Enemy of Mine

We heard nothing but static for four minutes, then a clear break.

“Prometheus, Prometheus, this is Stork. You got a baby for me to deliver?”

I fired up the IR pointer and began doing slow loops in the sky.

“Roger, Prometheus, got your rope. Stand by. Be on target in ten minutes.”

That was the call to release the balloon. I attached two infrared ChemLights to the rope, separated by a hundred feet, then turned on the helium. Within seconds, the rope began to rise in the air.

Ordinarily, the plane would be able to see the line in daylight, driving right into it and capturing the rope with a special little “V” attachment in the nose. Since nothing was easy enough for the Taskforce, we did the capture at night, blacked out, which called for the pilot to literally find the two IR ChemLights while wearing night observation goggles and steer his nose toward them, keeping one high and one low, hoping to snag the line.

There was one other difference the Taskforce had to heighten the adventure. The old MC-130s used to have a cable running from the nose to the outside edge of the wings to protect the propellers if the pilot missed the rope, in effect preventing it from snarling in an engine. Since that setup would look decidedly strange on a “commercial” airplane, we didn’t use it. Scary shit I would never do. Taskforce pilots were borderline insane.

We waited, getting no indication the plane was approaching, since all lights had been dashed and it was now diving from a commercial altitude to eight hundred feet. I kept my eye on the two passengers, making sure they didn’t do anything stupid like try to jump up and run. We didn’t flex-cuff them for the same reason we didn’t give them a drug that would make them unconscious; if something went wrong, we wanted them to be at least somewhat capable of helping to save their lives.

Out of nowhere, I heard the four engines of the L100, a stretch, commercial version of the venerable C-130 cargo plane. It raced overhead, and I watched the terrorists, knowing what was coming.

Two seconds later, they were ripped from the ground and flying out of sight. It looked violent as hell, but I knew from experience it had less of a shock than a simple parachute opening.

I waited for the radio call, not wanting to go racing through the desert for a crashed airplane towing terrorists. The stereo crackled, and I relaxed from what came out.

“Prometheus, this is Stork. Baby’s in the crib, and we’re moving to delivery.”

We high-fived for a moment, then packed up. Shortly, I was back in the tomb with Jennifer, only she was now in the passenger seat. We went for ten minutes, the silence getting so dense it was like cotton in the cab, surrounding us both and starting to smother. Eventually, she broke it.

“Do you think letting Lucas go is right?”

What is the damn fascination with him? She couldn’t stand the way I acted in Bosnia when I captured him, now she wishes I’d smoked him when I had the chance?

I turned, seeing her face illuminated by the lights of the dash. “Jennifer, what’s going on? Why do you keep asking about him?”

She paused, then said, “Nothing. I was just wondering.”

“Bullshit. You remember on the boat, when you said you could read me? You were right, but it works both ways. Nobody else sees it, but I do. Tell me what’s going on.”

She stared at me for a moment, then snaked her hand over mine on the bench seat. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay…I’m ready. I think.”

“It’s personal. You can’t tell anyone else. I mean that.”

What the hell?

“Yeah, sure. You going to let me in on a big secret? I’m finally getting to see the real Jennifer or something?”

She said nothing, and I saw her eyes tear up. Holy shit. What is going on?

“Lucas…Lucas did something. Something I want you to know about.”

I waited, only hearing sniffles, finally saying, “What?”

When she looked up, her eyes were still wet, but clear, and her voice was now firm. “You know what. He murdered Ethan. Slaughtered his whole family. We need to get him. We shouldn’t let it go.”

The change in tone raised a flag. She’d known about Ethan and his family when I had Lucas in Bosnia. Why get bloodthirsty now?

“Jennifer, you heard the boss. The Taskforce isn’t going to do anything about it unless he becomes a threat to national security. We don’t chase murderers.”

“I’m not talking about the Taskforce. I’m talking about us.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

She reached into a pocket of her pants and brought out a card. An ID of some sort. She said, “Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Please.”

I did so, getting a radio call from Knuckles behind me. I told him we were fine and to continue on. He protested, and I barked at him. He slowly disappeared ahead of us. Jennifer turned on the dome light and handed me the card.

It was my friend’s driver’s license. Ethan, with that same goofy grin. Now gone, tortured to death by Lucas. The picture caused a spike of anger at his loss.

She said, “I found that in Lucas’s luggage, along with other things from people he’s killed. I also found out where he’s going and what hotel he’ll be staying in. We can do this.”

I wanted to. It felt right. But I knew it wouldn’t work.

“Jennifer, I’m with you, but Lucas knows both you and me on sight. There’s no way we can get this done. He’s a hard target, not like some of the losers you’ve seen us take down. Shit, just look at what he did in Dubai.”

She said, “So convince the team. They’ll listen to you. They’ll help.”

“Why? Why do you want this so much now?”

She looked out the window at the stars, saying nothing. I was about to ask again when she said, “I realize this isn’t like me, but I knew Ethan. I caused his death by showing up at his house. The ID made it real. And I need to make it right.”

I looked at the license again, seeing Ethan alive in my mind’s eye, then running through implications of a nonsanctioned hit. The logistics involved, and the repercussions. I thought we could do it, but only a DOA mission. There would be no way to exfiltrate a live prisoner, and no one to transfer him to if we could. I knew that would end the operation for Jennifer. Her sense of fair play wouldn’t allow it, but I’d let her come to that conclusion.

“Okay. I’ll talk to the team. See if they’ll go along, but we’re going to be limited on our options. We’ll have no support team to take custody.”

“I get that. I understand.”

“Well, what do you want to do with Lucas when we find him?”

She locked eyes with me, her teeth clenched together, the muscles in her jaw vibrating.

“I want you to fucking kill him.”

65

Lucas Kane searched one more news story just to be sure and read the same results with a sense of relief. The peace conference in Qatar was going ahead as scheduled. Which meant the money transfer would go ahead as well.

When he’d arrived yesterday afternoon the news had been full of reports about the “failure” of one of the Burj Khalifa’s elevators, with sensational stories about the excruciatingly protracted length of time the people floated inside, knowing they were going to die, screaming all the way down until they impacted at terminal velocity with the force of an out-of-control freight train.

The fact the sheikh of Dubai and the United States Middle East envoy were in the building made it that much more salacious, with newscasters breathlessly repeating what little they knew over and over again, adding nothing