Enemy of My Enemy

by Allan Topol

  From a distance of twenty yards, Irina saw him limping toward her, breathing fire. That menacing look on his face, the hatred shining in his eyes, told her that Suslov had found out about her and Micki. She stuffed the cell phone into her purse and ran in the opposite direction.

  The building had a rear staircase. If I can just make it down to the ground floor, Irina thought, I can race out of the building and across the street to the Philadelphia. I'll hide there until Micki comes. I'll be safe.

  Suslov saw that she had a good jump on him. Running fast wasn't something he could do after the injury in Afghanistan. So he took the easy way out. He slammed his hand against the large red button on the wall, a holdover from the days the KGB occupied the building. It activated a loud, piercing security alarm. That not only shook all of the people inside the building to their core, it also meant that every door to the building automatically closed and locked. Six armed guards on the ground floor started upstairs, gripping automatic weapons.

  Irina had forgotten about the alarm until she heard it.

  Getting out of the building at this point was hopeless. I know what I'll do. I'll hide. They'll never find me. She exited the staircase on the second floor, ran five yards down the corridor, and ducked into a closet that housed office supplies. It had a small dead-bolt lock, which she set. Hopefully they wouldn't find her until she called Micki. He could come and get her out.

  Irina sat down on top of a brown cardboard box of computer paper and whipped the cell phone out of her purse. Her hand was trembling so badly it fell to the ground. Once she retrieved it, she frantically punched in the numbers of Micki's cell.

  The busy signal she heard was like a death sentence.

  Get off the damn phone, Micki. She hung up and tried again. Still busy. Oh, no. What do I do now?

  Fear threatened to paralyze her body and her mind. Think, she told herself. You must be able to do something. She dialed her friend Natasha.

  No answer. The machine kicked on.

  Feeling helpless and hopeless, she mumbled into the machine, leaving Natasha a message. Someone had to know what was happening. Maybe Natasha could get to Micki.

  "It's Irina. I'm locked in a closet in the office. Dmitri found out about me and Micki. He's going to kill me. Micki's on his phone. I can't get through to him. I want you to—"

  Irina heard a pounding on the door. Suslov was shouting, "Open up. Right now."

  Irina realized it was futile. At least she could help Micki before Suslov killed her. She continued her message to Natasha: "Tell Micki that Dimitri tricked me. The information he gave me about a single bodyguard has to be false. And tell him I love him."

  On the other side of the door, a soldier aimed his gun and blasted away the lock. Suslov kicked open the door. Saliva was dripping from his mouth as he glared at her.

  Irina hit the power button, turning off her phone. Then she tossed it at him. Suslov batted it down with his left hand and sent it crashing against the hard cement floor. With his right, a huge, powerful meaty claw, Suslov grabbed her around the neck, pulling her to her feet. She tried to punch him, but her tiny fists didn't even make him flinch when they struck his chest.

  "I was so good to you... you ungrateful little bitch."

  She spat at him, right in the eye.

  Suslov gripped her neck with both of his hands.

  "My little bird," he said in a mocking tone. He laughed sadistically. "You won't be going to Beverly Hills."

  He squeezed tighter and tighter. A gurgling noise came out of her mouth. Her eyes bulged. Her body tensed, then grew limp in his hands. As all of the life oozed out of her body, his face lit up with a sweet smile of revenge.

  When she was dead, he turned to one of the guards standing in the doorway and said, "Take her to the basement downstairs. Hack her up. Then put her in the old KGB burial chamber. There's room for one more body."

  Chapter 34

  Layla closed her eyes and sat back in the cab on her way to the sound lab, analyzing the situation. She was no longer terrified by Nadim and the prospect that he knew she had planted the bugs.

  Plenty of her relatives in Lebanon had died fighting Nadim and the Syrians. The brave ones went down with a struggle after taking Syrians with them. The cowards suffered in their humiliation as well as in their death.

  She knew which group she wanted to be in. She was calm and cool when she walked into the sound lab.

  Not Jack. He was frightened about what might happen to her. "You've got to leave Paris right now. Nadim knows about the bug you planted." A bundle of nerves, Jack was talking fast. "I've got a car waiting at our embassy to drive you to Amsterdam. You're booked on the ten-o'clock El A1 flight tonight to Israel."

  Layla gave Jack that mysterious smile of hers. "I'm not going."

  "You have to. He'll kill you."

  "Maybe he will, and maybe he won't." She pulled the gun out of her purse and held it up. "And I know how to use it."

  Jack was exasperated. "Do you know what you're up against?"

  She smiled again. "Unfortunately, much better than you do. Let him try. It's time somebody stood up to the bastard."

  Avi walked into the sound lab. For the entire five minutes it took Jack to explain what was happening with Nadim, Avi looked at Layla with admiration. "Boy, was I wrong about you," Avi told her. "You're a feisty woman."

  "Nadim killed my uncle Bashir for what I'm doing now. It's time somebody got even."

  "It's okay with me."

  "But not with me," Jack said to Avi. "You don't care for her the way I do."

  "Back off, Jack," Layla said. "I'm a big girl."

  Avi found himself in the bizarre situation of supporting Layla against Jack. He'd like nothing better than for Layla to get rid of their old nemesis Nadim. "She has a right to decide for herself."

  "You were the one who didn't trust her," Jack told him.

  "That was before I saw what she could do."

  It amused Layla that they were having this discussion as if she weren't in the room.

  Despairing, Jack realized it didn't matter what he said. He hadn't known Layla a long time, but he was well aware of how strong-willed she was. She was determined to square off with Nadim. He gave a long sigh of resignation. "I'll stick with you and provide protection until Nadim leaves Paris."

  "That may not be possible," Avi interjected. "Moshe wants you and me on the first plane to Baku in the morning. It's at seven a.m. on Turkish Air out of Orly via Istanbul. He's got approval from the prime minister for your action plan to block the exchange."

  Jack locked eyes with Layla. "Please change your mind about leaving Paris," he said, knowing his words were in vain.

  "I'm staying," she said with a ring of finality. "A person has to confront her demons. Mine is in this city right now."

  "Tell you what," Jack said, "at least let me offer you a little help. First of all, I'd like you to stay at the Bristol with me tonight until... I have to leave in the morning."

  Avi was looking at her. She blushed. "I'm okay with that," she said.

  "Second," Jack continued, "when I was involved in a recent operation"—even though he trusted her, instinctively he couldn't bring himself to tell her he was responsible for Khalifa's assassination—"I learned about this device the techies have over at the embassy. It's a special doorknob. I want to have it installed to replace the doorknob leading from the living room of your apartment to the bedroom. Hopefully Nadim will already be gone from Paris when we split in the morning, but maybe he won't." He paused and took a deep breath, gulping for air. "If Nadim tries to attack you in your apartment, you'll race into the bedroom, slam the door, and flip a special switch on the wall that resembles a light switch. It'll activate an electrical charge on the doorknob. When Nadim grabs it, he'll get one hell of a shock, literally and figuratively."

  Avi wasn't familiar with the device. "Will it kill him?"

  Jack shrugged. "It's about fifty-fifty."

  Layla interjected, "I'd like
better odds than that."

  Jack cracked a smile. He never wanted to cross this woman. "Let's put it this way: At the very least, he'll be knocked out for a while, long enough for you to call somebody at our embassy who can hustle you up to Amsterdam by car and on the first plane out to Israel."

  "David Navon," Avi said. "That's the man she should call. I'll set it up." He scribbled a number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "I'll also make the arrangements for the doorknob."

  "Sounds like a plan," Layla said. She took out a key to her apartment and offered it to Avi.

  He waved her away and smiled. "Our people don't need keys."

  Jack looked grim. "If you have to use this doorknob, let's just hope it functions better than a certain recording device in a bowl of flowers in Rome."

  Layla didn't know what happened in Rome, but she had a pretty good idea. The tension in the room was thick. Avi decided to cut it. "I think I'll get out of here and leave you two kids for the night. Meet you at the airport tomorrow morning, Jack."

  "Kids?" Jack said to Avi. "I'm older than you are."

  "Well, I'm certainly not," Layla said.

  They all laughed nervously.

  * * *

  President Kendall wanted to believe what Irina had heard Suslov say. If Suslov was bringing only a single bodyguard, then Kendall didn't have to confront the question of whether to send a sizable contingency of American troops. "The information you just received from Michael Hanley changes the dynamics," President Kendall said, sounding relieved as he looked at Joyner and General Childress seated with him at a conference table in the Oval Office.

  Joyner knew where Kendall was headed, and she didn't like it.

  "Let's assume that what Irina told Hanley is correct," Kendall continued. "Then we won't need a large contingent of troops to break this up and rescue our pilot. So we can give Drozny more time to act. If he doesn't, we move in with a small group of commandos and surgically do the job. That way we'll minimize the damage to our relations with Russia and the chances that this could escalate. What do you two think?"

  With her eyes and a nod of her head Joyner tossed the question to Childress.

  "The problem, Mr. President," Childress said, coughing to clear his throat, "is that I don't believe that Suslov will have only a single bodyguard or anything like that."

  "I agree," Joyner said.

  Kendall's eyes went from Childress to Joyner and back again. "What makes you two so sure?"

  Joyner picked it up. "Michael Hanley is on the scene in Moscow. He knows the players, and he has no doubt Suslov was feeding his contact misinformation."

  Childress gave the president a few seconds to absorb that before adding, "Suslov's background with the Russian army confirms Margaret's conclusion. In Chechnya, Suslov always used plenty of brute force to accomplish any task."

  "But suppose... let's just suppose..." Kendall said stubbornly.

  Joyner shook her head in dismay. Kendall was a smart man, but that didn't prevent him from seeing things the way he wanted to in a complex situation.

  "Suppose " Kendall repeated, staring at Childress, "we continue to work with Drozny and we don't make the type of troop movements that would alarm him. At the same time, you send Major Davis with his six-man group to Baku quietly, maybe even dressed in civilian clothes. Give Davis a chance to redeem himself from the earlier abortive effort. Let him and his men get themselves into the area. We'll all stay close to the situation. If it turns out that Drozny won't act or we get some independent information that Suslov's sending a large force, then we bring in an increased group of our own to offset Suslov's troops."

  Childress was cringing. "The problem with that, Mr. President, is that it takes time to move in troops and their arms. Baku's not an easy place to get to."

  Kendall dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand. "Ah, c'mon. We have so many troops and weapons around the whole Middle East area and in Asia. You can shuttle some in on short notice."

  Childress didn't argue. His commander in chief had made a decision. For her part, Joyner kept still. She knew Kendall well enough to realize that once he had taken a position, further opposition was useless. It would simply force him to dig in further.

  * * *

  "Six special-ops troops?" Moshe said to Joyner in disbelief. "Has Kendall lost his mind?"

  Regardless of how Joyner viewed the decision, she felt the need to defend the president to the Israeli. "He's relying on information from what's been a reliable source in the past. We're trying to balance the need to block this exchange with the delicacy of American-Russian relations. If we receive different information in the future, we'll readjust. It's a fluid situation."

  "Hmph," Moshe said. "I think it's a ridiculous way to go."

  "You have to appreciate that our relationship with Moscow is always sensitive."

  "But the exchange is taking place in Azerbaijan. Not Russia."

  "Which used to be a part of the USSR. Moscow views it as within Russia's sphere of influence."

  "We don't. I just want you to know that. We'll take whatever action we believe is in our best interests."

  "C'mon, Moshe, at least you've got to give Drozny time to act. To stop the nuclear convoy."

  "You undoubtedly have satellite photos, Margaret. We've done the calculations. We figure that the convoy will be across the Russian border into Azerbaijan in another couple of hours, at most. If Drozny hasn't acted by then, he's not going to."

  Joyner couldn't argue with that logic. She decided to shift her approach. "If you act too soon with too large an armed contingent, you run the risk of the convoy turning around and heading back to Russia. The next time—and there will be a next time—we'll never have as good a chance of stopping them."

  "I've discussed that with the prime minister," Moshe said. "That's a risk we're prepared to take," The Israeli sounded implacable and unyielding. His voice was tinged with a sharp tone of righteousness.

  "You'll also get our pilot, Robert McCallister, killed," Joyner protested.

  Moshe's voice softened. "You can be sure that we'll take every step humanly possible to save young McCallister's life."

  "God, you' re stubborn," Joyner said.

  "Coming from you, I take that as a compliment."

  "You would."

  "Don't forget what the Bible says—we're a stiff-necked people."

  Joyner took a deep breath and exhaled. "Whoever wrote that knew what he was talking about."

  "No, seriously, Margaret, I know we disagree from time to time, but..."

  She wanted to be conciliatory as well. She liked Moshe. Israel was an important and valuable ally. "I recognize that your country sometimes has different interests from ours. That causes the disagreements."

  "That's certainly true. Last night I dreamed about you."

  Joyner wondered where this was going. "Yeah?"

  "Well, anyhow, I dreamed that you and I had died. We were up in heaven arguing with each other. First it was about David and Sagit and the Saudi Arabians. Then it was about Jack Cole and Michael Hanley and the Russians and Syrians in this mess."

  She laughed. "Do you think we're going to make it to heaven? I mean you and I?"

  Moshe shrugged. "God needs people to direct his intelligence agents, but who can know for sure? At least we have a lot better chance than Nadim and Suslov."

  "In English, we call that damning by faint praise."

  Given her disagreement with Kendall, Joyner couldn't tell Moshe, but she was changing her mind. The longer she thought about it the happier she was that Israel was sending a contingent of troops to Baku. "Do what you have to do," she said. "I'll still work with you in the next world."

  * * *

  The proprietor of the Philadelphia restaurant came over to Michael. It was almost midnight, and the American had been sitting at a table sipping stale coffee and looking out of the restaurant's window at the headquarters of Suslov Enterprises for almost nine hours.

  "I'm sorry, bu
t we're closing now," he said to the visibly distraught young man in a kind tone.

  Wise to the ways of the world and having operated the restaurant when the KGB had used the building across the street, the proprietor recognized this as a familiar scene. He realized that Michael was conducting a vigil, waiting for someone who would never come out. Probably a woman, judging from Michael's face.

  "Perhaps she's decided to spend the night," he said. "I'm sure she'll be out in the morning."

  The man was being kind. Michael tried to force a smile. He couldn't even do that. He had only one more possible move.

  With wobbly legs he left the restaurant. Trying to appear bold, Michael walked across the square and straight up to one of the two guards in front of Suslov's building who was gripping an AK-47.

  "I want to speak to Irina Ivanova," Michael said in his best Russian.

  Without consulting any list, the man responded, "There is no one inside by that name."

  Michael pointed to the phone attached to a concrete post. "Would you please call and ask?"

  The guard looked at Michael with mean, cold eyes. "There is no one inside by that name," he repeated.

  Michael considered pushing aside the guard and rushing to the front door. Sensing this, the other guard trundled over. He aimed his gun at Michael. "Move on," he barked.

  Michael's guess was that Suslov had left a specific order that they were supposed to shoot to kill if he tried to break in. He looked from one battle-hardened Slavic face to the other. Neither of them flinched.

  Filled with guilt and remorse, Michael turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Daniel Moreau was persistent. He sat in his office and went back over all of the notes he and his colleagues had made in their interviews of people around Place de l'Alma in the search for Jack Cole.

  He lit up a cigarette and scratched his head. There had to be a lead somewhere he was missing.

  When he came to the notes of his own interview with the woman in apartment 6B with the initials L. G., he remembered how good she looked, and he smiled.