Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  Hashim pressed his fat lips together. "Five million for Kemal is too much. A half a million is enough."

  I feel like I'm in a bazaar, Nadim thought. "I could persuade Kemal to take two."

  "I'll tell you what I'll do," Hashim said slowly, "and this is my final offer. I'll pay six million altogether. I'll tell my people that you needed another million for baksheesh. We're not paying Kemal anything. You can split it with him however you like. That's your business."

  "Done," Nadim said, relieved to be finished with this point. "Now let's talk about the rest of it. Here's my proposal for a time and place for the exchange...."

  * * *

  In the penthouse suite, Jack and Avi were in a panic. An Israeli technician wearing heavy black glasses with thick lenses and earphones who was operating the sound equipment was shaking his head grimly and saying, "Nothing... nothing... nothing."

  "What do you mean, nothing?" Jack shouted at the man.

  He took off the earphones and put them down carefully on a table.

  "I mean zero. I mean I haven't heard one word that Nadim or Hashim said since they ordered lunch."

  "Then you're not recording."

  What a stupid comment, the technician thought. He looked annoyed. "We can't record what we don't hear."

  Jack threw up his hands in the air in frustration. "Before Hashim arrived, when Nadim ordered the wine, you heard it all clearly. Even the year."

  "True."

  "So what happened?"

  The technician shrugged. "We're dealing with micro components. An insect could have blocked a critical orifice. Or the tiny microphone could have fallen out of the flowers and into the water. Even with state-of-the-art technology, equipment malfunctions."

  Jack watched Avi pacing around the living room of the suite, frustrated, red in the face, shaking his head, seeming as if he would explode. Glumly Jack stared out of the window, through a crack in the curtains, at Nadim and Hashim now locked in intense conversation, and considered their options. Even if the technician had an extra microphone, they could hardly have a waiter rush down and change the flowers. Nadim and Hashim were too smart for that.

  As he looked at the two of them deep in conversation, leaning forward, their faces just over that flower bowl centerpiece with its dead microphone, he knew that they were now discussing the very facts that he and Avi desperately needed.

  Jack looked at the photographer with his long telephoto lens who was waiting for an instruction from Jack or Avi to take a picture of the two men. Jack thought they should still do it, but without a tape of the conversation, it meant nothing. So what if Nadim and Hashim had lunch in Rome? Big deal.

  Jack watched a waiter put two salads down on the table. Nadim and Hashim stopped talking until he was gone. They ignored the food and resumed their conversation.

  Suddenly Nadim reached down into the brown leather briefcase resting on the tile floor at his feet. Jack turned to the photographer. "Now. Use your highest magnification. They're going to look at something. Take a picture of it. Be quick."

  Jack knew there was a risk of Nadim or Hashim noticing the lens sticking out of an open hotel window through a crack in the curtains, but he had to take that chance. Besides, the two of them were so engrossed in their conversation they might not glance up.

  Jack saw Nadim take what looked like a small piece of paper from his briefcase. As he held it out to Hashim, the photographer was clicking away. Hashim was studying the piece of paper. The photographer kept shooting. Will we be able to see the writing on the document? Jack wondered.

  Avi was standing behind Jack, looking over his shoulder.

  "Make sure you get both of them in some of the pictures," Jack said to the photographer. "Will do."

  Hashim slipped the piece of paper into his pocket. Now they turned to their salads.

  Jack looked at the photographer. "How soon will you have prints for us?"

  "Go take a leak. By the time you get back, I'll have them."

  The photographer was as good as his word.

  In the best picture, Nadim and Hashim were looking at a photograph of a man holding a newspaper. Around his neck hung a sign. The words were difficult to read. With a magnifying glass, which the photographer supplied, they unmistakably read, Lt. Robert McCallister. The newspaper was the Herald Tribune from a few days ago.

  "Well, that's sure something," Jack exclaimed with joy.

  "But it's not nearly enough," Avi said. "All we've done is confirm that Robert McCallister is part of the deal. Unless and until we know the rest of it—the time and place of the exchange—we're nowhere. Fucking sound equipment. If it hadn't malfunctioned, we could have—"

  Jack interrupted him. "Would have, could have. It doesn't count. We have to find another way to get what we want."

  * * *

  For the next three hours Jack and Avi remained in their suite at the Hassler trying to decide how they could move up on Nadim and get the information they wanted.

  Then Eppy called from Fiumicino. "Nadim's on the four-thirty Air France to Paris," he told Avi.

  "How's he seem?" Avi asked.

  "He's smiling. He looks happy."

  Oh, shit, Avi thought. Nadim had gotten what he wanted from Hashim.

  By the time Avi hung up, Jack was already studying an airline schedule. "Let's go," he said. "If we hustle, we can get back to Paris on Alitalia at seven."

  * * *

  Eppy was right: Nadim was a happy man. He took a sip of wine and leaned back in his first-class seat en route to Paris. It had been a tough negotiating session, but he had brought Hashim around.

  Everything was falling into place now.

  In another five days it would all be over. The deal would be done. He'd have everything he wanted. Well, almost everything. He still had to do something about Jack Cole. And of course, there was Layla.

  Chapter 27

  Security was tight, as always around the Israeli embassy in Paris. That didn't surprise Jack when the cab dropped him and Avi at the corner of Avenue Matignon and Rue de Panthieu, where French police put them through a metal detector. What did stun Jack and almost cause him to run the other way was the picture of Jack Cole posted on the side of the police van. After clearing the metal detector, he waited to see what happened next. The police were bored with this assignment. No one stared at the two men. No one asked for their IDs or said a word. That would be the job of the receptionist inside the embassy in the middle of the block, and she had Henri Devereaux on her approved list as visiting with Avi Sassoon.

  In the embassy they were led to a communications room to place the call to Jerusalem. As soon as she heard Jack's voice, Moshe's secretary, following strict orders, said, "I'll get him out of a meeting."

  The closed room was tiny. Avi paced with his hands in his pockets for the several minutes it took Jack to report to Moshe what had happened in Rome.

  At the end, Moshe vented his disappointment at the failure of the recording equipment. "Ach, modern technology is the eleventh plague," he muttered. "I can't even blame you two geniuses. Shoot me the picture immediately. The embassy has fax machines that are especially good for photographs."

  "Will do."

  There was a long pause. Moshe was thinking aloud. "We still have the problem of finding out exactly what the exchange is, where and when it's going down. We have lots of pieces, but we need the rest of them to put the puzzle together."

  "That pretty well sums it up," Jack said.

  "What about our assets in Turkey?" Avi asked.

  "They haven't been able to come up with a thing. Kemal's playing this very close to the vest. Nobody's talking. Nadim's our only chance. You two have to figure out a way to get the info from him."

  "That's easier said than done," Jack replied.

  "Don't tell me you can't do it," Moshe said forcefully. "With what's at stake, you have to find a way. We can't let those people get nuclear weapons."

  * * *

  Moshe waited five minutes to pl
ace the call to Joyner. Long enough to receive the fax of the picture of Nadim passing McCallister's photograph to Hashim.

  "The good news, Margaret, is that your pilot is alive and in good condition, although he received a superficial shoulder wound trying to escape. The bad news is that he's part of the deal Nadim's putting together. There's no doubt about that."

  He then told her about the picture and how it was obtained, as well as about Nadim's conversation with the commander of the unit guarding McCallister. "As soon as I hang up, the picture will go on the wire to you."

  "I appreciate that, Moshe."

  "Now I want something in return."

  Joyner was wary. "Yeah, what?"

  "I want to know what demands have been made on your government for the pilot's release."

  "Up to this point, we haven't heard from anyone."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  She bristled. "You're not accusing me of lying, are you?"

  They were both tense. Moshe didn't want to destroy a close and valuable relationship. He retreated. "No, no, of course not," he said, sounding conciliatory. "I was wondering if someone in your government had heard something, and it hadn't been shared, so to speak. Unfortunately, that kind of thing happens here all the time."

  She thought of Doerr, Morton, and Grange. Anything was possible with those three. "I don't think so, but I'll confirm that shortly. Once I get the photo I intend to have Kendall call a meeting of the Crisis Task Force. If I learn anything, I'll let you know."

  Moshe was satisfied.

  * * *

  It was a couple of miles from the Israeli embassy to Jack's apartment. "Let's walk," Jack said. "It'll clear our heads. Maybe we'll get a brainstorm."

  They headed up the Champs Elysees toward the Arc de Triomphe. It was a magnificent spring evening in Paris. The sidewalk was mobbed with people anxious to get outside after the long winter. Open-air restaurants were crowded. Everywhere lights sparkled, making the wide boulevard seem like midday rather than late evening.

  For several minutes they walked in silence, each of them trying to find a solution to what seemed like an insoluble problem. Just as they reached the top of the boulevard and turned left toward Avenue Victor Hugo, Avi said with a burst of enthusiasm, "I have an idea."

  "What is it?" Jack said, jumping on it.

  "You're not going to like it. I'm not even sure I do."

  They turned on the Avenue Victor Hugo, crowded with expensive boutiques and a smattering of upscale restaurants. "Run it by me anyhow," Jack said. "We're desperate."

  "Okay, here goes. Remember, you asked for it."

  Jack was tired and irritable. "Just tell me."

  Avi looked around to make sure no one could hear them. "You know how it seems as if Nadim is anxious to go out with Layla, and—"

  Jack's whole body tensed. "You're right. I don't like it."

  "At least let me finish."

  "I know where you're going with this."

  Avi put a hand on Jack's arm. "C'mon, hear me out. It'll have a benefit for you. You'll know where you stand with her."

  "I already know." Jack could see Avi wouldn't quit. He hesitated, then said, "Okay, spit it out."

  "Let's assume that Layla's being straight with you. Nadim's anxious to date her. Suppose she calls him and arranges to go out with him tomorrow night. You give her a bug or two to plant. That's it."

  Jack remembered telling Layla last evening that he would never do anything to harm her. "No way," he said. "We'd be putting her at terrible risk. Nadim's one of the most dangerous people in the world. You know what he'd do to her if he found out."

  "We can tell her how to play it. He won't find out, and nothing will happen to her."

  "Forget it," he said firmly. "Besides, why would she do it? She doesn't love the Israelis."

  "Yeah, but if she's telling you the truth, she hates the Syrians more than us. She hates Nadim, and she's enamored with you."

  "The answer's no. Now drop it."

  Avi ignored Jack's words. He stopped and moved into the doorway of a women's shoe store. He whipped the cell phone out of his pocket and called Eli in the Mossad research department in Tel Aviv. "Did you get the information I wanted on the banker's fund-raising activities?" he asked Eli.

  "Just this afternoon."

  "Thanks for telling me," Avi snapped.

  Jack was standing next to Avi, listening carefully.

  "I wanted to do a little more checking," the man in Tel Aviv said. "I planned to call tomorrow."

  "I told you this was moving fast."

  "Do you want to know or not?" The man sounded annoyed.

  "Well?" Avi demanded. "What's the answer?"

  "The money's being funneled to Maronite Christian militias in east Beirut. They're using it to purchase arms in order to drive Syria out of the country."

  "That's just what I need."

  Avi hung up and reported what he had learned to Jack. They weren't moving, just standing in the doorway. Jack was relieved to hear the answer. It confirmed that Layla wasn't in cahoots with Nadim.

  "That's the hook we need," Avi said emphatically. "We tell Layla either she does what we want, or we'll disclose her fund-raising activities to the Lebanese government, which is Syria's puppet."

  "You'd be signing her death warrant. Nadim will have her killed for sure. And members of her family."

  Avi raised his hand. "We wouldn't actually tell anyone. We'd just threaten her with that."

  Jack grew irate. "That stinks. There's no way I'll do that."

  "C'mon, Jack, there's more at stake than your little fling. Like the future of the state of Israel."

  Jack was pondering Avi's words. He had a point about involving Layla, but the idea of blackmailing her was too awful for Jack to contemplate. "Tell you what," Jack finally said. "I'll call Layla and set a meeting for the three of us. Right now, if I can get her. I'll pitch it to her in terms of not wanting Syria to get nuclear weapons. That should be enough."

  Avi had an impish look. "I may casually mention to her that we know she's funneling money to the Maronites so they can buy guns."

  Jack looked hard at him. "Absolutely not."

  "Okay. But don't forget, this woman's no babe in the woods. At the very least, she's involved in espionage herself."

  Jack took the cell phone from his pocket and started to punch in numbers.

  Avi grabbed his hand. "Where do you want her to meet us?"

  "My apartment down the street."

  Avi shook his head. "Too risky. Nadim doesn't know about it. If she's with him, then he will."

  "Jesus, you don't quit, do you?" Jack was tired of arguing with Avi on the subject. He thought of a neighborhood brasserie that was open late and rarely had more than a couple of patrons at this hour. He called Layla. "I just got back to Paris," he said. "Are you okay?"

  "Me? I'm fine."

  "Nobody bothered you?"

  "Not at all."

  Jack was relieved. "But what about you?" Layla asked. "I was so worried after your call last night."

  "I'm all right, but I have to talk to you."

  "You want to come here?"

  "Too dangerous after what happened." He gave her the address of the brasserie.

  "I'll be there as soon as I can," she said.

  He swallowed hard. He had to say it. "Make sure you're not being followed."

  That didn't alarm her. "I'll locate Jean Claude and use him. It'll take me longer to get there than if I just grab a cab, but he's good at that sort of thing."

  * * *

  Joyner decided to do something intelligent: She called General Childress as soon as the meeting of the Crisis Task Force was set. "I'll swing by the Pentagon on my way into town and pick you up," she told Childress.

  In the back of the car as they exited the Pentagon parking lot, Joyner showed Childress the photograph of McCallister, which raised his hackles. She told him everything she knew from her reports from Moshe and Michael. Then she stopped t
alking and waited for him to come on his own to the conclusion she wanted. She felt confident he would. Childress was a professional soldier and a bright, decent man. Despite Morton's efforts to dominate him, she was certain that Childress would want to do what was right for the country.

  He did. "With this information, we certainly can't take military action against Turkey or Syria at this point," he said. "I know that's what Morton and Grange want, and they're planning to lobby the president at the meeting today. As far as I'm concerned, that's no longer an option."

  Inwardly, Joyner was pleased. She wanted the idea to come from him. She showed nothing on her face. "Will you say that at the meeting?"

  "Absolutely. It's the right decision." Childress continued: "We've got to push our deadline back and run out the string on this. It's more important to block the transfer of these nuclear weapons."

  "Do you really think so?" Joyner asked, trying to be careful not to overplay her hand.

  "Absolutely."

  The car stopped for a traffic light. Childress handed her back the photograph, which she returned to her briefcase.

  "Since it's your idea," she said, "I don't want to take credit for it. I'll give the report from Michael and Moshe. You can propose the bombing delay."

  "That's okay with me," Childress said, pleased that Joyner wasn't one of those people who tried to take credit for someone else's idea.

  * * *

  The meeting in the cabinet room played out exactly as Joyner had anticipated.

  Following her report, there was a long heavy silence. Tension was thick in the air.

  Kendall was so stunned by the photograph and what Moshe had reported that he didn't even chastise Joyner for talking to the Israelis. The president didn't know what to do. As for Chip Morton, Joyner's report of the Nadim-Suslov meeting nearly blew him away. He said it would be horrible if "those countries," as he normally referred to the Islamic nations in the Middle East, obtained nuclear weapons. Jimmy Grange looked confused. He hadn't figured on this. Joyner was glad Doerr was in London to see how the British viewed the McCallister situation. The secretary of state might have come up with some cockamamie proposal. Reynolds passed Joyner a note that read, C'mon, boys, get a grip. Let's figure out how to deal with this. Joyner had all she could do to avoid a smile.