Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  He cupped one in each hand and he held her like that as she pressed down with an urgency against his mouth. Her whole body began shaking. She screamed out, "Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!"

  He expected her to roll off, but she didn't. She reached one hand behind her and grabbed his cock. She stroked it a few times; then she moved back and slid him inside of her, while grabbing it tightly at the base to keep him from coming, to prolong their pleasure while she moved up and down.

  "It feels so good," he said. "It's like a dream."

  "I wanted you so much, Jack. From the first time I saw you."

  Finally she took her hands away from him and put them behind her on the bed as an anchor. She was moving rapidly, breathing heavily, her forehead dotted with perspiration. She bit down hard on her lower lip, her face contorted in pleasure. "I'm coming, Jack!" she screamed. He was right with her, and he screamed too as he exploded inside of her.

  As she rolled off, Jack said, "It's never been like that for me. And I mean never. Not with anybody."

  "Really," she said. "I do this every night."

  For an instant he thought she was serious and he looked despondent. She laughed. "You're a funny man, Jack Cole. I like you. Of course I don't do this every night." She laughed again. "In fact, it's been a whole week."

  Playfully, she ran her hand through his hair. That loosened his black toupee and it slid partially off. Even in the dim light of the candle, Layla noticed it and bolted upright in bed. She turned on a light on an end table.

  "You're full of surprises," she said, flabbergasted.

  "I'm in a dangerous business."

  "I've come to realize that. How about showing me what the real Jack Cole looks like?"

  Having gone this far, Jack didn't think it would matter. He went into the bathroom and took off the wig, mustache, and makeup. Then he emerged—and held up his arms. "The real Jack in the flesh."

  "This one's much better-looking. Now get your ass back into bed."

  When he stretched out, she ran her hand over the indentation in his skin on his right side. "Your scar from the bullet wound you told me about?" she said.

  "Yeah. That's it."

  "Does it hurt when I touch it?"

  "Naw, it's been too long for that."

  She leaned down and kissed his scar. Before long she was using her tongue over his entire body. She took him into her mouth, playing with his balls, finding a sensitive pleasure spot in the sac between them. When he was hard again, she rolled over onto her back. As Jack entered her, she raised her legs high so he could penetrate deeper. After they both came this time, and Jack rolled over onto his side, she snuggled up beside him pressing her breasts against his back.

  "Stay the night, Jack," she said.

  He was totally exhausted. He had neither the desire nor the energy to move. He was ready to say, "Of course I will," but then he remembered Avi, whom he had totally forgotten about.

  He peeked at the digital radio alarm. It was already 12:48. Avi had been at his apartment the last two nights. Maybe he was there tonight with some news about Nadim, or something Jack had to do.

  "Unfortunately, I have an early business appointment tomorrow."

  "Cancel it," she mumbled, only half-awake.

  He turned around and kissed her. "I'm sorry, I can't," he whispered. "But I promise I'll never make another one on a morning after we go out. How's that?"

  She was satisfied. "Let yourself out," she said as she closed her eyes.

  He looked at Layla and thought about what they had done. Unbelievable, he decided. Absolutely unbelievable.

  As he gathered up his wrinkled clothes from the floor, he realized that he reeked of sex. Avi might be in his apartment. He couldn't walk in this way. He took a cold shower, which woke him up. Then he put back on the wig, mustache, and glasses. Satisfied that he had restored his appearance, he dressed.

  Before leaving the apartment, he looked out of the living room window at the sidewalk below. There were two men loitering in front of Layla's building: burly, swarthy men in black leather jackets. One of them had been there last evening.

  Jack went into Layla's kitchen and grabbed a sharp boning knife. He held it concealed under the front of his jacket.

  He took the stairs down in case they planned to surprise him when the elevator doors opened. The lobby was deserted.

  Before walking out of the building, Jack looked through the glass front entrance, surveying the sidewalk while gripping the knife handle tightly in the palm of his right hand. He couldn't see the men. Maybe they were gone—or they had never come for him. He took his glasses off and stuffed them into his pocket, calmly walked outside, and turned left. It was only a couple of blocks to the Place de l'Alma. He'd be able to find a cab there, even this late at night.

  As Jack passed the open space between Layla's building and a four-story office building, one of the two men sprang out. He came at Jack from the rear, looping a powerful arm around his neck. He pulled Jack into the concrete pavement between the buildings, hissing into his ear. "Major General Nadim has a message for you. Keep away from the girl."

  Jack felt the man loosen his grip when he delivered the message. That was the opening he wanted. Jack drove his left elbow hard into the man's ribs. As pain shot through the assailant's body and he tumbled to the ground, Jack slipped out of his grasp. He looked up to see the second man with a large wooden club raised high in the air. His jacket was unzipped and open in the front.

  "You're dead meat," he shouted at Jack, brandishing his club. From the look in his eyes, Jack had no doubt that he intended to beat Jack to death.

  "I don't think so," Jack said defiantly.

  The man was coming at Jack fast, planning to smash his head with the club, when Jack whipped out the knife. In a single swift motion, he flung it at his assailant. The knife stuck in the man's chest. He screamed and collapsed onto his back while the club fell to the ground.

  In a rage, Jack pounced on him and put his hands around the man's throat, while cursing, "You bastard... you bastard." At the same time the man was fighting back, grabbing for Jack's face and eyes, punching and scratching. Jack tasted blood running into his mouth. He kept squeezing until the man stopped moving.

  By now the first one had recovered and was charging Jack with a knife of his own. Jack was too fast for him. He grabbed the wooden club and smashed it against the man's side. He could hear the sound of ribs breaking like dry twigs on a cold day. When the assailant let go of the knife and collapsed to his knees, Jack began pummeling the man's face with his fists. After several blows, the man fell on the ground with blood flowing from his nose and mouth.

  "This is the message you take back to Nadim," Jack said. His breath was coming in short bursts. "What we say in Chicago is go fuck yourself."

  Jack removed the knife from the dead man so it couldn't be traced to Layla. Lights were being turned on in Layla's building. People must have heard the commotion, Jack decided. He moved fast and began walking along the sidewalk toward Place de l'Alma, hoping nobody had seen him. When he was almost there, two police cars with their sirens blaring were driving the other way, toward the scene of the attack.

  Jack signaled to a waiting cab. In the backseat he collapsed. Totally drained, he closed his eyes on the ride home.

  The lights were on in his apartment. Hopefully it was just Avi. Facing him would be bad enough. Dealing with other goons of Nadim or Moreau might be more than he could handle. Jack was glad he still had the knife from Layla's kitchen.

  When he cautiously opened the door and looked around, he gave a sigh of relief. The apartment was empty.

  Jack went into the bedroom and looked in a mirror. His face was all battered and bruised. Blood was caked on his nose and cheek. One eye was puffy and half-closed.

  On the bed behind him he saw some papers. Jack crossed the room and examined them. There was a note from Avi: We're on a six a.m. plane to Rome. Here's your ticket. It's in the name of Henri Devereaux.

  "Ju
st what I need." Jack groaned.

  Since he was leaving Paris in the morning, Jack decided he'd better have someone look at his face. There was an Israeli doctor, Mordecai, temporarily in France, whom the embassy used. He was on call twenty-four hours a day.

  "I'll come to your place," Mordecai said when Jack woke him up.

  Exhausted, Jack was tempted to say, "Thank you. I'D be here." Then it hit him: he couldn't stay in this apartment tonight. Nadim might have had someone follow him here. Perhaps there was a third man, who had watched what happened from a parked car. After what Jack did to Nadim's thugs, the Syrian would try to kill him for sure.

  He told Mordecai he'd take a cab to the doctor's apartment. He'd be able to sleep there for an hour before going to the airport.

  Once Mordecai cleaned him up, Jack dialed Layla's home number and let it ring and ring until she finally woke to answer.

  He told her what happened with the two men and explained that he had to leave for Paris for a day or so for business. "You have to go to a hotel right now," he said. "Nadim could send people to attack you."

  "I can take care of myself," she said.

  "Are you sure? You're the one who told me how dangerous he is."

  "I've got a gun. Don't worry about me."

  Jack put the phone down and shook his head in bewilderment. She should have been terrified by what he had told her. He felt a cold chill.

  Chapter 24

  Bulgakov was a dimly lit, intimate club in the heart of Moscow. Prices were twice what they were at comparable places in London or New York, but it was mobbed inside, with a long waiting line on the sidewalk. Most would never get in. It was ultrachic and trendy. The doormen admitted only movers and shakers.

  Irina had become a regular during her modeling days. Women in that business were passed right in. Since she had introduced Michael a month ago, he now got the VIP treatment as well.

  He was sipping slivovitz, waiting for her on a couch in the corner, as far from the combo and the noisy bar as possible. He didn't like meeting her in public places.

  "It's too dangerous," he had told her when she called him back this afternoon and suggested it.

  She had brushed aside his concern. "Don't be a killjoy. I haven't been to Bulgakov in days. I'll die if I don't get there soon."

  So he had acquiesced because he was desperate to see her after Nadim's visit to Suslov.

  She arrived wearing sunglasses, as if they could ensure her anonymity. It had the opposite effect. Several men looked up to see who this blond bombshell was in the Versace shades. Two old friends kissed her on the cheek as she made her way to Michael in the corner.

  She slid down next to him on the couch and kissed him on the lips. "Ah, you taste so good," she said, then giggled.

  A waiter immediately hustled over with a bottle of Dom Perignon and a plate with caviar. He knew what the lady liked.

  "You sounded upset when I called you today," Michael said. "I was worried."

  She paused to sip some champagne. "We had an important visitor. Some big-shot Arab. Security in the building was unbelievable. The guards tried to keep everybody away from Dmitri's office. Nobody was supposed to see this Arab."

  Michael's mind was churning. This was consistent with the idea that Suslov was about to do a deal with Nadim for nuclear weapons in Volgograd.

  He tried not to appear too interested. "But you, my dear, were busy typing outside of Dmitri's office. So they couldn't interfere with you."

  "It didn't matter. Dmitri shut the door as soon as the Arab went in. Guards outside his office were leering at me the whole time. This one guy got so excited I thought he was going to start jerking off." She laughed. "So I handed him a few tissues from the box on my desk. He was too stupid to get it."

  Michael decided to change the subject. "How's your mother?"

  "Ach. The same. She's sick. She whines."

  "Does she need money?"

  "For a vacation. I think it will do her good."

  "Later tonight I'll give you some."

  She reached over and kissed him. "You're a sweetie. Now you have to feed me. I'm hungry."

  They ordered steaks. She devoured hers along with two more glasses of champagne and the caviar. Michael was too nervous to do anything more than pick at his food.

  When she was finished eating, she said, "I called my girlfriend Natasha."

  "The good-looking brunette you used to model with?"

  Pangs of jealousy shot through Irina. She didn't want Michael to think any other woman was good-looking. "Actually, she's a cow. Her tits are too large. But you men like that."

  He smiled and rubbed his hand over her breasts. "I think these are just the right size. They fit into my mouth perfectly."

  That satisfied her. "She said we could use her apartment tonight for a couple of hours."

  "That's great."

  "I told her that you'd leave her a little money to help her out. She's not working so much these days."

  "Sure, my little bird. Whatever you want."

  Michael was relieved that Joyner had told him to forward his expense reports directly to her. Nobody else in Langley would believe what he spent his money on.

  He wanted to take a cab to Natasha's and meet Irina there. But she insisted on having him ride in the Mercedes with her. He didn't argue. Otherwise she would have pouted. Tonight he wanted to keep her in good humor. He had something important to ask her.

  As they pulled away from the club, a dark blue BMW, with one of Suslov's security men at the wheel, fell in behind Irina's Mercedes. Michael kept glancing back to see if they were being followed, but in the Moscow night traffic with all the lights, it was impossible to tell.

  * * *

  He waited until they had finished making love to tell her want he wanted. They were naked, lying in bed. She was on her back, smoking a cigarette, her breasts rising and falling with each breath.

  "If you ever hear anything more about this Arab who came today, and his business with Dmitri, please let me know. It could be important to my oil business."

  A horrified expression appeared on her face. "You want me to spy on Dmitri for you?"

  "Not spy," Michael said, selecting his words carefully, because she was smarter than the airhead she liked to portray. "Help me because you love me."

  Not certain that love alone could do it, he climbed out of bed, reached into his pants pocket, took out a huge roll of dollars, and put it on her purse.

  She said. "I could never do anything like that for money. Only because I love you."

  Michael reached for the bills to take them back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

  She smiled. "You can leave them there." A worried expression suddenly appeared on her face. "I could get into trouble for doing this. Dmitri's a dangerous man."

  "If you're careful, he'll never find out."

  "And if he does?"

  "You don't have to worry. I want to take you to the United States."

  She was elated. "Really, you mean that?"

  "Absolutely."

  "To live there with you?"

  He turned away, not wanting to look at her when he lied. He would do everything he could to get her safely out of Russia once his operation with Suslov ended, but he wasn't in love with her. He had no intention of being with her in the United States, regardless of how good their sex was.

  Irina couldn't believe her ears. She would have a life like one of those women in a Hollywood movie. "Can we have a big house with a swimming pool in Beverly Hills?"

  "If that's what you want. And you can shop on Rodeo Drive."

  She moved over and gave him a big kiss. "I'll do whatever you want. Even spy on Dmitri."

  When Michael left her at Natasha's, he went to the American embassy. He wanted to call Joyner and tell her that Irina would try to get the information. By then a different security man of Suslov's was following his taxi in a blue SAAB. The man was good. Michael never spotted him.

  Chapter 25


  "My God, you look like hell," Avi said as Jack slid into his seat on the airplane two minutes before the doors were scheduled to close. "You've given a new meaning to the term 'rough sex.'"

  Unwilling to share his misgivings about Layla, Jack said, "Not funny, wise guy. So tell me, why are we going to Rome?"

  The business cabin was only half-full. Avi looked around and decided it was safe to talk as long as they kept their voices down and didn't use any names. Besides, the chances of anyone on this airplane understanding Hebrew were slim. "The good news is that it won't involve any reading on your part, because you have only one eye that's open. So what happened?"

  "I ran into a door."

  "Was she that good?"

  Jack was willing to play Avi's game. He tried to smile, but his face hurt too much for that. "Actually, she was."

  "That's great, because people used to say, No pain, no gain. In your case, I hope it's lots of pain, lots of gain."

  Jack sighed. "Now that you've had your fun, would you please tell me what we're doing on this plane?"

  The engines started. They were moving away from the gate.

  "I think you'd better go first with the latest version of the soap opera. It could affect what we do in Rome."

  When Jack didn't respond, Avi waited until they were up in the air to take his own stab at what happened. "So the Butcher found out that you were moving in on his girlfriend, and he didn't like it."

  Jack waited until a flight attendant gave them each a tray with coffee, a very hard roll, and some fruit before giving Avi a report from the time of Layla's angry entry into the restaurant. Avi sipped coffee and listened carefully with a deadpan expression. "When we left Taillevent, we went back to her place."

  "Where Nadim had some thugs waiting for you."

  Jack shook his head. "That came later, when I left her apartment." He then described what happened on the street.

  "So I know she can't be working for Nadim," Jack said. "She can't be that good an actress to say she found out about me. She was angry, and she still came to dinner. If she were working with Nadim, why wouldn't she have just come without that whole routine?"