End of Enemies

by Grant Blackwood

  He keyed his radio and gave the command. Within moments, a dozen diesel engines roared to life, then a dozen more, then another dozen, until the ground shook beneath his feet and he felt it in his belly. One by one, tarpaulins began falling away as soldiers jerked them down. They were efficient and quick, having practiced this very operation hundreds of times.

  The officer nodded with satisfaction. Barring any problems, they would be moving within the hour.

  Beirut

  Tanner sensed that he was moving but little else. His head throbbed and his ears felt stuffed with cotton. He forced open his eyes and found himself staring at a cobblestone floor. They were moving. Why was the floor moving? No, it was him. He was moving. He could feel hands gripping his arms.

  A wooden door filled his vision. Thick wood … black iron hinges. Like a dungeon, he thought dully. With a squeak, the door opened. He was shoved inside. Rough hands jerked his arms behind his back, and he heard the click-click of handcuffs.

  Something slammed into the back of his head, and everything went black.

  Tanner forced his eyes open. Above his head, a square of pale light swam into focus until it became a small, barred window. The sky was dark. Was it the same night or the next? Concentrate, Briggs! This was how it started, he knew. First comes the shock of capture, then the sensation of lost time, each spiraling and feeding on one another until you start to crumble. Think it through. It had to be the same night.

  The door squeaked open. Four men dressed in fatigues, their faces covered in kaffiyehs, marched inside. The last one was carrying a bucket. He barked a command in Arabic. Then again. Tanner realized it was meant for him.

  No Arabic, he thought. Don’t give them anything.

  “You! Sit up! Sit up!”

  Tanner sat up.

  The man stepped forward and emptied the bucket over Tanner’s head. Instinctively, thinking it was water, he opened his mouth. It was urine. He spat and coughed, felt bile rise in his throat. The trio roared with laughter.

  “You like? Taste good? Plenty more!”

  Let it go, Tanner told himself. He felt himself withdrawing, narrowing. This was just the start. It would get worse. Nothing mattered now but staying alive. Keep it together and stay alive.

  The trio stopped laughing. “Bucket” and the other two guards leaned their rifles against the wall. The fourth guard remained in the doorway, AK-47 at the ready. They formed a semicircle around him.

  As if on silent command, they began kicking him. Boots pounded into his thighs, his back, his stomach. He curled into a ball and covered his head. A steel toe struck his spine, and he involuntarily arched backward. One of the men saw the opening and stomped his solar plexus. Briggs felt himself retch. He could hear them grunting and panting with exertion, urging one another on with shouts. One of the boots found its way through his arms, and Tanner heard a crunch and felt his nose shatter.

  Chests heaving, they stared down at him for a moment, then picked up their rifles and stalked out. The door slammed shut

  The light continued to brighten until the first rays of sunlight sliced through the window. He heard a skittering sound and turned to see a rat scurry along the wall and disappear through a crack in the stone. Despite himself, Tanner chuckled softly. Could be dinner soon, he thought. He pictured himself scrabbling around the cell trying to catch the rat and found himself laughing even harder.

  The door swung open, revealing the same four guards. Bucket walked in carrying two lengths of rope, one of which was tied in a noose. Two of the guards pulled Tanner to his feet and shoved him against the wall. Bucket tossed the rope over the ceiling beam, slipped the noose over Tanner’s head, and cinched it tight. He secured the second length of rope to Tanner’s handcuffs and tied it off to a bolt in the baseboard.

  Bucket barked a command.

  Briggs felt the noose tightening, lifting him until he was standing on his toes. The rope was tied off. Bucket plucked the rope with his fingertips and nodded. He smiled at Tanner. “Tiptoes,” he said. “Tiptoes.”

  In tradecraft jargon, what they were doing was called scarecrowing.

  Already Tanner could feel the noose cutting into his skin. In a few minutes his calves would begin to cramp. In an hour they would be on fire, and his ankle joints would stiffen until they felt encased in molten cement. Breathing would become a moment-by-moment struggle.

  From the corner of his eye he saw a figure standing in the doorway. The figure was dressed all in black except for a white flour sack hood. Two eyeholes had been cut in the material. Tanner felt his heart thumping.

  “Out!” ordered Bucket. “Out!”

  The rest of the guards left.

  The hooded man walked over and stopped in front of Tanner. The eyes flicked over his face. Tanner stared back. The eyes were blank and emotionless. Like he’s watching a lab experiment, Tanner thought. He studied Tanner for a few more seconds, then turned for the door.

  Briggs lifted his head enough to ease the tension on his larynx. “The boy …”

  The man stopped.

  “The boy,” Tanner croaked. “What happened to the boy?”

  The man tilted his head, then looked to Bucket, who walked over and whispered something. “The boy is safe,” the hooded man said. “We sent him home.”

  With that, he walked out. The door slammed shut.

  Tanner felt sick to his stomach. He recognized the voice. It was Abu Azhar.

  62

  White House

  “They’ve made contact,” Dick Mason said, walking into the Oval Office.

  The president said, “How?”

  “A goddamned cell phone call to the Jerusalem Post.”

  Mason slid a CD into the player on the coffee table and pressed Play. The voice spoke Arabic-accented English. “Attention government of Israel …”

  “Interesting he chose English,” said Talbot. “Who—”

  “Audio says it’s al-Baz,” Mason replied.

  “… this is the Arab Liberation Command speaking. By now you know we are holding one hundred Israeli prisoners of war. Currently they are safe and unharmed aboard our ship, which is en route to your shores.

  “Our demands are as follows: In exchange for the safe return of our prisoners, the government of Israel will fully and immediately cede the West Bank and Gaza Strip territories to Palestinian authority. Furthermore, these territories will be formally recognized by the government of Israel and the United Nations as states of a sovereign nation. These demands are not open to negotiation.

  “Any attempt to attack, board, or otherwise molest this ship will be considered an act of aggression and will be responded to with maximum retribution. In addition, the passage of any military unit of any nation within twenty nautical miles of this ship will result in the execution of ten prisoners.

  “Once this vessel is safely docked in Tel Aviv Harbor and Israeli forces—both political and military—have fully withdrawn from Palestine territories, and once the United Nations has taken steps to ensure there will be no more interference by Israel or its allies in Palestinian concerns, the Arab Liberation Command will release unharmed its remaining prisoners.

  “In conclusion, the Arab Liberation Command will offer a demonstration of its resolve. You will dispatch an unaccompanied, unarmed helicopter from Palermo to this vessel’s position by no later than noon, Palermo time. This helicopter will contain one pilot and a two-person news crew with a video camera. If this demand is not met, we will execute ten prisoners.

  “Make no attempt to contact this vessel. That is all.”

  Mason switched off the player. “The Israelis have managed to suppress it, but that won’t last for long. They’re handling the helicopter. We’re monitoring the Iraqi response, but it could go either way. Even if this is a Syrian operation, Saddam might be inclined to go along for glory’s sake.”

  “Interesting there was no mention of the bomb,” said Cathermeier.

&n
bsp; “They’re holding it as a bargaining chip,” replied Talbot.

  “I disagree,” said Dutcher. “If they plan to use it, why announce it? Why let the Israelis prepare? For all al-Baz knows, it’s still a secret.”

  “Good point,” said Mason. “That exclusion zone is a smart move.”

  “Why?” asked the secretary of state.

  Cathermeier replied, “It guarantees the story will get out. To maintain that kind of zone, we’re going to have to surround Tsumago. By morning, the whole world will know about this.”

  “Why only twenty miles, though? Why not farther out?”

  “It’ll let them keep an eye on the escorts, but it’s far enough they’ll have plenty of warning before an attack.”

  The president looked at Dutcher. “Dutch, what about your two men?”

  “Cahil is trying to locate the bomb. As for Tanner …” He glanced at Mason and saw nothing on the DCI’s face. There were only a few people who could have burned Tanner, and Mason was one of them. Would Dick do such a thing? Either way, he couldn’t afford to tip his hand. “As of his last transmission, no luck. Asseal’s been taken, but given the chaos in Beirut, tracking him is going to be tough.”

  “We’re just about out of options,” said the president. “If an invasion is coming, we’ve got no way to stop it, and we sure as hell can’t back out. The whole region would crumble.”

  No one spoke. Dutcher knew the president was facing a terrible decision, and in this case there were no lesser evils from which to choose. Whichever way he went, lots of people were going to die.

  “Gentlemen, I’ve been talking with the Israeli prime minister. We’ve reached an understanding. However unlikely, if we manage to confirm the bomb is not aboard, this will be treated as a hostage situation. It will be handled by the Israelis.

  “If there’s any doubt about the bomb, or we get confirmation, Tsumago won’t be allowed within Israel’s twelve-mile limit. Hostages or not, she will be sunk. If that becomes necessary, I’ve decided that we will carry out the attack.”

  Talbot blurted, “Mr. President, that would be political suicide! With the election next year—”

  “This isn’t about politics, Jim. This is our mess. Our responsibility. I won’t ask the Israelis to kill a hundred of its own citizens and cause the worst environment catastrophe in history. I won’t do it.”

  Dutcher felt a wave of admiration for the president. He was ignoring political considerations and simply doing the right thing. At what price, though? Talbot was right: If the worst came to pass, the president would be finished—as a leader and as a man.

  “This is my decision,” the president continued. “There will be no more discussion. I’ve asked General Cathermeier to put together a plan. Go ahead, General.”

  “The unit we’ve chosen will be on station in three hours,” said Cathermeier. “The moment Tsumago crosses Israeli’s territorial boundary, we can put her on the bottom in less than two minutes.”

  Beirut

  Safir walked into the cafe, saw Camille in the corner booth, and sat down.

  “Did you reach Briggs’s people?” she asked.

  Safir nodded. “They asked me to try to find him.”

  “Do they know about me?”

  “No. It is against my better judgment, but I said nothing.” Camille had told Safir what she was; she suspected it was only his loyalty to Tanner that kept him from running.

  “Safir, I know it’s hard, but you have to believe me: I’m doing this for Briggs, not for my country. My people don’t even know I’ve been in touch with him.”

  Safir considered this. “They may kill you for such a thing.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  “As do I. He is a good friend. So what do we do?”

  Tsumago

  Deep inside the ship, Saul and Bernice sat on either side of Sludowski, who lay coughing and shivering. In addition to numerous cuts and bruises, the young man had been shot twice, once in the thigh and once in the lower back. This wound worried Saul most

  Bernice touched Slud’s forehead. “He’s burning up, Saul.”

  “I know. He’s bleeding inside.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “He needs surgery, Bernice. There’s nothing I can do here.”

  “He’s so young.”

  “Yes.” He was almost the same age as their own son. Weinman felt a wave a sadness. Would they ever see their family again?

  He stood up. “Wait here, Bernice.”

  He made his way to the door and pounded on it. “Hello! Hello out there! Please, we have a very sick man here!”

  To Weinman’s surprise, the bolt clicked back and the door swung open. A man with a handlebar mustache was standing in the doorway.

  “Thank God,” Saul said. “The man there, he is very ill. He needs help.”

  The man nodded to the guards, who put down their rifles and pushed past Weinman. They marched through the space, kicking and shouting at passengers too slow in moving. When they reached Bernice, they shoved her aside, lifted Sludowski, and began dragging him toward the door.

  “Be careful, please,” said Weinman. “He—”

  “Do not concern yourself with him,” said the man.

  “He’s very sick. He needs surgery.”

  “He will receive the appropriate treatment, old man. I suggest you concern yourself with your own safety.”

  With nothing to do during daylight hours, Cahil listened to the waves pound the hull. In the distance he heard a faint thumping. He strained to hear. The sound increased until he recognized it: helicopter rotors. He climbed up the ladder, cracked the hatch, and peered out. A trio of men stood on the forecastle. At their head stood Mustafa al-Baz.

  The beat of rotors grew louder until a white-and-blue-striped helicopter stopped in a hover off the port railing. Leaning from the door were two men, one holding a video camera, the second a microphone.

  “What the hell …” Cahil whispered.

  Al-Baz gestured at someone out of Cahil’s view. Seconds later, two crewmen walked forward, dragging a man between them. Slud! He was badly beaten and barely conscious. They dropped him, then reached down and jerked him to his knees. Slud swayed from side to side, head lolling as he squinted up at the helicopter.

  Then Cahil realized what was happening. No, Christ, please don’t. … He drew the Glock from his holster. He counted targets: Five, all armed, the closest was forty feet away. He gripped the hatch and readied himself. Then stopped.

  Even if he survived and managed to get Slud overboard, what then? What about the bomb? How many lives depended on his staying aboard and out of sight?

  Even as all these thoughts raced through Cahil’s brain, he watched al-Baz draw his pistol, step forward, and place it against Slud’s temple.

  No!

  The pop sounded like a firecracker. Slud’s head snapped sideways, and he toppled onto the deck.

  63

  Beirut

  Tanner could only guess at the time. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he watched the sun’s rays shorten on the floor and draw up the wall. Noon or close to it. God, he hurt. …

  The noose had already chafed his throat raw, and every time he moved, it felt as though the wound was being scraped with a wire brush. For the first two hours he had managed to remain on his toes without much problem, so breathing had been easy. At the end of the third hour, however, his calves began cramping, and he had to clench his jaw against the pain. His muscles began twitching violently. Halfway into the fourth hour, he began experimenting, taking a deep breath, then lowering himself for a few seconds at a time. It only made the pain worse when he raised himself up again. His head began to swell and pound. Blood rushed to his face. He felt like he was drowning.

  Now, in what he guessed was the fifth hour, his body was almost numb, which scared him more than the
pain. It was now that he could strangle himself without realizing it. But they wouldn’t allow that, would they? The questioning hadn’t started yet. Though he saw no one, he knew a guard was probably watching.

  After a time, the numbness became almost soothing. The pain faded until it hovered at the edges of his consciousness. There was no contrast, no good against which he could measure the bad. It was then his mind suddenly cleared and the questions flooded in.

  Who had burned him? What had happened to Bear? How far away was Tsumago? He tried to remember what day it was. By now, she was probably somewhere the Mediterranean, but where? Couldn’t be more than two days away.

  As for the first question, he had some ideas. Safir hadn’t done it; he was too loyal. That left Stucky or Camille. As the old homicide rule went, both had motive and opportunity. The method seemed clear: Just as they had used Asseal, somebody was using him, probably tracking him through Mossad’s network of stringer agents. How quickly would they find him? And how soon after that would the Israelis send in a team?

  Outside, boots clumped down the corridor. Time for round two, he thought dully. He almost welcomed the pain; it would help him stay focused.

  The bolt clicked back. The door swung inward. Two guards walked in, one carrying a square wooden table, the other a pair of chairs. They arranged the table and chairs, then withdrew to the corners.

  Bucket walked in, followed by the hooded man Tanner believed to be Azhar. He sat down in the chair, folded his hands, and stared at the wall. Tanner could see the hood’s mouth hole sucking in and out.

  Bucket loosened the noose from around Tanner’s neck and lifted it away. Tanner knew what was coming, tried to brace himself for it, but as his full weight came down, his knees buckled, and he collapsed. Pain shot up his legs and into his lower back. He felt his bladder start to go. He clenched his jaw against it. No no no … The room swam around him.