Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  "We have to send a significant number of troops," Michael said firmly. "We can't let that exchange take place. Those weapons are so potent. They could—"

  She didn't need Michael to tell her what she already knew. "You're preaching to the choir. Kendall has asked Drozny to stop it."

  "What's he smoking?"

  Joyner laughed "That's not a very respectful way to refer to our leader."

  "Yeah, I know, but Suslov's paid off so many people. Their troops will never act, regardless of what Drozny says."

  "What can you find out about Drozny's intentions at your end?"

  "I'll call Perikov and ask him to find out what's happening."

  She liked that idea. "Do it. Regardless of what he says, I want you to fly down to Baku by midday tomorrow. You've got to be on scene."

  "Will do."

  "Oh, and Michael, one more thing," Joyner said shifting from a spymaster's voice to her motherly tone. "Let me give you some advice."

  "What's that?"

  "Things could get dicey for Suslov. The time's come for you to hustle Irina out of the country if you don't want to risk her becoming a casualty."

  "The same thought was running through my mind." He stopped there, not wanting to tell Joyner that he had already promised Irina asylum. "How do you want me to handle it logistically?"

  "Deliver her to our embassy and turn her over to Bill Worth. I'll take it from there."

  "I appreciate it."

  "It's the right thing to do. Regardless of what motivated Irina, she's put her life on the line for us."

  Michael hung up with Joyner and dialed Irina at the office. "Can you talk?" he said.

  "Not now, Mother. I'll call you on your cell phone when I get a chance."

  The line went dead. Michael stared at the phone for several minutes. It may have been his imagination, but he thought she sounded even more nervous than usual when she spoke to him from the office.

  Rather than waste more time thinking about Irina, Michael decided to drive to the Philadelphia restaurant across from Suslov's office. When she called, he'd tell her to finish out her workday as if nothing unusual were happening. Then she should walk over to the Philadelphia. He'd take her from there straight to the American embassy.

  * * *

  Major General Nadim arrived at his office carrying his briefcase, cursing and sputtering aloud. His secretary retreated to a room across the hall, where she pretended to be filing. He had been clever enough to survive Ahmed's onslaught this morning, but that wasn't the point.

  "The man's an idiot," Nadim cried out. "The only reason he's running the country is because his father was the president. That's a piss-poor reason. If he had been anyone else's son, he'd still be a mediocre optometrist or dentist or whatever the hell he had been." Nadim was seeing so many shades of red right now that he couldn't even remember what Ahmed's occupation had been. What particularly infuriated him was the way in which Ahmed had dressed him down, talking to him as if he were a schoolboy or worse. For everything he had done for the country over the years, he was entitled to respect. He demanded it. And once he took over the country, the optometrist would be begging for mercy.

  Nadim was so enraged that the minute he stopped ranting and raving, he raised his arm and flung his briefcase with all the force he could muster against a bulky white marble pedestal in one corner of his office.

  The pedestal didn't move when the briefcase smashed into it. However, the force of the blow dislodged from the leather a tiny round black object resembling a button. Nadim watched it fall through the air and come to rest on the polished wooden floor.

  "What the hell?" he muttered aloud. He raced over and picked it up. With his intelligence background, it took Nadim only a second to determine that he was holding the microphone of a sophisticated eavesdropping device. He immediately thought about the two spies in Syria carrying phony Italian passports, and Daniel Moreau's confirmation that Jack Cole was an Israeli agent. It all added up to a single conclusion: Cole had used someone to plant this bug.

  "I'll kill that fucking Cole," he vowed.

  Nadim put the black object back down on the floor. He jerked up his leg and smashed the heel of his shoe down hard, pulverizing it into little pieces.

  "That's what I'll do to you when I catch you, Israeli spy."

  * * *

  Once Jack returned to the sound lab, Avi left for the embassy to await the call back from Moshe.

  Jack was studying airplane schedules to Baku when he heard the sound technician cry out in dismay. "No... oh, no..."

  Jack was alarmed. "What happened?"

  The man didn't respond. He was too busy pushing buttons and staring at an oscilloscope with a worried expression on his face.

  He ripped off the earphones and placed them down on the table.

  "For God's sake," Jack said anxiously. "Tell me what's going on."

  "All of the sound just stopped on the second transmitter."

  "The one on his briefcase?"

  "Yeah. I was picking up the noise of traffic when he rode to the embassy, people greeting him and Nadim hollering about Ahmed. Then suddenly everything went dead."

  Jack didn't know why this should be so startling. "Perhaps he left the briefcase in his office. Then he went to a meeting somewhere else in the building. There were no sounds to pick up."

  The technician pointed to the flat white line moving across the green screen. "Not when you get this," he said with conviction.

  Jack, who always counted on Mossad people to supply the technological help, had no idea what the man was talking about. "That doesn't mean squat to me. What's it tell you?"

  "We've got a dead transmitter."

  Jack threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oh, great, another technical fuckup. First the Hassler flower bowl, now this. You guys are two for two."

  The technician shook his head. "That's not it. This system had a severe shock."

  "What's that mean?"

  "From everything I've seen, I'd bet my next month's salary that Nadim found the bug on his briefcase and violently destroyed it."

  "Oh, shit." Layla was in trouble. Jack grabbed his cell phone and called her at the bank.

  "Layla," he said without trying to mask the anxiety in his voice.

  "What 's wrong?" she asked, picking up on it.

  "You'd better get over to the sound lab as soon as possible. Make sure nobody's following you."

  She understood the urgency. There was only one possible explanation—Nadim had found the bug. He would be smart enough to deduce who had planted it.

  "I'm leaving now," she said grimly.

  "Keep checking behind you. If you think somebody's tailing you, don't try to lose them. Go into a public place. A restaurant... a hotel... or somewhere like that. Stay close to other people and call me."

  Chapter 33

  Nadim was boiling over with anger. He decided that Jack Cole must have overheard his conversation with Ahmed and reported all of the details of his plan for the pilot's exchange to his Israeli spymasters, which meant the Americans knew it as well. That had to be the fact. The briefcase had been at home, close to him, when he had had the telephone conversation with Ahmed. Thinking about it made him groan. If that dumb fucker Ahmed had not demanded answers on the phone call, none of this would have happened.

  But it did. And now two questions were running through Nadim's mind: How did Jack Cole manage to plant the bug, and what could Nadim now do to avoid the impending disaster? He wanted to give all of his attention to the first one, figure out who the culprits were and take revenge. But he was a good enough intelligence man to put aside his personal pique and the accompanying vendetta until he had taken appropriate action to get the operation back on course.

  With quick long strides, Nadim left his office and went up to the embassy telecommunications room. After directing one of the staff to sweep it for bugs, he tossed everyone out and called Moscow on the most secure phone the embassy had.

  "M
r. Suslov's office," a woman said. Nadim recognized her voice. That was Irina, the well-built dish sitting outside of Dmitri's off ice. When Nadim had leered at her on his visit the other day, Suslov had said, "Don't even dream about it. She's my property."

  Nadim had laughed. "But I thought you might want to offer her to me as a way of sealing our bargain."

  To Suslov, that wasn't funny. "If the two of you end up in bed together, I'll tie you both to the mattress myself, then set it on fire."

  Nadim had responded, "It was just a joke."

  "And a bad one at that."

  Now, when Irina answered, Nadim barked, "It's Nadim. I have to talk to Suslov. Tell him it's urgent."

  As he waited for the Russian to come to the phone, Nadim's lower hp began quivering. He didn't know whether it was from fear of Suslov's reaction to his news or outrage at having to make this call. All the years the Russians were Syria's benefactor, they had treated Syrian officials as if they were morons and incompetents. What Nadim was about to tell Suslov would confirm that view, but he had no choice.

  Suslov picked up the phone and shouted to his secretary, "Irina, close the door and make sure nobody bothers me."

  Then he turned his attention to the phone. "She said it was urgent." Suslov's tone was surly. "What happened?"

  Listening to the sound of Suslov's voice made the decision for Nadim about how to play the call. He had to tell the Russian what the Israelis and Americans knew, but he certainly didn't have to tell him how they found out. That might lead to Suslov's calling off the operation or arranging to assassinate Nadim. Neither was a very attractive alternative. Nadim decided on the perfect he for Suslov. "I've developed a relationship with a Lebanese woman who's dating an Israeli agent in Paris by the name of Jack Cole. The woman just told me that the Israelis know all about our plan for the exchange Friday morning in Baku."

  Suslov was flabbergasted. "How could they have found out?"

  "I pressed her hard on that issue, but she couldn't tell me anything that was the least bit helpful." Nadim paused before turning the tables on the Russian. "I hate to suggest it, but the Israelis or the Americans might have a mole at your end."

  Before the words were out of Nadim's mouth, one thought popped into Suslov's head: Irina. He knew she was seeing the American Michael Hanley. The bitch must have overheard more than he had thought when Nadim was here; then she reported it to the American. Or even worse, she had planted a bug in his office. So he had to assume that the Americans knew as well, which meant they might be calling Drozny. It was his own fault. He should have killed her the minute he had found out she was seeing the CIA agent. He thought he could use her relationship with Michael to his own advantage by watching her and having someone listen in on her phone calls to find out what the American wanted. It hadn't yielded a thing until now, which was too late.

  In hindsight, he should have killed her. But it didn't matter. Suslov had the situation under control. By spreading enough money around to the right people, he had eliminated any chance of the Russian or Azerbaijani governments acting to block the exchange. Moscow didn't have much incentive in any event. The arms wouldn't be used against Russia. The American president could be a problem, but Suslov was willing to bet he'd never have the guts to send troops to the area. And as for the Israelis, even if they ferried in one of their elite commando units, Suslov could defeat them with superior firepower. He'd increase the number of troops from his private militia that he was sending to Baku. Suslov was salivating at the prospect of a battle like that with the Israelis or even the Americans. The last two times he had been in battle were in Afghanistan and Chechnya, both disasters due to political constraints, as far as he was concerned. Here there were none. Suslov could press his troops to pull out all the stops. This time they would fight to win.

  "I'm willing to take any steps you believe appropriate," Nadim said.

  Suslov was no longer interested in what the Syrian had to say, and he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with Nadim. "We proceed as planned. I'll take care of it."

  Nadim was relieved. "I'm flying to Baku tomorrow morning," he said.

  Suslov was surprised he was waiting that long. "Tonight would be better. You want to make certain everything is in place on your end."

  Nadim was unwilling to commit to going then. He had to find out who had planted the bug and deal with them before he left Paris. "I have one important loose end to complete here before I can leave, but my presence is not critical. Everything's on automatic pilot from my side at this point."

  "It had better be," Suslov said in a stern voice.

  "There is one other thing," Nadim said. "I'll fax you a picture of the Israeli agent in Paris, Jack Cole." Nadim was confident that Daniel Moreau would give him one. "Cole will probably be in Baku on Friday. Distribute his picture among your troops. He's working against us. He has to die."

  "I'll make sure it happens."

  Satisfied, Nadim put down the phone and turned his attention to the other question: How had Jack Cole managed to plant the bug? It took him less than a minute to come up with the answer. Layla. Of course Jack Cole had used Layla to attach it to his briefcase. She had done a first-rate acting job to convince him that she wanted to go out with him. Jack Cole had put her up to the whole thing. And he had believed her because he wanted to believe her. They had set him up perfectly.

  Two nights ago, after their dinner when he fell asleep, she had access to his briefcase. No one else did.

  Nadim pounded his fist on the table. Cole would pay for it with his life on Friday. As for Layla, Nadim would get his revenge before he left Paris for Baku.

  First the operation, though. He called General Kemal and told the Turk to fly to an air force base in Syria in the morning with his aide. From there, a Syrian plane would fly the two of them to Baku with the American pilot.

  Then he turned his thoughts back to Layla. This explained her message canceling dinner. There was no point for her to see him again. Jack Cole had gotten the information he needed from the bugs.

  Nadim called Layla's office. The secretary said, "Ms. Gemayel is out. I don't know when she'll return."

  He phoned her apartment. No answer. That didn't bother Nadim. He was a patient man. He had another twenty-four hours before he had to leave for Baku. Plenty of time to deal with Layla.

  * * *

  Suslov had worked closely with the KGB over the years. He had seen repeated examples of the benefits of their misinformation. Now he decided to resort to that technique himself. First he casually opened the door to his office. After making certain that Irina was at her desk just outside, he picked up the phone, pretended to dial a number, and began speaking loudly enough for her to hear him. "Listen, Major General Nadim, we're all set for the exchange early Friday morning in Baku… No, I'm not bringing any troops with me... just a single bodyguard.... There's no reason to do more than that.... No one will be able to interfere with us."

  Next, Suslov left his office so Irina would think that she was free to call her American lover. He went to the telephone control room on the first floor of the building. He intended to listen himself.

  Suslov had to wait only three minutes. Through earphones, he heard her place the call. She was talking softly, but sounded excited.

  "Micki, it's me. I've got the news you wanted."

  "What did you find, my little bird?" The American's voice was muted.

  "The exchange with the Syrian will take place early Friday morning in Baku. Wherever that is..."

  "Don't worry. I know where it is." Michael was excited. She might have some valuable information that the Israelis hadn't been able to obtain. "What else did you hear?"

  "Dmitri's going there with only a single bodyguard. He's not bringing any other troops."

  Oh, dammit, Michael thought. Suslov had found out about Irina. He tried to conceal his anxiety and sound upbeat. "Oh, really?"

  "Did I help you?"

  "So much, my little bird." He was terrified for I
rina. I have to get her out of that building alive. "Now I want to take you to the United States, as we discussed."

  Suslov stiffened. How could the little wench and the American be so stupid as to think they could leave the country?

  "That's what I want. To live with you in Beverly Hills."

  "Then do this," Michael commanded. "Stay till the end of your regular working day. I don't want anyone to get suspicious. When you walk outside, cross the road to the Philadelphia restaurant. I'll be waiting there."

  "I have to stop at home and pack before I can go anywhere."

  "Don't worry about that."

  "Really, Micki." She sounded irritated. "Don't be silly. I can't leave all of my beautiful clothes."

  Suslov was breathing fire. He had paid for them.

  "Okay. Don't worry. We'll stop for them. See you in a couple of hours."

  As soon as Michael hung up the phone with Irina, he knew that he had to call Joyner and report what had happened. Suslov couldn't possibly be bringing a single bodyguard with a convoy of four trucks loaded with nuclear weapons. He must have a contingent of troops. So there was only one explanation for what Suslov had permitted Irina to overhear: misinformation to keep down the size of any force the United States sent, if it decided to send troops. That meant Suslov knew about Irina's relationship with Michael. Why else was he using her to pass false information? Michael was in a panic. He desperately wanted to get to the embassy to call Joyner, then return to the Philadelphia before Irina left Suslov's building. For several minutes he vacillated about what to do while he ran his hands through his hair. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself. Finally he decided to call Joyner on the same cell phone Irina had called him on. It was risky, but it was the best of the alternatives. He stepped outside the Philadelphia restaurant, found a deserted spot on the sidewalk, and dialed Joyner in Washington.

  * * *

  Inside the building across from the Philadelphia, Suslov was in a blind rage. From the first floor he put his head down and charged up four flights of stairs as fast as he could with one gimpy leg. Terrified secretaries and clerks who saw him ran the other way. They hid behind desks to avoid being swept up in the coming explosion.