Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  General Childress could have been an actor, Joyner decided. He waited precisely the right amount of time to toss out his idea for a deferral of any consideration of bombing Turkey or Syria or anyone else until "we see how this all plays out." When Kendall didn't immediately embrace the general's recommendation, Grange took that as his cue to say, "I told Terry McCallister we would begin bombing in two days. He's been calling me nonstop, night and day."

  Grange had finally gone too far. Kendall gave him a sharp look. "You had no business telling him that. I never made a decision to go to war over the release of a pilot."

  Grange was defensive. "But in the initial note you authorized to Turkey, it said that they would face serious consequences. I thought—"

  "Then you thought wrong. We're not running this government for Terry McCallister. I don't care how much money he gives or raises," the president said emphatically. "Of course I want to rescue his son, as I would any American pilot, but we're going to do what makes sense for the country."

  Grange dropped lower in his chair. "I don't know how I'll tell Terry," he mumbled.

  Kendall turned away from Grange toward Joyner.

  "Margaret," Kendall said, now sounding respectful to his CIA director, "stay close to Moshe on this and that kid you have in Moscow. What'd you say his name was?"

  "Michael Hanley."

  "Yeah, Hanley. Keep me and General Childress informed. The three of us will talk again when you think it makes sense."

  Joyner had now gotten another benefit she hadn't expected: It was the end of the crisis team. There was to be no more government by committee, which she hated. Now it was just down to her, Childress, and Kendall. That was efficient. She would keep Reynolds in the loop, which she wanted to do.

  * * *

  What Jimmy Grange didn't tell the president was that going into this meeting he had been so confident that the decision would be made to begin bombing that he had asked Terry McCallister to come to Grange's office in the west wing and wait there for an immediate report.

  On the lonely walk back to his office, Grange decided that his loyalties lay with Kendall and not with McCallister. He couldn't risk losing the support and friendship of Kendall, which was, after all, his ticket to the White House and all the perks that went along with being the president's confidant. He decided to put a positive spin on what had happened.

  Dressed in a starched white shirt and navy suspenders, Terry was on the phone shouting about the terms of a business transaction when Grange walked in. Terry immediately hung up and looked at Grange expectantly. "When will the bombing start?"

  Grange coughed and cleared his throat. "There have been some new positive developments. We're now on a course for obtaining Robert's release. Bombing would jeopardize that."

  Terry was taken aback. "What developments?"

  "We learned from the Israelis that Robert has been moved to Syria."

  "The Israelis? I told you that I didn't want them to be involved."

  "Well, we can't always control events. They've actually been quite helpful."

  "Are the Syrians willing to release him?"

  "Not quite yet, I'm afraid."

  "Then let's bomb the hell out of them until they do. Syria is an even easier target than Turkey."

  Grange sighed. "The president is considering all of his options in light of this information."

  This was too much for Terry. His face turned beet red and he pounded on Grange's desk. "This is nothing but mumbo jumbo. You guys have no idea what the hell you're doing, and Kendall doesn't have the balls to start bombing, which is the only way to get my son back."

  "I'm sorry, Terry, that you feel—"

  "I don't give a shit what you think. You're worthless. Get me a meeting with Kendall. I'll tell him myself."

  Grange was horrified at the request. Kendall had too much on his mind to deal with Terry personally. That had been Grange's assignment.

  When Grange didn't respond, Terry pointed to the phone. "Pick up the goddamn thing and call downstairs. Get me the meeting with Kendall."

  Grange had no idea what Kendall was doing now, so he lied. "The president's gone into another conference... with congressional leaders. It will run for quite a while."

  Terry was adamant. "If he can't meet me now, it sure as hell had better be soon."

  "I'll work on it," Grange said weakly. "I promise."

  "You'd better do more than work on it!" Terry shouted. Saliva was coming out of his mouth. "If I don't get that meeting, I'll never give Kendall or the party another cent. I not only won't raise money for him, but I'll make sure all of my contributors find another candidate. Now, do you understand that, or do you want me to draw you a picture?"

  * * *

  Layla walked into the brasserie, took one look at Jack sitting at a table across from Avi in the back, and stopped dead. "Oh, my God," she said, as she saw what he looked like. His face had large black-and-blue blotches. There were scratches on one cheek. His left eye was half-closed, red, and puffy. She put a hand over her mouth. Then she raced over to the table. She ignored the man he was with and put her arms around Jack when he stood up. "I'm so sorry. I'm responsible."

  "You didn't do a thing."

  "But it's my fault. Nadim wants me. That's why he attacked you."

  As Avi watched and listened, he found himself softening a little. He hated to admit it, but he thought she was sincere. Still, it was too early to tell for sure.

  Jack introduced Avi as "a friend of mine from Israel."

  "We're drinking bad Armagnac," Avi said. "You want one?"

  When she nodded, he signaled to the waiter, who hustled over with another glass.

  Layla looked at Jack again, shuddered, and gulped some down. She was sitting opposite Jack at the square table. Avi was off to the side.

  "So what do we do now?" she asked.

  Avi looked at Jack, waiting for him to respond. He was the one who was involved with Layla. It was his show.

  It occurred to Jack that this would be easier if Avi weren't there, but it was too late for that. "You asked me at Taillevent," Jack began, "what I was doing with Nadim."

  She nodded.

  "And you offered to help."

  "I meant it," she said with a burst of enthusiasm. "Even more, now that I see what he did to you."

  Avi broke in. "If you did, it would mean you'd be helping Israel. I doubt if you like us either."

  The instant he opened his mouth, Layla decided she didn't like Jack's friend. She told him bluntly, "It's true I don't like you Israelis, but the Syrians I like less for what they've done to my country. Jack, I like. You, I don't."

  "We know that you're not a big fan of Syria," Avi said. "That's why the money you're sending to Beirut is going to arm the Christian militia."

  Her whole body shook. "How'd you find that out?"

  Jack glared at Avi, willing him to keep quiet before he lost Layla. Then he took control. "None of that's relevant," Jack said, looking straight at Layla, making her feel she was the only person who mattered, which was what she did with him.

  Layla was losing patience with Jack. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

  He took a deep breath and spat it out. "Nadim has concocted some type of plan to acquire nuclear weapons from a Russian source. We know that—"

  She interrupted him in midsentence. "Mother of God," she said with a horrified expression on her face. "Nuclear weapons..."

  "They will unless we can stop them."

  "So you're both with the Mossad?"

  Avi opened his mouth to respond. Jack cut him off. "Yeah, that's right."

  "Mother of God," she repeated. "You've got to stop him."

  "We need your help."

  "What can I do?"

  Jack hesitated. He hated putting Layla's life on the line. "I'll only ask you once," he said. "We've got no threats or inducements for you. If it's something you want to do, that's great. If not, you and I will be friends and go back to where we were last nigh
t."

  She ran her hand over Jack's bruised face. "We can't just go back to where we were now that we know they could get nuclear weapons in Damascus."

  "That's true, but I don't want you to feel any pressure to do what I'm asking."

  She nodded. "Tell me then."

  "Suppose," he said softly, "you were to call Nadim tomorrow."

  Her whole body shook with revulsion at the sound of the man's name and the idea of approaching him.

  Watching her reaction, Jack waited a moment before continuing. "Suppose you were to go out with him tomorrow night." Jack paused to look at Layla.

  She was up on the edge of her chair, her face as white as chalk. "What do you want me to do with him?"

  "Somehow plant a bug or two that we will give you so we can listen in on conversations the next day that he—"

  Layla cut Jack off. "There's only one way to do that. You're asking me to sleep with Nadim." She looked repulsed.

  Jack was upset. He was sorry he had agreed to ask her. "I didn't say that. I figured that you'd find a way to plant them. Maybe at dinner."

  "Nadim's not a gentleman like you, Jack. You can imagine his reaction when I tell him I don't do sex on a first date. He won't take no for an answer."

  Jack sighed. "I guess you're right. I didn't think it through. I'm sorry. Forget we ever had this discussion."

  Jack knew that Avi wanted to jump in with his blackmail threat on the Maronite gun money. With his eyes, he persuaded Avi to keep quiet.

  Nobody said a word for three whole minutes. Jack could tell Layla was thinking about the proposal. She finished her drink. He couldn't read her face.

  "I'll do it," she said reluctantly. "Because I hate Nadim and Syria. For what he did to my family. For my uncle Bashir and the others he killed. But also for you."

  "Thank you," he said softly. Jack reached across the table and clutched her hand. I've got to come up with a foolproof plan to protect her, he decided.

  "I'll only talk to you. Your friend here..." She pointed to Avi. "Doesn't trust me."

  Avi didn't argue with her. He had gotten what he wanted. Besides, she was right. He didn't trust her, but he wanted her to know her condition was acceptable. He turned to Jack. "I'll get the electronic equipment for you in the morning. You can give it to her in the afternoon."

  There was a long, awkward pause. The discussion was over. Jack looked at Avi. He got the picture. "I'm bushed," Avi said. "You guys mind if I bail out on you?"

  "See you tomorrow," Jack said.

  Layla didn't even nod when Avi left.

  Jack still couldn't believe she had agreed to do what he had asked. He wanted nothing more right now than to take her off to bed and pick up where they left off last night. But where to go? Her place was out of the question. Nadim might have two better thugs waiting this evening. A hotel seemed so tawdry. He decided to take her to his apartment a few blocks away off Avenue Victor Hugo. To hell with Avi's doubts about whether she was working with Nadim. She'd never give away the address.

  Chapter 28

  The phone rang in Nadim's office at ten in the morning. He let his secretary take it.

  "A Daniel Moreau from the SDECE is calling," she said. "He wants to know if he can come and see you in an hour."

  Nadim wondered what was going on. "Did he give you any reason for the meeting?"

  "Nothing."

  "Tell him to come."

  Nadim leaned back in his desk chair and thought about Moreau's visit. He hoped that Jack Cole hadn't turned Moreau on to Nadim to try to disrupt his plan. No, that was ridiculous. Nadim had spent enough time over the years at diplomatic receptions and the like with Moreau to know that the Frenchman was no friend of the Israelis. Quite the contrary, on a couple of instances when the Americans were considering economic reprisals against Syria for actions against Israel, Moreau had heard about the Americans' plans and tipped off Nadim.

  The phone rang again. "There's a woman named Layla Gemayel on line one," Nadim's secretary said on the intercom. "Are you in or out?"

  Nadim bolted upright in his chair. "I'll take the call."

  Picking up, he said, "Well, well. This is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honor?"

  "Things have gotten out of control between us."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "The dinner at L'Ambroise. The men you had outside of my building and what happened with a man I dated two nights ago."

  Where was she going with this? He decided to hold back and let her keep talking.

  "I don't like being harassed by you, and I don't want to go to the police."

  "They would never get involved."

  "You're right," she said, sounding upset. "But this has to end. Suppose we sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can reach an understanding."

  "I'm all in favor of talking."

  "It'll have to be in a public place."

  "You don't trust me, do you?"

  "You're right about that. Maybe a small brasserie for coffee this afternoon."

  "Let's talk over dinner," he said boldly.

  When she didn't respond, he smiled sadistically while trying to sound pleasant. "You'll find that I'm not a monster."

  She hesitated. "I don't know about dinner. It's not what I had in mind."

  He decided to press ahead, believing that he could persuade her. "What could happen to you at a public restaurant?"

  "Nothing, but—"

  "Good. Carre des Feuillants at nine o'clock this evening."

  He could tell she was uncertain, but he was manipulating her. Once he had her at dinner, he had no doubt that he'd charm her sufficiently to get her into his bed—the prize he had been seeking for months. He got excited thinking about it.

  "If I agree to come," she said in a stammering voice, "then I want you to promise that you'll never harass me again. Just this one date and that's it."

  "Absolutely. After this one evening, it'll be whatever you want. We'll meet at the restaurant," he said, and held his breath as a heavy silence settled over the line.

  Finally she said, "I'll be there."

  When she hung up, he stared at the phone for several seconds. The timing of the call—coming now—bothered him. Was the reason she gave honest? She could be sufficiently frightened by what had happened to Jack Cole outside of her apartment the other night to want to find a way of reaching an understanding with him. But there was another equally plausible alternative—Jack Cole was working for the Israelis, and he wanted her to pry information out of Nadim.

  That latter possibility put a smirk on his face. If that was her game, she was doomed to failure. Unlike many men, it didn't matter how much he drank. He never lost control of his tongue. If he ever found out that was what she was doing, he would make her pay for it in ways she couldn't even imagine. His mind was racing trying to formulate them.

  In the meantime, though he'd be vigilant, he was prepared to take her at her word. It wasn't just that he wanted to get into her pants and into that moist pussy of hers. That was only part of it. The other part was that having Bashir and Amin Gemayel's niece meant for Nadim extending to the utmost his subjugation of the Lebanese people and those stubborn Maronites. Layla was the prize in more ways than one.

  Nadim was so engrossed in thinking about Layla that it took persistent knocking by his secretary on the closed wooden door to gain his attention. "Yes," he called when he finally heard her.

  She opened the door and said, "Daniel Moreau is down in the reception area."

  "Good, bring him up and offer him some coffee."

  Moreau didn't want anything to drink. The Frenchman wasn't in a friendly mood, Nadim noticed as the sour-looking man entered his office. Nadim pointed to a sofa against the wall. He waited for Moreau to sit down before taking a chair facing him.

  "It's always a pleasure to see you, Daniel," he said, trying to appear nonchalant.

  "Not this time, I'm afraid."

  Nadim sucked in his breath. "What happened?"

>   "You know damn well what's going on. I don't like you Arabs and Israelis playing your deadly little games on French soil. Save them for your own backyards."

  Nadim didn't know what had occurred that could be traced to him. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

  Moreau looked angry. "I hate being lied to."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "Well, you are now." His face was flushed with anger and the hairs rose on the back of his neck. "The police picked up two men night before last near Place de l'Alma. One was dead. One was badly beaten. Both had Syrian embassy IDs."

  Nadim cursed under his breath. Those incompetent fools. He had told both of them to carry fake Saudi identification in case they were caught. The French were too frightened about their oil supplies to do anything against Saudi nationals.

  "There must be a mistake."

  "There's no mistake, but I will tell you that you trained the one who's alive very well. So far he has refused to talk. We're continuing to work on him."

  Nadim knew it would be counterproductive to persist with the denial. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

  "Stop the war games in France. Right now."

  "It will be done," Nadim said.

  "Good."

  Suddenly Nadim had an idea: Maybe he could use Moreau for information. "Does the name Jack Cole mean anything to you?"

  The man's sour expression gave way to a face aglow with intensity. Moreau leaned forward on the sofa. "How do you know him?"

  "He's an American. He's been pursuing me. Makes me think he may be an Israeli agent."

  "He is," Moreau said flatly.

  Well, well, isn't that nice to know, Nadim thought. "Why are you interested in him?"

  "I want him for two crimes. Tell me where I can find him... I'll owe you a big favor in return."

  Nadim frowned and tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. This was now getting tricky. He thought again about Layla's call. Jack Cole had tried to use Layla and failed, or he was in fact using her. Regardless, he wanted Jack Cole out of circulation, but he didn't want Moreau roughing up Layla to get at Jack.