The Enemy v-2

by Tom Wood

  Adrianna silently cursed herself for saying anything. Why had she? She knew the answer. Whatever the act they played, after Linz she had thought — no, feared — she wouldn’t see Emmanuel again.

  Now that fear had returned. Again she checked her watch. Seven minutes. She wondered how long she should wait, and whether anyone would notice if she left without her date.

  The man in the nylon jacket emerged from the bathroom. He looked flustered and drew a cell phone from a pocket as he hurried across the restaurant floor towards the door. She felt him looking at her again, but she was used to men looking her way. Not all of them knew how to do so without making it obvious.

  The smiling waiter noticed her gesture and drifted over.

  ‘Anything else, madam?’

  She shook her head. ‘Can I get the bill, please?’

  ‘Of course.’

  A moment later a long leather folder was on the table and Adrianna opened her handbag to retrieve her purse. She withdrew a credit card.

  ‘Sorry I was so long.’

  Adrianna looked up to see Emmanuel taking his seat opposite her. She hadn’t even noticed his approach. She felt equal parts relief and foolishness, but a large part of her work was maintaining her cool, whatever the situation.

  ‘Were you gone a long time?’ she asked. ‘I can’t say I noticed. I had the waiter bring the bill.’

  ‘Forget about that,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘I want you to listen to me very carefully, Adrianna. You must believe everything I tell you and do exactly as I say, without questions.’

  He looked so serious it was almost funny. ‘Okay,’ she said, putting on an overly serious expression of her own. ‘I’m listening.’

  Emmanuel said, ‘After we’ve finished talking, I want you to get up and go to the ladies’ restroom. Go into the far stall, put down the toilet seat and take off your shoes.’

  ‘My shoes?’

  He ignored her. ‘Then stand on the toilet and open the window in the wall. If it won’t open then you’ll need to break it and use your handbag to clear out the glass. The next part will be difficult, but you have to do it as fast as you can. Don’t worry about getting dirty. You have to hurry.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Listen to me, Adrianna, you don’t need to understand. There isn’t time to make you understand. You just need to do exactly what I’m telling you. You need to climb through the window and out into the alley on the other side. The drop isn’t far and I’ve put some cardboard boxes on the ground outside that will break your fall so you don’t hurt yourself. You’ll find yourself in an alleyway. You must go left and then left again. You’ll come out on to a side street. A taxi will be waiting for you. Get into the back and sit directly behind the driver. Tell him to go straight to the airport. On the way, take out your cell phone and throw it out of the window. Tell the-’

  ‘My phone. Why? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘Tell him to hurry,’ Emmanuel continued. ‘Tell the driver you’ll pay him double if he steps on it. Show him the money if you have to. At the airport take out as much cash from an ATM as you can. Then get the first flight out, whatever it is, wherever it’s going. When you arrive at your destination, take another flight, the next available flight. It doesn’t matter where to. When you arrive you can go wherever you wish, but take a train or bus. Pay in cash. Don’t use any credit cards again.’

  Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t understand. Emmanuel was a whole other person. Intense. Frightening.

  He grabbed a napkin and scribbled down a long number, an alphanumeric one and the name and address of a bank. ‘This is a numbered account. The balance of it is now yours. It should keep you going for a few years if you’re careful. Are you paying attention?’

  ‘Yes, yes. But I don’t-’

  ‘This last part is very important. You can’t go back to Geneva. You can’t go home. You have to stay moving. You can’t contact any of your friends or clients. And you can’t contact your brother in America. You can’t have anything to do with your old life.’

  She felt nauseous. ‘How… how do you know about David?’

  ‘Listen to me, Adrianna. You’re in a lot of danger. That’s my fault, and I’m so sorry, but you have to do exactly what I’m telling you if I’m to protect you.’ He wrote another number on the napkin. ‘Call this number in a week’s time. Hopefully, I’ll have left a message to say everything’s okay and you can go home, or I’ll have left instructions. I’ll use a code so you know it’s from me.’

  ‘What code?’

  He shook his head. ‘If I give you one now they’ll make me tell it to them. But you’ll know it’s from me, all right? If there is no message, or there is no code or the message asks you to meet me somewhere, you must ignore it and not call the number back under any circumstances. In which case you’ll never be able to go back home.’ He paused. ‘And whatever happens, you won’t see me again.’

  She couldn’t stop the tears. She reached out a hand to touch his.

  ‘Stop crying,’ he said. ‘Stop it right now. If they see you crying, they’ll know.’

  ‘Who? Who will see? Who will know? Who will make you tell?’

  ‘Put that napkin in your bag and don’t lose it. It’s time to go.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Do you remember everything I’ve said?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re doing this.’ She squeezed his hand, seeking comfort. ‘Who will see? Emmanuel, what is going on?’

  He snapped his hand away.

  ‘ Go,’ he snarled.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Someone you don’t want to know.’

  Adrianna folded up the napkin, subtly dabbed her eyes, stood and headed for the ladies’ room. She didn’t look back. Victor was glad of that. He didn’t want to see her face and the terror he’d put there. She pushed open the door to the restrooms. Then she was gone, for ever.

  He finished his cold tea and paid the bill with cash, including a one hundred per cent tip. Better the waiter got his money than Mossad.

  If he left this instant it might confuse them for him to be without Adrianna, and that might buy Victor enough time to create some distance. But if he left now, watchers in the area might notice a taxi and the woman who sat sobbing in the back. While he remained here at his table, Adrianna was sure to make it to the airport safely.

  After ten minutes they would know for certain she wasn’t going to return, and that she must have snuck out the back. And that fact would tell them that Victor knew they were out there and he would have lost his only advantage. It would be too late to catch up with Adrianna, but they would take him at the first available opportunity.

  When his watch showed it had been eleven minutes since Adrianna’s departure, Victor stood, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and stepped outside.

  CHAPTER 62

  The air was cool. The sky was cloudless. There was a full moon. The Indian restaurant stood just outside Sofia’s centre, in a dense commercial neighbourhood. The street out front was busy in the daytime, but at this time of night few establishments were open and the street was quiet. Pedestrians were sparse. The storefronts on the opposite side of the street were all dark. Some had security grilles. Cars were parked on either side of the road, but there was little traffic. Victor examined every person.

  He went left because it would take him into central Sofia. More people there, more cars, more buses. More options. Plus there was access to Sofia’s metro system. It was relatively small and new, but he needed as many escape options as possible. He couldn’t know where or when the Kidon would strike and he needed terrain that would make their job more difficult while at the same time offering him the most advantages. A taxi was no good. He would be even easier to follow than on foot, and all they would have to do was get a car in front and a car behind and that would be it. He walked at a hurried pace. There was no point trying to act casual. They knew he knew
.

  He walked for four minutes along the same street. People walked ahead of him, behind him, on the opposite side of the road. Mostly men, the odd couple. No single women. He crossed over the street and looked in store windows to check the reflections of anyone walking behind on the far side of the road. No one, but there was a man and a woman on the same side as him. Not the couple with the camera. That would have been too obvious. These both looked in their thirties, both in reasonable shape, unremarkable clothes. Potentials.

  He stood with his hand near his waistband, within a short distance of the gun tucked there. The couple didn’t react and walked straight past him.

  He walked some more. After two minutes the couple stopped under a bus shelter and sat down. A perfectly normal action or a smart way to step out of the game now their target was behind them and out of sight. Victor kept the same pace as he passed. He used what windows he could to keep watching but within seconds he’d gone too far to get an angle.

  Cars rolled by intermittently in both directions. Victor walked towards the flow of traffic on the near lane so a Kidon vehicle couldn’t come up behind him. Traffic was light. Too light for a van to roll up next to him without warning. The cars that went by were mostly small European sedans. He saw a blue four-door Peugeot that looked familiar, but it was hard to be sure.

  He checked his watch. Adrianna should be almost at the airport by now. It was close to the city. Even if the Kidon had sent people there after realising what was happening, they wouldn’t catch up that lead. He willed her to do exactly as instructed and take the first flight out, whatever it may be.

  He watched the unmistakable shape of a minivan approaching. It seemed to slow as it neared. He looked to the row of stores to his left. No alleyways or side streets. No flimsy doors or unbarred windows. He tensed in readiness. His best bet would be to sprint across the road the second the van got close, adopt a shooting stance, kill the driver and keep shooting until his gun clicked empty and he felt the burning sting of a bullet penetrating his flesh.

  But the van drove by without slowing. In minutes Victor was the only pedestrian in sight and the space between passing vehicles grew enough to cause him concern. He had to get off the street. He took the next turning that presented itself.

  Victor walked along the side street, down another when he reached an intersection. The streets were darker, quieter, narrower. Far less people. He was still heading into the city centre, but taking a less direct route. It started to rain lightly. He walked two miles in twenty-seven minutes, darting down alleyways, doubling back, doing everything possible to lose them, but knowing they were near and he was only delaying the inevitable.

  He pictured Adrianna now in a departure lounge, if not safely in a seat and fastening her belt. She would be traumatised, but she was safe. In time she would learn to deal with her fear. He hoped she could one day forgive him, but he knew how he’d spoken to her would make that a false hope. If he had been comforting and understanding, then maybe. But he had been harsh and uncaring because he’d had to make her afraid to save her life.

  He kept his hands outside of his pockets and his jacket open. He paid attention to every sound, every shadow. Each time he heard an engine he calculated how far away it was and in which direction it was heading. Every person he saw, he absorbed their manner, age, looks, build, clothes, evaluating the probability of them being a Kidon operative.

  The street Victor walked down had a cobbled surface and five-storey buildings flanking either side. To Victor’s left was paving with a low kerb. To his right there was no sidewalk. The buildings were drab grey brick. Signs for stores fronted by security gates provided muted colour. The rain was fine and cold. No wind.

  There was one other person on the street. Fifty yards ahead, at the intersection, a woman stood talking on a cell phone. She paced back and forth beneath the glow of a streetlamp. Victor’s footsteps echoed. Few lights were on in the windows above the closed stores.

  He felt the urge to light a cigarette and wished he still smoked. If his mental map of Sofia was accurate, there was a metro station about a block away. A few minutes and he would be in the relative safety of a clean, modern carriage. He would ride it to the train station and take any train he could. He was so close.

  He noticed footsteps behind him. Someone had just turned on to the street on the opposite side of the road — a man, by the weight of the footsteps and the time between them.

  Victor walked on. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Including himself, there were three people on the street now. A lot for a quiet street at that time of night. The woman continued to talk into her phone. She hadn’t looked at him once.

  He increased his pace. There were no alleyways leading off the street except back the way he had come. The intersection was forty yards away. The woman beneath the streetlight was short and slender. Flat practical shoes.

  Victor looked up. No one at any windows or on any rooftops. He heard the rumble of an approaching engine. The footsteps behind him hadn’t grown quieter. They should have. The walker was matching his pace.

  A car turned into the street from the intersection ahead. Its headlights swept over the woman. Victor averted his eyes to preserve his night vision. The car crawled his way at fifteen miles per hour. It was a plain sedan. A Peugeot. Blue. Four doors. The nearside windows were all up. It didn’t slow down or speed up. Victor’s right hand hovered over the FN’s grip. The Peugeot passed him on his right side.

  Another car pulled into the road. Victor heard the Peugeot behind him slow down. As it did, the woman put away her phone and turned in his direction. She was twenty yards away. She had short boyish hair and a plain face. Victor glanced over his shoulder. The man walking on the opposite side of the street was tall, six-four, and strongly built. Buzz cut. The shadows hid any other details. The Peugeot was slowing down further behind him as the second car accelerated hard.

  Two cars, two pedestrians. Victor couldn’t keep eyes on them all. Which was the point.

  He snapped his gaze back to the woman, and needing no other evidence, drew his gun. The woman was already reaching into her coat to do the same. Victor didn’t need to look back to know the big guy across the street would be readying his own weapon. Positioned on opposite sides of the street meant they could safely shoot at him without endangering the other.

  Headlights swept in his direction, momentarily blinding Victor as he took a shot. The crack from the unsuppressed Five-seveN echoed between the overlooking buildings.

  He didn’t see if he’d hit, and had no opportunity to check as the second car hurtled closer, straight at him. Another French sedan. A Renault. Ten yards away, then five. There was only time to fire at the driver or jump out of the way. If he killed the driver, it wouldn’t stop the car slamming into him. Victor leapt right, into the road.

  The car roared past where he’d been standing, and Victor rolled on the asphalt, absorbing the energy that would otherwise induce injury.

  Doors were opening before the Renault had even stopped. Two people charged out. A woman from the passenger seat, a man from the back. Victor rose into a kneel, drawing a bead on the man, who was closer, but shouts from the big guy on the far side of the street and the woman with the plain face stopped him squeezing the trigger. Covered from two angles, there was nothing Victor could do. If he fired, he died.

  The FN clattered on the road surface and Victor showed his palms.

  The Peugeot had stopped sixty yards at the end of the street to block off the intersection from other vehicles. The Renault was less than ten yards away.

  He recognised the woman now hurrying towards him from the Renault’s open passenger door. She looked markedly different with a gun instead of a camera, the friendly smile replaced by a cold stare. She covered him from a distance of five feet. The driver stayed behind the wheel. The man from the back had a pale, gaunt face and held the same gun. Beretta 92FS. Suppressed. Victor glanced over his shoulder to see the slender woman with the plai
n face remained stationary near the streetlamp, in a combat stance, gun aimed at his back.

  The man with the Beretta aimed it at Victor and shouted, ‘ Don’t move.’

  He spoke in Russian, just as Victor had spoken in Minsk.

  The big guy approached. He was strongly muscled but a lean two hundred and twenty pounds. No excess bulk. Loose trousers, open sports jacket, T-shirt beneath. He searched Victor, locating the all-ceramic folding knife in seconds and tossing it away.

  ‘Hands,’ he demanded.

  Victor held them out, shoulder-width apart. The big guy grabbed Victor’s wrists. The strength of the grip was huge. The guy looped plasticuffs around both of Victor’s wrists and fastened it tight enough for the skin to bulge white around the straps.

  He took Victor by the right triceps, pulled him to the car. Victor didn’t let the pain show or resist as he was thrown into the back of the Renault. The big guy gave some order in Hebrew and the original two from the car climbed in — the man on to the seat next to Victor, the woman into the passenger seat. The short woman under the streetlight slipped her gun away, and rushed over to the Peugeot, climbing into the back. The big guy got into the passenger seat.

  Already Victor could feel the tingling in his hands caused by the blocked circulation. He sat himself upright. He was behind the driver. The guy on the back seat with him kept as much distance between them as possible, but didn’t take his gaze off Victor. He kept his gun pointed at Victor at all times. The Beretta was chambered for 9 mm rounds, double action, safety off, hammer cocked. All he had to do was squeeze and Victor would take one in the sternum. The Israeli held the gun in his right hand and kept it parallel to his chest. It was too far away for Victor to risk grabbing, even if his hands weren’t bound.