Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  During the main course she asked Jack about himself. He took his time responding, pretending he was chewing the tender veal. He liked her a lot. Suddenly he wanted to tell her the truth, but he heard Avi's words from last evening echoing in his brain: You're being set up.

  Avi was objective, and Avi was his friend. He couldn't take the chance. His life was on the line. So he reinvented Jack Cole, telling Layla that he had been born in New York. He had married a woman named Sarah after attending the University of Michigan. He moved back to New York, where he took over his father's wine-importing business, Calvert Wine Importers. "Sarah died five years ago. I have a son and daughter, both grown, and here I am," he said, mimicking her final words.

  They talked easily about Paris and other European cities. She shared his love for music. By the time the cheese course was over, they had finished the 1985 L'Evangile, which was spectacular. Everything about the evening was special, Jack decided. He couldn't remember anyone he had enjoyed talking with as much. He was convinced that she really liked him. From time to time she touched him, placing her hand on top of his. And he felt the same way about her. Then he heard Avi's words pounding in his mind again. He cringed.

  During dessert, a rich chocolate tart, he decided to return to the subject of Nadim. Hoping the wine would loosen her tongue, Jack said, "I didn't like that military guy who was hitting on you last night. He gave me the creeps."

  She had been smiling. With Jack's words, her face turned somber. "You want to keep away from him."

  "Sounds as if you're talking from personal experience."

  She glanced around nervously to make certain no one could hear them. By now, only one of the other tables in the room was occupied, and that by a French couple at the far end. "My family had been part of the ruling class in Lebanon for centuries," she said. "We owned land. We had great wealth, as did most of the other powerful Maronite families. Even during the long civil war and the last big Arab-Israeli war, we hung on."

  "How'd Nadim become involved?"

  She pushed some hair behind her ear. "That was when my uncle Bashir thought he saw a way out of the nightmare by making peace with Israel. Nadim engineered his execution and installed my other uncle, Amin, as the ruler. Once he got away with that, Nadim gave the order to assassinate Maronite leaders who wanted to make peace with Israel or resist Syrian control. My father is a banker. He's still alive in large part because he's stayed out of politics. It isn't easy. Even within the Maronite community, people are split on every issue." She sighed. "It's a real mess."

  "From what you've said, that sounds like an understatement." Jack tried to appear sympathetic.

  "Now you see why I wouldn't talk to Nadim last evening," Layla told him.

  Jack looked at her and nodded. "Absolutely."

  "For some time he's been pursuing me. Nadim's used to getting what he wants, and he wants me. In his bed. He's made that clear. As long as I have it in my power to deny him that, by God, I will." Her eyes blazed with determination to confirm her words.

  Casually, a waiter deposited the check on the table. It was time to leave. Jack gave him a credit card. She pulled one of her own out of her black leather purse. "Please split the check," she told the waiter over Jack's protests. "I'm an independent woman," she declared.

  Jack laughed. "I don't doubt that for a minute."

  As they exited the restaurant, she said, "Do you have a car?"

  "I came in a cab."

  "Where do you live?"

  When Jack told her the neighborhood, she said, "I have a car waiting. Jean Claude will take you home. If you don't mind, he'll drop me first. I'm on the way."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it." In the back of the black Jaguar, she snuggled up next to him. Her apartment was in a high-rent area along the Seine near the Place de l'Alma, close to the Plaza Athenee and Avenue Montaigne, which housed the world's most expensive boutiques. "Well, here we are," she said, as the car slowed to a stop.

  Jack got out first and held the car door for her. Once they were on the sidewalk, he said, "I love how you get in and out of a car. You show lots of gorgeous leg."

  She fluttered her eyes. "Really. I never noticed."

  Jack offered to walk her to her door. "Just to make sure you get in okay."

  She gave him that warm smile of hers. At the door to 6B, the penthouse, she took the key out of her bag and put it in the lock. Then she turned to Jack, lifting her face up toward his. Her coat was open in the front. As he kissed her, she pressed her body close to his. They stayed that way for several minutes.

  Jack was incredibly aroused and caressing her back under her coat. He ran one hand along her leg.

  He pulled his face away and whispered in her ear, "I could come in for a little while."

  She kissed him lightly on each cheek. "I don't do sex on the first date."

  Disappointed, Jack watched her turn the key and open the door. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

  "Having dinner with you, of course."

  "Great. Taillevent at nine. I'll somehow manage to get a reservation."

  "I'll be there."

  "It'll be our second date."

  His eyes followed her until the door was closed.

  Riding down six flights in the elevator, Jack tried to calm himself. He couldn't remember being so excited by a woman in years.

  He stepped out of the front of her building and looked around. The sidewalk was deserted. Still thinking about Layla, he walked toward the waiting Jaguar. Suddenly he heard a rustling behind him and to the left. He wheeled around and stared in that direction. Lurking in the shadows, in the doorway of the next building, was a swarthy-looking man in a leather coat with a thick black mustache. He was watching Jack in a menacing way. Nadim must have sent him, Jack decided.

  Though he was unarmed, Jack stopped moving and stood still, locking eyes with the man, challenging him to attack. When the man made no effort to move, Jack calmly walked toward the Jaguar and climbed into the back. "I'm ready to go, Jean Claude," he said.

  * * *

  "We scored big," Avi said as soon as Jack entered his apartment, sounding excited.

  He didn't feel as if he had scored big, but he didn't tell Avi that. Instead he asked, "What happened?"

  "I heard from Yudi at the embassy a couple of hours ago."

  I must have had too much wine, Jack decided. He couldn't place Yudi in his mind.

  Sensing his bewilderment, Avi explained. "He's my guy at the embassy checking airplane manifests and reservations in and out of Paris for any mention of Nadim."

  Jack remembered what Layla had said about the Syrian. "Where's the bastard going?"

  "Moscow, early tomorrow morning on Air France."

  Jack was startled. "Moscow?"

  "Yeah."

  "What do you make of it?"

  Avi shrugged. "It can't be good for us."

  "Have you told Moshe?"

  Avi nodded. "I called him from the embassy. He'll have a couple of people at the airport to follow Nadim from the time he arrives."

  Jack had been in Moscow last year when Chava had played Katerina in Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. He had been astounded by the traffic and chaos on the roads. "Have you been to Moscow recently?" he asked Avi. "It won't be easy."

  "Shlomo's in charge. He's very good."

  Jack was still worried. "He'll have to be. Getting around in that city's a nightmare. Trying to follow someone will be even worse."

  "Shlomo was born and lived the first twenty years of his life in Moscow. Moshe stationed him there a year ago. Believe me, he knows the city." Avi pointed to the Armagnac. "You want some?"

  A yawn forced itself out of Jack's mouth. "More alcohol's the last thing I need right now."

  "What happened with you?"

  Jack described his evening with Layla and what she said about Nadim. He decided to omit any mention of the man lurking in the shadows next to Layla's building, because he didn't want Avi to discourage him from seeing Layla to
morrow. Also, he rationalized that he was being paranoid. The man had never even tried to approach him. His initial instinct that Nadim had sent the man may have been wrong.

  At the end of his report, Jack said, "So I don't think she's in cahoots with Nadim, trying to set me up. I've established that much."

  Avi's face registered doubt. "You don't know that."

  "C'mon, Nadim's responsible for the death of her uncle Bashir and lots of her Maronite brethren. That's how he earned the title of Butcher of Beirut."

  "True, but he also installed her other uncle, Amin, as the ruler, and he's let her father live. If she doesn't do what Nadim wants, all he has to do is pick up the phone and have someone kill her father. I'm sure that thought has crossed Layla's brilliant little mind."

  Jack was becoming exasperated. "She detests Nadim. She's made that clear to me sixteen different ways. Why would she be working with him?"

  "Suppose it's all an act," Avi said. "Suppose she's willing to tolerate him, but she hates the Israelis. She sees us as her enemy, the people who destroyed her country."

  "But we didn't," Jack protested.

  "People believe what they want to believe. Maybe Nadim's in Layla's bed fucking her right now. Meantime, she's trying to con you, to suck you in."

  "Why?" Jack was raising his voice. "Why would she possibly be doing that?"

  "Suppose Nadim knows you were one of the Israeli spies in Damascus with Yasef. He wants to find out what you learned, and what we're planning to do to block his plan. He figures that if Layla gets close enough to you, then you'll talk to her, because after all she's convinced you that she can't stand Nadim. How's that?"

  When Jack didn't respond, Avi added, "And one more thing. Nadim may be called the Butcher of Beirut, but the man's not just a violent psychopath. He's also extremely smart, shrewd, clever, cunning, or whatever similar adjective you want to use. He spent years being taught by the spy-masters in the KGB. They pulled shit like this all of the time. The Americans and the British often fell for it, which is why the Russians knew so much about what the West was doing."

  Avi's words rocked Jack back on his heels. His face registered amazement and incredulity.

  Avi picked up on it. "Look, my friend, we're on the same side. I'm trying to help you. Besides, I'd just as soon not have to report your demise to Moshe."

  Wide-eyed, Jack stared at Avi. "Jesus, you don't trust anyone. Do you?"

  "That's why I'm still alive, but none of this matters any longer. Layla's in your past. Forget about her. We'll move on with the Moscow trip. Now we have something real and tangible."

  Jack took a deep breath. "I'm seeing her tomorrow night."

  Avi wrinkled up his face. "You've got to be kidding."

  "We may still be able to use her," Jack said stubbornly.

  "I'll give it to you straight, my friend. You don't believe that for a minute. You're being led around by your dick. She's working for Nadim and using you. When they're finished with you, they'll chew you up and spit you out."

  Chapter 22

  Robert McCallister was despondent. All dressed up with no place to go. He had revved himself up emotionally for the escape attempt. His timing was perfect. Immediately after breakfast he had asked if he could exercise.

  Judging from the location of the sun it was about the same time as the last two days when the dark green van had come with the food delivery.

  Under the watchful eye of two guards gripping their AK-47s and moving with him, Robert jogged around the property just inside the heavy stone wall that surrounded the villa.

  After running almost an hour, he gave up. The van wasn't coming.

  Breathing heavily, he stopped running and picked up a bottle of water from a bucket of ice on the porch of the villa. He took one more look around. "Ah, shit," he muttered under his breath. With the two guards behind him, he trudged into the house. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe the van would come then, and he could escape.

  * * *

  Shlomo decided on three teams of two each. Almost as important as following Nadim was avoiding detection. All six Israelis had Nadim's picture.

  Nadim's plane arrived on time at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport. As the Syrian emerged from the customs area and cut swiftly through the arrival hall, two Israelis were walking behind him.

  One of them, Gadi, was on his cell phone, in constant contact with the other teams. "Subject is headed toward the exit for chauffeur-driven cars."

  That was precisely what Shlomo had guessed. He and Eytan were parked in a black Mercedes in a row of waiting limos. Eytan was behind the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. Shlomo was in the backseat.

  "Subject is getting into a gray Mercedes parked near exit door number four," Gadi said. "License plate 167492."

  Shlomo leaned forward in the seat and strained his eyes, watching the other limos. A gray Mercedes pulled away from the curb. Shlomo grabbed his small binoculars from the car seat. The license plate was 167492. "Let's go," he barked to Eytan. "That's the car."

  Shlomo picked up his cell phone. "We're moving. Proceeding toward the highway for Moscow Center. Are you in place, Judah?"

  "Ready to enter the highway at Exit Two when you give the word."

  Eytan followed the gray Mercedes until they reached Exit Two, then he signaled to turn off. "Go," Shlomo told Judah. "Now."

  Judah's Volvo, with a beat-up body and a new engine, moved onto the highway two cars behind the gray Mercedes. "Got him," Judah said.

  Eytan made a loop around the highway exit and returned to the road now well back of the gray Mercedes, moving in the flow of traffic. Team three arrived on the scene in a taxi that had been borrowed for a hefty fee and was speeding down the left side of the highway. It overtook the gray Mercedes. All three of the Israelis' cars were now on the road.

  At the exit for Moscow Center, Nadim's gray Mercedes turned off the highway. The Volvo was still two cars behind, Shlomo's black Mercedes half a mile back.

  For the next ten minutes they moved in that pattern, with the Volvo dropping back a little and moving up. "Let's switch," Shlomo said to Judah. "You turn right and reenter the road in a couple of minutes. We'll move up."

  "Done."

  Shlomo and Eytan were now three car lengths behind Nadim. They rode like that for five more minutes until Nadim's car pulled off the road and parked in front of a grim-looking four-story gray stone building. A high black wrought-iron fence with loops of barbed wire on top encircled the property. Antennae sprouted from the roof like wildflowers in a spring meadow. Half a dozen armed guards, two with German shepherds, patrolled the grounds.

  In the back of the black car, Shlomo trembled. In front of the building, on the fence near the guardhouse, were two small black plaques with gold lettering. One identified the former occupant of the building, the other the current one.

  From the road Shlomo couldn't read the words. He didn't have to. He knew exactly where Nadim was going, and he didn't like it one bit.

  "Hold here," Shlomo said to Eytan. From a distance of forty yards he watched Nadim get out of his car. The Syrian gave a quick look around, then moved with fast, determined steps toward the entrance gate, where they were expecting him. He was passed straight through. Shlomo watched Nadim enter the building. Then he told Eytan, "Drive over to that cafe on the corner and park."

  While Eytan followed the order, Shlomo told the other two units where they were.

  With Eytan in tow, Shlomo walked into the Philadelphia Cafe, which had only a couple of patrons. They sat down at a table next to the window. Unobtrusively, Shlomo parted the grimy black-and-white-checked curtains in order to have a clear view of the entrance to the building with the fence and the gray Mercedes.

  In perfect Russian, because he was a native, he ordered two coffees and some babka.

  Eytan, who had been in Moscow only a month, asked softly, "Do you know what building that is?"

  Shlomo's facial muscles were taut. "Formerly the operations center for KGB special projects. T
hat's a polite way of saying they interrogated people in the basement. It consumed huge quantities of electricity."

  Eytan grimaced. "And now?"

  "Headquarters for Dmitri Suslov Enterprises."

  "I've read about him. He's one of the new Russian big shot industrialists. Isn't he?"

  "More precisely, a thug parading as a big businessman. Isn't Russia a wonderful place?"

  Shlomo whipped out his cell phone and scrolled through the directory until he found what he wanted—the cell phone number of Michael Hanley. The top officials in Jerusalem and Washington could play whatever political games they wanted, but the Israeli and American agents in the field knew they could gain from cooperation. Shlomo regularly had dinner with key CIA agents in Moscow during which they exchanged information about current projects. He knew that Dmitri Suslov was the top priority for Michael.

  "It's Shlomo," he said tersely. "We're in the Philadelphia Cafe. We've been following a subject who just went into your favorite building across the street. My guess is that he's visiting one of your best friends."

  Michael was excited. This could be Suslov's next sale. "I'll drop everything and be there in twenty minutes. Less if I fly. Order me a coffee. It won't have time to get cold."

  Fifteen minutes later Michael arrived. The coffee was waiting for him on the table. He sat down and whispered to Shlomo, "Subject still in there?" Shlomo nodded. "Who is he?" Michael held his breath.

  "Major General Nadim. Deputy director of Syrian intelligence."

  Michael gave a long, low whistle as he remembered his visit to Volgograd with Perikov. He hoped to hell there was no relationship between the two—that Syria wasn't trying to obtain nuclear arms from Suslov. "Why are you following Nadim?"

  "Moshe didn't tell me," Shlomo replied. "Since the old man is personally involved, it has to be top-level stuff. You've been watching Suslov.... Have any ideas?"

  "One that you won't like," Michael said. A picture of the warehouse in Volgograd popped into his mind. "You'll wish you never asked. You won't sleep tonight. And if I'm right, you won't sleep any other night until this is over."