threat.”

14

Twenty-four hours later I was walking north along a tight little street in the port town of Sidon, about forty minutes south of Beirut. I carried an ancient laptop in a shoulder bag like an itinerant poet looking for the perfect setting to get in touch with my feelings.

The meeting was scheduled in thirty minutes, at eight P.M., and I was scoping the area before setting up in the chosen meet site, a large khan set next to the ocean. I reached the coast road and could see an ancient stone castle out in the water, at the end of a causeway, an old relic from the Crusades. Pretending to take in the view, I analyzed the daily rhythms of life. Nothing stood out. I knew that Jennifer, along with Samir’s little posse, was establishing surveillance positions around the cafe and would warn me if something looked dirty. I didn’t trust Samir’s crew, but I sure as shit trusted Jennifer.

I walked across the coast road, seeing my destination, a large cafe with both inside and outside seating. From Samir’s sources, the meeting would take place at the northeast corner, at the farthest table inside. I would set up early at the next table, happily typing away on my laptop, the hippie backpacker engrossed in the simple life of Sidon, sucking down espresso.

The laptop was actually nothing more than a camera housed in the shell of a computer. It had video capability both on the front and back of the screen, which meant I could set up facing the table or with my back to the meeting.

Samir had gotten the camera from his contacts and shown me how to use it, proud of his ability to get such equipment and eager to prove his contacts wanted to help. I’d stressed to him that after this was all said and done, I was the one walking away with the intel. He could take the computer/camera back to Hezbollah, but not before I had a complete copy of what was on it. Giving Hezbollah the chance to do the dirty work was fine, but if they failed to take action, I wanted the Taskforce to be able to protect American lives. He’d said Hezbollah would have no issue with that-like they were a bunch of schoolmarms simply out to help the illiteracy rate instead of a pack of bloodthirsty, backstabbing murderers.

All in all, the camera itself was pretty simple. A couple of keystrokes to boot up the software, then a couple more to start the recording. The hardest part was aiming the lens, since I wouldn’t have the luxury of seeing what I was taping at crunch time. After about an hour of practice, I was pretty good at it. The worst thing about the system wasn’t the skill required. It was the weight. The damn laptop felt like I was hiking around with an anchor on my shoulder. Hezbollah might be a powerhouse here, but they were still third-world when it came to covert equipment.

I set up in the cafe, taking note of the patrons around me. Some of them, without a doubt, were security for