Enemy of Mine

No sooner had he stepped away from his vehicle than an enforcer carrying a radio approached him. The usual young jihadi with something to prove, a strong beard, and a stronger attitude. The Ghost knew the type, and, although it disgusted him, he also knew he was at the man’s mercy. This was the last place on earth he, a Palestinian Sunni, should raise a ruckus if he wanted to live.

“What do you want?”

The Ghost went into supplication mode, knowing his frail-looking physique would help.

“I’m supposed to meet someone at a coffee shop, but I’m having trouble finding it.”

He gave the name of the shop, along with the names of the men he was to meet. Immediately, the man’s posture changed. He turned and barked into a radio. When he returned, he was polite.

“This way. They are waiting.”

The guard led him through an alley, glancing back to make sure the Ghost followed. Possibly trying to figure out why this frail Palestinian was meeting the top tier of Hezbollah’s military wing. He didn’t care. He’d long since given up on posturing, letting his actions speak for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that, should things get dangerous, he had an even chance of living to see tomorrow, and a fifty-fifty chance was better than most of the odds he had faced. It would mean he would have to kill this man-boy, but he’d be able to do it.

Unlike the schoolyard fights he’d lost as a kid, where the ultimate victory was the bully shoving his face into some offal, this would mean death, and every human, no matter how tough in a simple fistfight, was at heart a frail beast when the object was killing. No armor, no fangs, no poison. A pathetic sack of flesh with a multitude of vulnerable points. If one knew where to strike.

As in the past, his physique gave his Hezbollah guide enough confidence to let down his guard, which would be his undoing, should it be necessary. Unlike the toughs on the street, he’d been in the cauldron. Killed with all manner of weapons, including none at all.

7

Knuckles gunned the engine to get out of the kill zone, ignoring the questions coming through his earpiece. When there was a break in the radio traffic from Blaine, he simply said, “Stand by,” and switched from the command to the operational net, giving everyone else the situation as he knew it, and further instructions. “Johnny, collapse on the house. The girl’s the new target. Decoy, set up a trigger for Johnny’s team. Follow the girl. She’s going to meet up with Crusty.”

Retro had his knee in the back of the guy they’d ripped off the moped, going through his pockets. He pulled out a cell phone, and rapidly found the last-called number, reading it out to Knuckles.

Back on command net, Knuckles gave an abbreviated SITREP. Before Blaine could ask a question, Knuckles said, “Got a number I need a lock on. And I mean now.”

Knuckles waited, knowing that Blaine was pulling his hair out, wanting to cut the whole mission, but also knowing he wouldn’t do it with a chance of success. Although that success was now looking pretty damn slim.

After a pause, Blaine said, “Give it to me.”

Yes. Knuckles read it off and gave his location.

While it was being run, Blaine said, “What’s your heat state?”

“Probably pretty bad, but nothing overt as far as I can see. Why?”

“I’m thinking we don’t push this. We pull back and wait for him to surface.”

“Sir, he knew he was being hunted. It was a pretty elaborate ruse. We need to get him now, and not just because he’s a terrorist. We can’t let him talk to anyone else. We still have a thread in the girl, and maybe the phone.”

“You know he tossed that phone the minute the moped guy said he was going down.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. And we have the girl. Get Birdseye in the air.”

The entire force was in Tunisia ostensibly conducting geographic surveys in the El Borma oil fields near the border with Algeria. As such, they had a Piper Navajo aircraft with them equipped for “aerial photography” to “facilitate” follow-on seismic surveys. In reality, the bird was specially equipped for man hunting, and included unique optics that might be needed now.

“Save that bullet. If I launch the bird, he’s going to do one lap around the city, then fly to the fields. I can’t have him overhead for any length of time without questions.”

Knuckles silently cursed the restrictions of working under the elaborate covers created by the Taskforce. It made them as inefficient as the terrorists they chased.

Blaine said, “Just sent you the grid for the phone. It’s off now, but last location looks to be right outside the Medina.”

Well, almost as inefficient.

“Roger. We’re on the move.”

“Watch yourself. You hear me? I don’t want you pulling any Pike shit.”

Retro climbed into the front seat, a grin on his face at the reference to his old team leader. He brought up the computer map as Knuckles intersected the P12 highway.

“What’re we doing?”

“We’re going to get that guy one way or the other.”

“So we’re winging shit now?”

“No. Amateurs wing shit. We’re working under pressure.”

Johnny came on the net. “The woman has just entered the Medina. Gonna be tough staying on her in here.”

Match.

The Medina was an ancient shopping area that had been built and rebuilt countless times for more than a thousand years. Surrounded by stone walls that gave it the image of a fortress, it housed a ton of cheap souvenir shops, museums, and mosques, and was literally a maze of cobblestone streets that ran seemingly at random. It was the perfect place to avoid detection. Or pick up on surveillance, since the gate to the Medina was a chokepoint everyone would have to use.

“Stick with her. His last location was just outside. They’re going to meet inside. Does she still have his luggage and computer?”

“Yep. And she’s moving fast.”

“Which gate?”

“The big one. The martyr gate.”

“Watch for countersurveillance through the chokepoint. I don’t think he’ll have any, but so far everything I’ve thought has been wrong.”

“I’ve already got men inside ahead of her. Figured it was prudent.”

Smart man. Making up for the moped mistake. Knuckles pulled into a restaurant parking lot off of the road that paralleled the port and killed the engine. “Good to go. We’ll be about five minutes behind. Coming in through the Jedid gate south of you.”

Retro said, “What about Crusty Two?”

Knuckles glanced back at the man, now flex-cuffed and gagged. “Put him to sleep.”

He waited while Retro cinched the man’s collar into his carotid arteries, causing him to pass out. Knuckles knew he would only remain unconscious for a few minutes, and he hated the thought of leaving the terrorist to his own devices while they were gone. He’d done that once before, and the guy they had captured had escaped.

He didn’t see a choice.

8

They were through the Jedid gate and into the maze, a small knapsack filled with equipment bouncing