Enemy of Mine

21

Infidel chose to park the car on the outskirts of the Dahiyeh and walk in. He had some equipment within the vehicle that he’d more than likely be leaving behind, and he’d prefer that nobody in Hezbollah saw how he’d arrived.

His summons had been uniquely brusque, and he was fairly certain his Hezbollah paymasters were a little upset at the computer bomb. He hadn’t bothered to ask their permission, but since they were so paranoid anyway, he was sure they’d applaud his initiative. Well, almost sure.

He turned the corner to the cafe and saw three men standing at the entrance-where there was usually one. Not a good sign. He continued on, the only indication of his concern being a subtle caress of a carbon-fiber push dagger hidden parallel to the leather on the inside of his belt. A subconscious reassurance that he wasn’t without some means of self-defense.

He reached the men and smiled, holding out his backpack to be searched. Instead, the men motioned for him to raise his arms. He did so and was subjected to a thorough pat-down, while his backpack was ripped apart.

That had never happened before either. He assumed that he was being punished for his little handiwork and not yet actively suspected of anything. Although with Hezbollah, you never knew. They were as paranoid as the Nazi faithful at the end of World War II, seeing assassins in the shadows everywhere. Being paid as an assassin probably didn’t help his image. Especially with the call sign Infidel.

The search finished, he entered the coffee shop, finding it empty. A man followed him in and nudged him forward with the barrel of a rifle. He thought about resisting, but didn’t. It crossed his mind that he might remain compliant right up until they put a bullet in his head. How far was too far? Where was the line when he would need to fight back? Impossible to know. Seeing a stairwell at the back of the cafe, he wondered if he’d already crossed it.

He paused for a second, knowing if he entered the stairwell there was really no turning back. He’d be trapped by a man with a gun inside a shooting funnel. The man nudged him again, and he started to climb.

Reaching the top, he saw Majid and Ja’far at a table, both looking at him sternly. Almost comically. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

“You two upset about something? What’s with all the new security?”

Majid motioned to a chair. “Please. Sit down. We have something to discuss with you about your latest assignment. And the one before.”

He sat, the tension coming back at the last statement. The one before? Something go bad with the investigator? He knew the rules of the game. He’d seen what happened to people who were no longer useful. In 2005, the head of Syrian intelligence in Lebanon had committed “suicide” right after speaking with the U.N. about the Hariri assassination. A valuable asset had become a potential liability overnight, and Syria had liquidated him. The assassin knew he was only as good as his last job. The minute he was a threat, he would be gone.

He decided on the confused approach. “Okay. You’ll have to start, since I have no idea what this is about.”

Majid smiled. “Really? Infidel, we use you because of your skills, not your judgment. We tell you what to do, and you do it. That’s why you’re paid. To do things that we cannot accomplish on our own. Don’t tell me you have no idea. Tell me why.”

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, you can’t be mad about the bombing in Sidon. Is that it? You guys pay me to take care of problems, and that’s exactly what I did. You told me to provide a covert camera to the Druze contact, but you didn’t do any investigation on the asset he was using, did you?”

When Majid and Ja’far said nothing, he felt on more solid ground. He continued. “The asset wasn’t some garbage man. He was a United States intelligence operative. He was setting you up. I recognized him and took him out. Like you pay me to do.”

Majid said, “We didn’t tell you to kill anyone. We wanted to see the outcome of that meeting. Make sure they weren’t doing anything that could harm us. Now, you’ve very likely set us into a fight with the Palestinians in the camps, something we have tried to avoid. You blunder around like every other American, without any understanding of the consequences.”

“Hand me my bag,” he said. Majid nodded to the guard who held it, and the assassin pulled out a digital camera. He flipped to a series of photos and held the camera out. Ja’far took it.

“That man you see with the Druze is Nephilim Logan. He was a U.S. counterterrorist commando. One of the best they had. I know this because he almost killed me a couple of years ago. Now, I’m sure he’s working with the United States against you. That’s why I sent in the bomb. Trust me, he is not your friend, and he deserves to be dead. I’m sorry if the other deaths might cause you issues, but it wasn’t your meeting. You never said protect it. What I did was protect you. Like you pay me to do.”

Majid and Ja’far flipped through the digital stills of the camera, absently looking at the pictures. When they were done, Ja’far spoke. “You have your uses, Infidel, but only so many. You have done us a service until today. Now, the killing of the investigator is gathering interest, and you have compounded that by killing an American intelligence operative. What are we to do with you?”

The assassin blinked. Gathering interest? “What the hell does that mean? The Tribunal hit was magic. No way can anyone connect anything with you guys.”

“No. Not magic. Close, but there were two bodies in the wreckage. The investigator and her boyfriend.”

“Yeah? So fucking what?”

“The boyfriend’s face was fractured. Like he’d been beaten.”

He snorted. “Who gives a shit? They died in a gas explosion. Maybe he was hit by some flying debris. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that people are digging now. Because of who the investigator was. We hired you for no fingerprints, and now there are questions.”

“You don’t have any directed at you. There is no connection to you. You’re clean.”

“You’re wrong. There is a connection. We worry about the future. What will the Sidon attack cause? Who will question that? The Americans?”

The assassin stood, edging toward the door. He knew what that meant; he was the connection. “That group was Palestinian, from the camps. At least that’s what you told me they were. I operated on your intelligence and cut off a threat to your operations. The Americans will look no further than the camps and chalk this up to rival groups. In the end, if there was an assassination plot, it’s dead now. Right? Isn’t that what you were afraid of anyway?”

Ja’far stiffened. “We don’t tell you the details. Only what we want done. And in this case, we wanted a recording. Not death. You may have-”

Majid cut him off with a look, and Infidel knew something more was going on. He now worried about getting out of the room alive. He backed toward the door.

“I’m sorry if I did anything to harm your interests. You know that’s not what I do. I’ve shown you my skill. I understand you’re upset, so let’s call the last payment you owe me null and void. We’re even. Okay?”

Majid laughed. “You Americans. It’s always about the money. We don’t care about that. If we wanted to kill you, we would do so right now-regardless of the money.”

Infidel waited, ready to pull the carbon-fiber blade. Now was the go or no-go moment.

“Don’t look so worried. You can go. We just want you to be aware of our concerns. If we are to continue, you need to be more attuned to our needs.”

Ja’far smiled. “Or more attuned to your final wishes.”

Infidel smiled back, a weak grin that made him feel foolish. The guard at the door with the AK-47 saw his trepidation and grinned as well, enjoying the feeling of superiority. The bully in the room liking his torment.

He left down the stairwell in controlled haste. When he reached the bottom, he was followed by the two men who had remained in the cafe. He paid them no outward mind, but caressed his carbon-fiber lucky charm again.

They followed him all the way out of the Dahiyeh. When he hailed a cab, they