Enemy of My Enemy (42 page)

"You're safe at the restaurant, right?"

She nodded.

"Suppose we give you something to take with dinner, to slip into your wine or food, that'll make you throw up. One of those drugs they give kids when they ingest poison and you want them to get rid of it. You'll be so sick you wouldn't be any fun for him. He'll have to let you go home."

Layla wrinkled up her nose while she thought about what he had proposed. "That should work," she said. "I can do that."

Avi wasn't as enthusiastic, but he decided to keep his nagging doubts to himself. There wasn't anything he could point to. He was just worried that something unexpected would occur. They would never be able to control Nadim so easily.

* * *

The four trucks in the nuclear convoy were barely moving.

A snowstorm had struck the greater Caucasus Mountains. In near-blizzard conditions, they were still on the Russian side of the border with Azerbaijan.

The head of the convoy, Nikolai, knew very well what the weather could be like. His grandfather had survived the battle of Stalingrad but was left without fingers or toes as a result of frostbite. He was one of the lucky ones. The Russian winter had done what its soldiers couldn't do: destroyed Hitler's army. Nikolai had come prepared. Each of the trailer trucks had chains for the tires in their cabins. Once the snow started coming down, he had ordered all of the
drivers to
stop and install the chains.

Nikolai had a razor-sharp mind that functioned like a computer, which was one reason that Suslov, his commander in Afghanistan, gave him this assignment. Nikolai knew precisely how many more miles they had to cover.

As long as they continued moving, albeit at this snail's pace, they would make it to the destination in time. Once they crossed the mountains conditions would improve.

Nikolai forced the men to keep driving regardless of the conditions. He was aware of the precious cargo they were transporting. The possibility of a truck rolling off the highway and crashing down the rocky, mountainous terrain sent a wave of fear up and down Nikolai's spine. Still, he refused to order the convoy to stop moving on the deserted road and wait out the storm.

Suslov had impressed him with the absolute necessity of getting to the destination on time. He had given Nikolai an incentive: The former Russian army captain would have enough money that he would never have to work again a day in his life.

"Keep moving," he repeatedly shouted into the communications system that linked the convoy. "We don't stop. Under any circumstances."

The drivers could barely see, but the trucks kept lumbering up the mountain.

* * *

In his Henri Devereaux disguise, Jack, with a .38 in the pocket of his black leather jacket, waited around the corner from the brasserie on Rue Marbeauf, continually glancing out, looking for a cab to pull up in front.

Thirty minutes after Sam's train was scheduled to arrive, a green Citroen taxi slammed to a stop in front of the brasserie. Jack watched Sam pay the driver, climb out, and go inside carrying a briefcase.

He waited a full ten minutes to see if Sam had been followed. During that time Jack weighed in his mind what he was doing. Talking to Sam did have some risks, but he was confident he could trust his brother. At any rate, he wouldn't give Sam any hard information. All he wanted to do was make peace with his brother. If this was the end for Jack, he couldn't leave Sam with the guilt and pain he would have because of their last meeting.

Satisfied that no one had followed Sam, Jack walked into the brasserie. The air in front was heavy with cigarette smoke. At the bar a couple of workmen on their way home were sipping beer. A lottery machine was punching out tickets. Jack stopped at the bar and picked up an espresso. Then he made his way toward the stairs leading to the back section, which was deserted except for Sam, sipping a Coke and staring at some legal documents.

As Jack approached, Sam looked up, didn't recognize his brother, and turned back to the papers. When he got to the table, Jack said softly. "Don't say a word. It's me."

Recognizing Jack's voice, Sam nearly dropped his drink. Jack slid into a chair at the table next to Sam, but in a position where he could still watch the front of the restaurant.

"Oh, my God. It
is
you. I saw posters at the train station. The police are looking for you.... That must be why you're wearing the disguise." Sam looked around the room nervously.

"There are some things I want you to know," Jack said. "I'll trust you not to mention a word of this to anyone. Not even Ann or Sarah."

"You don't have to worry. They think I'm in Brussels on firm business. I swear I won't tell a soul."

"Good. When we were last together in Tel Aviv, you asked me to help get Robert released. You said I must know people in the Israeli government. People who could help rescue Robert."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I do know people like that. I've known them very well for a long time."

"Jesus. You've been working with the Mossad all these years?"

"Shhh," Jack admonished. "Whisper, please." Sam was a quick study. Jack was glad he didn't have to spell it out. "Let's just say that I've served Israel in any way I could."

"What's the situation with Robert?"

"All I can tell you is that people are working hard for his release. Good people in Israel and in the United States."

"I hope your life's not in danger because I asked you to get involved in helping Robert."

The horrified look that Jack saw on his brother's face underscored how much Sam meant what he had just said. "There is danger, and that's one reason I had to see you: to tell you not to feel guilty if something does happen to me. What's at stake is now much bigger than Robert McCallister's release. I can't say any more than that. But regardless of what happens, I am grateful to you for getting me involved. Otherwise things might have happened—terrible things for Israel and the world."

"But why the posters at the train station? Why are the French police looking for you?"

Jack gave him a sardonic smile. "C'mon, Sam. You know the politics of this part of the world."

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, that was a stupid comment. I'm really glad that you called me over to tell me this."

"There's something else I want you to know."

With tears in his eyes, Sam put his hand on Jack's arm, dreading what was coming next.

"My work here for the government of Israel is the reason I wasn't in Chicago more when Mother and Father were dying. I was involved then in something equally important."

Sam looked chagrined. "I'm so sorry. All these years I busted your chops over that. Please forgive me."

"Don't worry. You didn't know. I couldn't tell you. In your situation I would have done the same."

"Will this be over soon?"

"In a matter of days. One way or the other."

 

 

 

Chapter 31

 

Major General Nadim leaned forward in the chair and studied the map of the former USSR spread out on the breakfast table in his apartment. He took a sip of coffee, then extended his finger and traced a line south from Volgograd, trying to estimate where the nuclear convoy was right now.

Nadim was ecstatic. Everything was going so well. He was close to his goal of becoming the Syrian leader, a player in world politics with Layla at his side.

Then his balloon burst with a vengeance.

The telephone jarred him. Nadim jumped up to answer. It was his secretary at the embassy. In a halting voice she said, "President Ahmed is calling you from Damascus. His assistant says it's a matter of extreme urgency."

Nadim cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed right now was for that imbecile Ahmed to disrupt his plans.

It took several more minutes before Ahmed was on the phone.

"Good morning, Mr. President," Nadim said, using the form of address Ahmed preferred and trying to sound obsequious.

"There's nothing at all good about it," Ahmed fired back. "I'm furious at you." He sounded like a stern teacher addressing a student who had been caught cheating.

One thought kept running through Nadim's mind:
Uh-oh, he knows about the pilot. He found out.
Nadim sat down to steady himself and took deep breaths, gulping for air. One good thing about being unmarried was that there was no wife and children back in Damascus for Ahmed to hold hostage and torture.

Nadim decided to tough it out. "I'm sorry, sir. What did I do?"

Ahmed was shouting now. "You know damn well what you did. You had no business letting the Turks hide the American pilot in Syrian territory without my knowledge and agreement. It was only because of a comment my physician made—that he had been called north to treat a bullet wound of the pilot—that I managed to find out. Have you lost your mind?"

Nadim didn't like the idea of having this conversation on an unsecured phone. "We should talk later," he said. "When I get to the embassy. We have a special phone that—"

Ahmed was in too much of a rage to listen. "You have a choice," he said. "You can talk to me right now. Tell me what's happening... Or you can fly home and explain it to a board of inquiry at your treason trial."

"But—"

"No buts. Those are your choices."

Nadim swallowed hard. There was only one thing he could do to save his own life: level with Ahmed now. Well, at least partially.

"I have been working on a plan, Mr. President," Nadim said, returning to his subservient voice. "I didn't want to bother you until I knew I could get it all together. I expect that to be later today. Then I had planned to call you and seek your approval before moving forward."

"A plan to do what?" Ahmed said, still sounding hostile.

Well, here goes. If he doesn't understand it and buy in, I'm a dead man. Speak slowly,
Nadim cautioned himself.
The man's not the sharpest blade in the knife drawer.

"Acquire nuclear weapons for our military... Put Israel on the defensive... Change the entire political landscape of the Middle East."

"That's quite an objective, isn't it?"

Nadim could sense Ahmed's wrath abating as his curiosity took over. "It's easily attainable.... But the American pilot is a critical component. I had to gain temporary control over him until the rest came together." Nadim knew how much Ahmed despised the Turks. He decided to play on that. "They're such fools in Ankara. You know that."

Ahmed laughed. "Very well."

"They might have done something stupid, like killing him, and then we would have lost our bargaining chip."

Ahmed was now intrigued. "What is it you're trading him for?"

Nadim hesitated for an instant, wanting to select his words carefully, making certain to conceal his disgust for this fool Ahmed. The plan was complicated, but Ahmed had to understand each and every term. Only if he appreciated the great benefit of what Nadim had conceived would he remove the death sentence that was hanging over Nadim.

"It goes like this, Mr. President," Nadim said. "Early on Friday morning, at first light, which will be five a.m., an exchange will take place at a truck stop at a key crossroads fifty miles northwest of Baku in Azerbaijan. A former Russian general, Dmitri Suslov, will be bringing to the meeting four trucks loaded with nuclear weapons from the former USSR arsenal."

"Nuclear weapons. Are you serious?" Ahmed was becoming excited. "With nuclear weapons we could become a real power. A match for the Israelis."

Nadim smiled. He now had Ahmed where he wanted him.

"I have it all worked out with Dmitri Suslov, a powerful economic figure in Moscow."

"How do we know we can trust this Suslov? My father always said, 'You can't trust the Russians.'"

"Suslov won't get his money until he turns over the weapons."

Ahmed was outraged. "You stole money from our limited reserves for this without my approval?" The president sounded belligerent.

Nadim pounced. "We don't have to put up a cent. That's the beauty of my plan. The Iranians have agreed to finance the entire transaction. One point two billion dollars for Suslov."

There was a heavy silence while Ahmed absorbed what Nadim had said.

"Why don't we get any money?" he finally asked.

"We get two of the truckloads of nuclear weapons. Iran gets one. General Kemal in Turkey gets the other to threaten the Kurds with. The idea is that after the exchange, the convoy will move south into Iran. One truckload stays there. The other three move west into Turkey. One stops there. The final two move south into Syria."

Ahmed still wasn't satisfied. "The Turks will cheat us and keep all three."

"I don't think so. General Kemal is operating without his government's knowledge, and he is also receiving a personal payment from the Iranians. I made it clear to him that if he doesn't follow the plan, I will make certain word reaches his prime minister that he took a bribe in an important government matter. Their prime minister has sworn to clean up corruption. Kemal's life will be worth less than dog shit."

"What happens to the American pilot under this great plan of yours?"