Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  As dinner began, Jack glanced across the table. Nadim, acting pleasant and charming, was trying to talk to the woman in the gray suit, but she turned to the other side. All of her attention was directed to the French finance minister. A couple of times during the first course, Jack made an effort to call across the table to Nadim to engage him in conversation, but the Syrian ignored Jack. By default, Nadim was talking to the wife of the finance minister, who seemed charmed by the dashing military man from the Middle East speaking perfect French. "Didn't we own Syria once?" Jack heard her ask Nadim.

  The Syrian smiled and replied, "Once you owned lots of things."

  This is turning out to be a total disaster, Jack thought, feeling despondent. This evening was a stupid idea. Either that or I'm too much of a dunce to pull it off. He felt even more miserable when he thought of facing Avi tomorrow and letting him know how hopelessly he had struck out.

  He decided to stop eavesdropping, forget about Nadim, enjoy the wines, and talk to the people on either side of him. One was a woman who was a food and wine critic from Figaro. The other was a man, based in London, who owned one of the largest wine-importing businesses in the U.K.

  There were a series of speeches after each course, and the attendees evaluated the wines on written sheets. In the middle of the speeches after the lamb, the woman in the gray suit got up to go to the ladies' room. Jack watched Nadim leering at her while she turned away from him. Suddenly he had an idea. Nadim obviously wasn't involved with the bimbo. But what about the woman in the gray Valentino suit? There was definitely something between her and Nadim. Whatever it was might hold the key to getting access to Nadim.

  Jack waited until she was on her way back to the dining room to make his move. Then he headed toward the men's room, also in front of the restaurant.

  His timing was perfect. Their paths crossed at the entrance to the second dining room. He stopped and stared at her, making sure he had her attention.

  "Say, don't I know you?" he asked.

  She stood still and looked at him. "I don't think so." The aroma of her perfume, lavishly applied, aroused his senses.

  "Joy, isn't it?" he asked.

  She seemed surprised. "You have a good nose."

  "I'd say that's de rigueur for the wine business. Wouldn't you agree?" She smiled. It was a warm smile with a hint of mystery, of the exotic.

  "What's so funny?" he asked.

  "Only an American would use a term like that in this context."

  "Good guess. My being an American," Jack said.

  "Actually your accent gave it away."

  He shrugged. "I'm not trying to pass for something I'm not."

  "But that's not true," she said.

  Her words alarmed Jack. How could she know he was lying? "What do you mean?" he asked seriously.

  The sparkle in her eyes let him know she was jesting with him. "We're all trying to be someone we're not. Rich. Smart. Honest. Depending on our situation. That's life."

  "I'm an American from New York in the wine-export business. Jack's my name," he said. Then he held out his hand.

  She made no effort to shake it. Instead she laughed.

  "What's so funny?" Jack asked.

  "Shaking hands is such an American custom. You're in France now."

  "So what should I do?"

  She gave him that mysterious smile again. "Kiss me on each cheek."

  Jack did as he was told. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nadim glaring at him with jealousy.

  "My name's Layla," she said.

  She pushed her hair back behind her ear. Then she reached into her small black leather purse and extracted a business card, which she handed to him. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He glanced at it. It read: Layla Gemayel, vice president, Euro Swiss Bank (ESB).

  "That's not a French name. Where are you from?"

  "I get to ask the personal questions. I don't answer them."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Then tell me what's a bank vice president doing here?"

  "My specialty is loans to businesses in the wine industry," she said. As she spoke, she looked directly at him, deep into his eyes, making him feel that he was the only one in the world who mattered. He couldn't recall any other woman doing that. "Lately there's been a great deal of expansion in Bordeaux. We're providing the financing for quite a few of those."

  That was the opening Jack wanted.

  "I'm thinking of expanding myself. I've already spoken to a couple of lending institutions."

  She eyed him suspiciously. "Well, that's quite a coincidence."

  Layla was smart. His guess was that she didn't believe him, but he didn't care. It was still a good way to get a foot in the door. He waited to see if she'd slam it.

  She didn't. "Give me a call," she said, "if you want to talk." She smiled at him.

  God, she has a great smile, he thought. Pure white teeth against light olive skin. Her face reminded him of a fourth-generation Israeli woman he had once dated.

  "About money, I mean," she added, letting the ambiguity hang in the air as she moved back to her seat.

  Now suddenly Jack had Nadim's attention. The Syrian bored into him with dark brown eyes, a menacing scowl on his face.

  Waiters served the cheese course and the third flight of wines. Nadim made another effort to talk to Layla. Jack watched her turn and give Nadim the back of her head.

  As soon as the speeches following the cheese course began, Layla stood up. Without saying a word to anyone, she walked swiftly across the two rooms toward the front door. Jack watched Nadim to see if the Syrian tried to cut her off. Jack was planning to block Nadim if he did that.

  Nadim never moved. Instead he kept his eyes riveted on Jack. Jack was the one at risk, not Layla.

  A minute later, when Nadim turned back to the wife of the French finance minister, Jack considered that his cue. He calmly walked toward the front door, planning to call and thank Hubert and Monsieur Pierre tomorrow.

  Stepping outside of the restaurant, Jack looked around. He saw Layla climb into the backseat of a chauffeur-driven black Jaguar. Her skirt had hiked up and he saw lots of very shapely leg. She didn't wave to him. He didn't know whether she saw him or not.

  Once the Jaguar pulled away, Jack signaled to a passing cab. At the curb, before getting inside, Jack glanced over his shoulder at the front door of L'Ambroise. He had no intention of being intimidated by Nadim. He was feeling heady and excited from the events of the evening. He would have welcomed the Syrian's racing out of the restaurant to confront him.

  It didn't happen. The door remained closed. Jack gave the cabdriver his address.

  As the cab raced across the deserted streets of Paris at breakneck speed, Jack didn't feel tired despite the hour and the large quantity of wine he had consumed. The evening had been more stimulating than any he could recall, but it was rapidly becoming a jumble in his mind. Trying to get close to Nadim was a challenge. But Layla was something else: an intelligent, clever, witty woman who would have captivated him even if she weren't a way of getting at Nadim. He would want to know her better regardless of whether Nadim was pursuing her. At least, that was what he had thought in the restaurant. Now, as the scent of her Joy faded, he wasn't sure what he thought.

  * * *

  The taxi dropped Jack in front of his building. Looking up from the street at his apartment on the fourth floor, he pulled back in fear. There were lights on in the front living room. Jack was certain he had turned them all off. He had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Had he infuriated Nadim so much that the Syrian had sent some of his men to teach Jack a lesson for interfering with Nadim's effort at a romantic conquest with Layla? That was certainly possible for the Butcher of Beirut. Another possibility was that Daniel Moreau was waiting for Jack with a couple of SDECE agents.

  Jack didn't know which of the two possibilities he liked least. One thing was clear: He was very vulnerable. He didn't have a gun or any other weapon.

&nb
sp; Jack walked swiftly down the street. At the corner he turned right. Once he was out of sight of anyone looking out of the windows of his apartment, he felt safe. He whipped out his phone and dialed Avi's cell.

  "Small problem," he said. "There's someone in my apartment."

  Avi laughed. "Yeah, I'm here waiting for you to come home, and I'm damn tired of reading your old magazines."

  Jack was furious. "I didn't think that was the plan."

  Avi could tell that Jack was angry. He laughed again. "Plans change. I didn't want to have to wait until tomorrow to hear what happened with Nadim. Besides, I haven't broken into an apartment with a sophisticated lock like yours in a long time. I'm so rusty that it was a challenge."

  "Oh, fuck you."

  "Stop pretending you're angry and c'mon upstairs. You know damn well that in our business there's no such thing as a private life."

  By the time he reached the apartment, Jack had cooled down. It was Avi's turn to be surprised. "My God. What did you do to your appearance?"

  He told Avi what had happened at his place on Avenue de Messine and about Denis.

  "Smart move," Avi said. "Now join me in having a glass of your Armagnac and tell me what happened this evening." While Jack poured a glass, Avi asked anxiously, "How'd you do with Nadim?"

  "I made one friend tonight. And one enemy."

  Avi locked eyes with Jack. "If you wanted to get my attention, you managed to do that. Tell me about it."

  Jack described what happened at L'Ambroise while Avi listened intently to each word. At the end, Jack handed Layla's card to Avi. Then he continued, "So my theory is that I call this Layla in the morning and make a date with her. It may be a way of getting close to Nadim."

  As Avi studied the card, deep furrows appeared on his forehead. Tension brought out creases in his face. "You liked this woman, didn't you?"

  Jack was defensive. "I don't even know her. Is that what's bothering you?"

  "I wish it were. She's Lebanese. That's what's troublesome."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Gemayel is the name of a Christian Maronite family in Lebanon. They were one of the most powerful until the Syrians took over the country. Also, the ESB is the successor to the Beirut European Bank. It was formed when lots of wealthy Lebanese decided the time had come to move their money out of Lebanon and into Switzerland."

  "So what's all of that mean?" Jack asked.

  Avi shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe nothing." He paused, pondering what to do. He had an idea. "I'll stop at the embassy when I leave here and hook up with someone in Tel Aviv in the Mossad research department. I'll have a bio on her in the morning. Then we can decide whether you should make a call to the woman you described as your new friend."

  Jack bristled and raised his voice. "Jesus, Avi, you make it sound like this is about my love life. The only reason I'm doing this is so we can get a hook into Nadim."

  Avi, who had listened carefully to Jack's intonations when he gave the report, didn't believe what Jack had just said for a minute. "Are you trying to tell me that? Or yourself?"

  "That's not fair."

  Avi raised his hand. "Listen, you're a good-looking, single young man." Avi cracked a tiny smile. "Well, you're good-looking and single, anyway. If you think you can have a little fun and still do the job, I'd be the last to object. I just don't want—"

  Jack interrupted him. "What's the worst case?"

  "The worst case is that you're being set up."

  Jack was puzzled. "Run that by me again."

  "Suppose what Layla and Nadim did this evening was all an act for your benefit. To suck you in. Suppose she's really working with Nadim. This mysterious invitation for Nadim to the wine dinner arrived out of the blue right after the incident in Syria with Yasef. Nadim's shrewd. Like any good intelligence man, he knows never to believe that anything in life is coincidence. Maybe your friend Hubert even sold you out and told Nadim that you were responsible. Suddenly you're a potentially dangerous fish in the water, which you confirm by making repeated efforts to talk to him at the party. He wants to land you. Layla's the bait. You can't wait to get her in your mouth." Avi stopped to chortle at his choice of words in the metaphor. Then he continued: "Once they reel you in, Nadim will cut you open to see what's inside."

  Jack squirmed in his chair. "Do you have to be so graphic?"

  "Well, you asked me about the worst case."

  He thought about Avi's scenario. "There's one thing wrong with your analysis."

  "Yeah. What's that?"

  "There's no love lost between the Syrians and the Maronites."

  "That's true in general. On a personal level between Layla and Nadim..." Avi shrugged. "Who knows? Where men and women are involved, anything's possible. Besides, Nadim and his people in Lebanon may have some control over Layla's family that'll make her do his bidding. Let's face it, the Syrians are in control in her country. Suppose she does work in Paris for Nadim, and her brethren in Beirut get the payoff."

  Avi had made it sound so convincing that Jack couldn't argue. He still didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't be a fool, with what they had at stake. "So what do we do now?"

  "You don't do a thing. You go to bed. I'll get the research people moving. I'll tell them that the information's for you. I had lots of friends in the agency, but others didn't like me because I didn't always blindly follow the party line. They'd love nothing better than to go running to Moshe if they saw my name on something."

  Jack didn't respond. He couldn't get the picture Avi had drawn out of his mind. Was he just a fish, swimming after Layla until Nadim captured and gutted him?

  Chapter 19

  That's my way out of here, Robert McCallister decided. He was standing in his room looking out of the window, pretending to be admiring the scenery. In fact, he was watching a dark green van pull up in front of the villa. The driver climbed out and unloaded boxes with food and other supplies.

  Behind Robert in the room his two guards sat and smoked. This was a ridiculous assignment. The American wasn't going anywhere. They were bored.

  The van had arrived yesterday at about the same time.

  Tomorrow, Robert decided, if I'm outside for exercise at this time, I'll have a chance. Hopefully there will be only two guards watching me. He strained his eyes, studying the layout. The driver of the van's not armed. The gates are open at the end of the driveway while he's on the property.

  To avoid arousing the guards' suspicions, Robert moved away from the window. His mind was still racing as he picked up a copy of Great Expectations. He sat down in a stiff wooden chair with the book open while developing the plan.

  I have to assume that the driver leaves the keys in the van—a big assumption, but not unreasonable. When he's in the villa, all I have to do is overpower these two bozos, jump in the truck, and I'm out of here.

  There was one obvious weakness in the plan, Robert realized: He would be unarmed. It wouldn't be easy getting past two soldiers carrying AK-47s.

  He thought about it for a few minutes. Surprise was the key. That was one thing he had going for him. Also, there was no real downside. At the Air Force Academy he had been taught to do risk benefit analysis. Here, the picture-taking session persuaded him that somebody wanted to use him as part of an exchange. Dead men didn't have any value. So he didn't have to worry about them killing him if he tried to escape.

  Once he made up his mind that he would try to break out tomorrow, the adrenaline began flowing. Robert was no longer at the mercy of these people. He was taking matters into his own hands. It was about time he took control of his own destiny.

  * * *

  Jack was astounded as he read the e-mail Avi had brought with him from the embassy. "I can't believe the research people assembled so much information about Layla in a few short hours."

  They were having breakfast in Jack's apartment. He put down the e-mail, got up, and poured them each a cup of coffee. "My God, we practically have a list of every sexual encounter
she's ever had."

  Avi laughed. "Shows what's on your mind."

  "Let's get serious."

  "I was."

  Jack ignored him and began thinking aloud. "She was a child of privilege. Private school in Switzerland."

  "While a civil war raged in her country."

  "And smart. Degree in economics from the Sorbonne. MBA from Harvard."

  "Why don't you get past the personal stuff and go to page two, lover boy?"

  "Knock it off, Avi," Jack said irritably. He flipped over the top sheet and began reading. "Jesus, her bank job's a cover. She's a funnel for money collected from Lebanese expats living around the world, which is being sent back into Lebanon. They're doing what we Jews, the Irish, and lots of other people do."

  "Exactly. They're raising money all around Europe, even in the United States. The problem is, we don't know where the money's going in Lebanon. Our research people are trying to get an answer to that question."

  "So it could be used to rearm the Christian militias in order to force Syria out of Lebanon. If that's the case, she would never be working for Nadim to set me up."

  "Unless, of course, he's holding one of her family members hostage."

  As Jack paused to think about that, Avi continued: "Another possibility is that the money she funnels ends up with the Lebanese government, which is controlled by the Syrians. In that case, she's really on Nadim's payroll, for all practical purposes."

  "Either way you think I'm being set up by Nadim. So I shouldn't call her."

  Avi shook his head. "I didn't say that."

  "What do you really think?"

  "You don't want to know."

  Subconsciously, Jack rolled the e-mail into a tube. He was becoming exasperated. "Yes, I do. Tell me."

  Avi sighed. "Okay, you asked for it. I think you should go out and get laid. That's what I think."

  Jack's face turned beet red. "Very funny."

  "No. I mean it. Go call some Frenchwoman you know, or hire one. After a few hours in the sack, you'll be thinking only with your big head."

  Avi's words stung, but Jack kept his anger in check. Perhaps Avi had a point. Jack's attraction for Layla might be coloring his thinking.