Enemy of Mine

by Brad Taylor

  Shit. Strike three.

  Instead of fear, Lucas felt disappointment. His mission had just become much harder to accomplish.

  He said, “I suppose we’re now waiting on your friend.” The contact’s face went white, his hand shaking so much the barrel of the revolver twitched. “I know about you. I was told of your skills. Get in the back. Now.”

  Lucas said, “They’re lying. I had nothing to do with any Hezbollah deaths.”

  The man gripped the pistol with both hands, attempting to stop his tremors. “I didn’t say anything about Hezbollah deaths. Get in back.” Lucas did so, before the man cocked the hammer to punctuate his request. As it was, the revolver was in double-action mode, which meant a heavy trigger pull and little chance the contact would accidentally fire the weapon in his nervous state. With the hammer back, the trigger became much, much lighter. Something Lucas didn’t want as he waited for the gorilla friend. He needed to kill them both. They waited in silence for thirty seconds, then the chubby man entered the back of the van, leading with a semiautomatic pistol. The contact exhaled his pent-up breath and said something in Arabic. The gorilla answered, then turned to Lucas.

  “Abu Aziz wants you killed slowly, and after he told me what you did, I can’t wait to get started.”

  Lucas took the sentence as a good omen, as he had assumed they meant to kill him right here. It would give him time to think. The gorilla pointed the pistol directly at his face and barked at the contact. Lucas heard the ignition turn over, focusing on the weapon inches from his nose. It was an old Colt 1911, and Lucas found it ironic that he was being threatened by the distinctly American armament. The van began to move, and he noticed the hammer was down on this pistol as well. The opportunity popped in his head immediately. Unlike the revolver, the Colt was single-action. Meaning it couldn’t be fired with the hammer down at all. It was nothing more than a paperweight.

  Dumbass.

  Lucas’s hands struck like a snake, using the metal of the pistol itself to lock up the joints in the man’s wrist. He rotated violently and heard the wrist crack, then lashed out with an elbow, crunching the Arab’s nose.

  The gorilla bellowed and wrapped his good arm around Lucas’s neck, squeezing with all of his might. Lucas felt his eyes bulge and his windpipe begin to crush. He slammed his head back, but hit only air. He drummed both elbows into the man’s gut, getting little response. He attempted to swim a hand between his neck and the man’s arm, but it was as tight as a python and strong. Very, very strong.

  Dimly, Lucas heard the contact shouting, attempting to drive and aim his revolver at the same time. The pain in his neck was blossoming out, strong enough to overshadow the lack of air. He threw a hammer fist between his legs, connecting with the man’s genitals, the sweatpants providing no protection. The man jerked, and Lucas felt the air return.

  He snaked his hand low again and closed his fingers like a claw on the man’s penis and testicles, attempting to rip his genitals from his body. He heard a high-pitched shriek, and the arm loosened enough to allow him to snake his other hand underneath it.

  Maintaining his grip on the prized possessions, Lucas rotated under and out of the arm. Like a thing possessed, he used his free hand to pound the man’s face, not stopping until he was on top of the prostrate body and the head was bouncing lifeless with each blow.

  He was rocked forward as the van slammed to a stop. He rose up on his knees and saw the contact scrambling to rotate around, the revolver in one hand. He snatched the driver-side seatbelt, attempting to wrap it around the contact’s neck while he was still in the seat. He missed, catching him across the face. He jerked to the rear, and the contact’s head whipped back over the headrest, forcing him to bow his body out to relieve the strain.

  Lucas kicked the revolver out of his grip and jerked the belt with both hands, bending his spine backward. The contact began to scream, clawing at the belt.

  Lucas leaned in, watching the man’s chest rise and fall, seeing the long neck in front of him, the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. An easy target.

  He cranked the belt a little tighter and leaned in to the contact’s ear. “You said you knew about me. About my skills. And they sent your skinny ass to take me out?”

  The victim’s eyes were huge, wildly rolling around looking for help. Some miracle to salvage his life. His arms ineffectually batted the air, trying to connect with the devil behind. Lucas said, “Time to meet the virgins.”

  He hammered the Adam’s apple with a closed fist. The contact thrashed, his destroyed throat desperately trying to gain life-giving air. Lucas hammered it again. Then again. The contact stopped moving, and Lucas took stock of his status.

  The mission was more than likely screwed. He had no help to pinpoint the Ghost and had lord knows how many men now hunting him. On the other hand, he could probably hire a local to trigger. Pay him simply to tell when the Ghost left. He’d told the contact he had three requirements. He now had a weapon and a van.

  Two out of three ain’t bad.

  47

  T

  he Ghost patted the briefcase and said, “Be very careful with this. The components are not shockproof.”

  Hamid nodded. “I will, don’t worry. Are you sure you can find the maintenance door?”

  “Yes. You said simply exit the mall and walk around the right side of the Burj Khalifa. Find the first stairwell, walk down it, and knock three times.”

  “Yes. I’ll be there. With the detonators and the explosives. Don’t forget your uniform.”

  After settling into Hamid’s flat, the Ghost had spent the remainder of the previous day breaking out the explosives from the computer case and monitor, then constructing the detonators. All that remained was sticking the blasting caps into the explosives, then dialing the detonators into the Burj Khalifa’s WiFi network.

  He’d removed the hawaladar money from the briefcase and built a makeshift nest to protect the delicate electronics of the detonators. The explosives themselves were in a different duffel bag, separated from the blasting caps to prevent a catastrophic event.

  The Ghost said, “I’ll meet you at eleven.”

  “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want my car?”

  “Yes. I want the ability to use multiple methods of travel. I had some issues in Yemen, and there might be someone trying to find me. I don’t want to make it easy on them.”

  He picked up the knapsack containing his money and Hamid’s uniform and left the flat. He reached the ground level and surveyed around him, trying to see if anyone paid undue attention. He saw nothing but men, young and old, hawking their spices. He exited the souk and walked northwest on Al Kabeer Street, paralleling the Dubai Creek, headed to a section of town that sold electronics. He still needed an initiation device, and hoped to find it there. Hitting the first street outside the souk, he moved slowly, as if to get his bearings, but really to take a snapshot of the vehicles parked near the exit. He saw nothing suspicious.

  The coolness of the morning was quickly burning off. In short order, he was sweating from the walk. He missed his turn in the congested maze of roads and was forced to backtrack until he reached Al Sabkha Road. Turning north, he walked for two blocks, until the stores on his left and right began advertising cameras, watches, and cell phones. He saw a sign for electronic security and entered a tiny mall, seeing the store in the back corner.

  The shop seemed to specialize in alarms and surveillance cameras, but might have what he needed. He looked around the aisles for a few minutes, and then simply asked a clerk.

  “I wish to purchase an IMSI grabber for cell phones. Do you sell them?”

  “Yes, but only to government or the police. I can’t sell them to people off the street.”

  “I need one that operates on batteries. It must have a life span of at least four hours, but doesn’t need to do anything fancy. It must simply register the cell phone numbers and hold the phone. The only thing I need is an alarm when an identified number appears
.”

  “I just told you I can’t sell you the device. Sorry.”

  The Ghost leaned closer and opened his knapsack, showing the clerk a large wad of dinars. “I will pay you handsomely. Both for the device and for the service you provide in selling it to me.”

  The clerk glanced to the front door, then back at the knapsack.

  “It will cost you a lot of money. I’m supposed to register the sale, and I will be taking a risk.”

  The Ghost simply nodded. The clerk made up his mind and locked the front door, turning around the “open” sign.

  He went in the back and came out with a container a little bigger than a shoebox. He opened it, showing the Ghost the device.

  “This has a range of about one hundred meters in the open. Of course, it will be much less with walls or other things in the way.”

  He spent the next few minutes demonstrating the workings of the device, showing him the battery indicator, the alarm settings, and the basic operations. The Ghost listened for a little bit, then said, “I can get the rest from the manual. I need two more.”

  “Three? Why on earth do you need three?”

  “I have three locations. It isn’t your concern.”

  The clerk hesitated, weighing the risk. The Ghost dropped the bundle of dinars on the counter.

  “Get them.”

  Twenty minutes later he was back on the street, looking for a drygoods store. He found one and bought four scrub brushes, the metal bristles three inches long and mated to a steel handle. He stepped out and caught a cab.

  When he arrived at the Dubai Mall, he immediately searched for a restroom. He changed into Hamid’s Burj Khalifa maintenance uniform and exited the mall on the south side, walking around the manmade lake until he reached the parking garage. The sidewalk ended, putting him in the drive for the mall itself. Following Hamid’s directions, he continued around, keeping the Burj Khalifa to his left, towering over him like a giant metal obelisk.

  He reached the stairwell just as a white-panel van came up the drive, forcing him to hop on the curb. He turned into the stairwell and did a double take. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed the van driving toward the garage was the same one that had been outside the souk when he initially left. After Yemen, his survival instincts had become hyperaware, and the van sent a subconscious alarm into his primal core.

  He watched it disappear, seeing a Caucasian male in the passenger seat. He continued down to the door, reflecting on its importance. Odds were it was nothing, but he didn’t like playing the odds. He hadn’t seen the driver, but if it was following him, it would be from Hezbollah. He couldn’t afford to discount it even if it was a Westerner.

  He banged the door three times and stepped back. Hamid opened and smiled.

  “The building is yours. The observation deck elevators are at the hundred and twenty-fourth floor, like you asked.”

  “How long before they are used?”

  “The first tour is at one p.m., so you have two hours.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  They took a service elevator with the first button marked 100. It took a full minute to reach that level. From there, they took the stairs to the 125th floor, and the maintenance room for the observation deck elevators. The Ghost left Hamid outside for early warning and entered alone.

  He had done quite a bit of research on elevators in the past twentyfour hours and knew exactly what he was looking for. He needed to intercept two things—the cables holding up the elevator and the brake system that would cause it to stop if the cables failed. The bank of elevators to the observation deck consisted of two double-deck Otis systems. Two targets that the envoy would have to use, a chokepoint that would cause his death. The only other way up to the observation deck was the stairs.

  He immediately moved to the roof of the first, nestled at the top with the edge of the elevator level to the shelf left and right. The cables from the elevator roof attached to the pulley above with a space of a few feet between them. He broke out the explosives, already configured to cut steel.

  Both elevators had five cables, all able to support the suspended weight of the cars by themselves. He would have to cut all five. He affixed two small charges to each cable, slightly offset, one high, one low. When detonated, the opposite charges would cause a cutting effect and sever the cable. The trick was ensuring that the subsequent explosions to the cables left and right didn’t counteract the very cutting he sought to achieve. Fortunately, he had plenty of cable to work with to ensure success.

  Within ten minutes, he had the basics of destruction in place. He then attached the WiFi detonator, but did not attach the blasting caps, leaving them dangling from the detonator like the legs of a spider. The detonators themselves were inert, waiting on a wireless signal to arm. Dropping to the top of the elevator, he pulled out the brushes he had purchased. He affixed one to the roof of the elevator, hanging out into the four-inch gap between the elevator and the well. He placed the second brush to the shelf of the well itself, until the bristles touched across the gap.

  He then pulled out the IMSI grabber and set it on the roof of the elevator. Before he forgot, he turned off his cell phone. He attached a micro USB cable from the download hub of the grabber, then cut off the female end, exposing bare wire. He attached the wire to the steel of the brush on the elevator. He then jumped across the well, placed the WiFi transmitter for the detonators on the shelf, and cut the USB cable for it as well, splicing it into the brush on the far side.

  When he was complete, he typed his cell phone number into the IMSI grabber alarm function, and powered it up, waiting a minute until it was operational. He saw it sucking in numbers from all over the building.

  Having been on the receiving end of cell phone compromises in Lebanon, he’d made a concerted effort to understand their function. He knew that all cell phones constantly look for the tower with the greatest signal strength, switching back and forth seamlessly to the user. It was a distinctly modern weakness that he intended to exploit.

  The IMSI grabber acted like a miniature cell tower, causing any cell phones in range to register with it. Used by law enforcement—and other unsavory types—to collate data and potentially listen in to cell conversations, it would lock up any cell phone in range, rendering the phone useless. In this case, it would also trigger the explosives. All the Ghost had to do was input the envoy’s number into the grabber, once he found it.

  He turned on his cell phone. Within seconds, his number appeared in the IMSI grabber, the phone duped into thinking it was the closest tower. A red LED lit up, signaling the alarm. He looked at the WiFi transmitter and saw a green LED. The detonator on the cables lit up as well, calmly blinking on and off. The connection worked.

  Now, had he inserted the blasting caps, the system would be armed. When the elevator began to lower again, the connection between the brushes would be broken, and the explosives would go off—sending the envoy to his demise in a terrifying free fall.

  He smiled at the thought. At the ingenuity of the plan. The grisly death would be perfect for propaganda. To show the world the might of the Palestinian people, no matter the ridiculous attempts at peace going on.

  He reset the IMSI grabber, zeroing out his phone number. He saw the green LEDs shut off and inserted the blasting caps.

  In twenty-four minutes the second elevator was rigged exactly like the first. He had no idea which elevator the envoy would be in and wanted to ensure both fell to their doom.

  Finished with the primary, he searched for the brake cable of both elevators. Without cutting them, the elevator would fall for about a floor, then gradually slow by friction applied to the rails through specially constructed shoes. The brake itself was triggered by the speed of the elevator. If the cable attached to it reached a certain velocity, a flywheel was engaged, causing the brakes to be applied.

  For the first time, he noticed no other cable. The brake should have been on the side, away from the main cables holding the weight
of the elevator itself, but there was nothing. He made a concerted search and came up dry.

  He exited the room, finding Hamid nervously talking to a businessman from one of the upper-floor suites. He waited until the man walked away, then approached. Hamid was sweating profusely, his skin sickly white.

  “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. He simply wanted to report a faulty bathroom.”

  The Ghost realized Hamid had no stomach for the work. He regretted showing his hand with the elevators, knowing Hamid would spill his guts if captured. He’s not a fighter. I shouldn’t have placed so much on him. It sank home that he needed to eliminate the weakness. Get rid of the link that would cause failure. He looked at Hamid’s wilted face, slightly panting, and knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. What was to come was to come. He didn’t have it in him to kill his friend and wished he had not drawn on him for help. Wished he’d used Hezbollah contacts instead, even given the risk.

  “Where is the brake cable for the elevators? I can’t find it.”

  “There is no cable. It’s a new system that works on radar. It’s computer controlled and constantly monitored. A network continuously assesses the speed of the elevator, and if it reaches a certain velocity, it shunts the brakes.”

  “Where is this system?”

  “In the basement we entered.”

  In short order, they were back where they started, with Hamid showing the braking architecture. It consisted of a radar array aimed up into each elevator shaft, reading the speed of the cars, not unlike the radar guns used in a police speed trap.

  The Ghost said, “Can we just shut it off? Disable it?”

  “No. The elevators go through a computerized self-test. If the brake system isn’t in operation, neither is the elevator.”

  The Ghost opened his cell phone, enabled the WiFi feature, and saw he had no signal. Which meant there was no way to initiate explosives down here. He couldn’t slave into the main on the elevators.

  “Where is the last WiFi node? How far does it extend?”