Enemy of Mine by Brad Taylor

see past the parapet, but nobody’s looked down, I’ll tell you that.”
    “We’ll take the east side of this building, in the alley. Move the guys there to the next building. Are they prepared to assault?”
    “Negative. They’re equipped for surveillance only.”
    Spread too thin.
“Okay, tell ’em just to trigger. If Crusty keeps going, we’ll fall back into surveillance mode. Try to track ’em to a bed-down site.”
    Knuckles and his men rounded the corner to the small alley, a cobblestone path with barely enough room to walk two-abreast. He slowed his pace, looking left and right for exits or Peeping Toms from adjacent buildings. He saw none. Just litter here and there. He located the doorway from the building thirty feet ahead, noticing that it was actually an alcove that sank inward a few feet. He motioned Decoy to the other side, mimicking working a pistol. He was drawing his own Taser when the recessed door swung open, taking him by surprise.
    A man, exiting in a hurry and looking backward, smashed into him. The man whirled around, and Knuckles smiled.
    “Hello, Crusty.”

9
    T he Ghost followed the Hezbollah tough through a maze of alleys, moving deeper into the neighborhood and farther from his car. Eventually, the man pointed to a shop that was no more than a hallway, hacked off at one end with plywood. Four tables lined the length of the place, one with two men sitting, drinking out of small espresso cups no bigger than shot glasses.
    They had to be aware of his arrival, but paid no attention. Another power play. One more than the Ghost was willing to endure. He strode right to the table and sat down, letting them say the first words.
    Nothing happened for a pregnant second, the two taken aback. Then the older one, with a gray-flecked beard, looked from him to the tough and said, “You wish to disappear?”
    “I wish to dispense with the posturing and get to the business of why I’m here. It has been a long drive from Tripoli and a longer time to find this shop. If you have nothing for me, I’ll leave. If you try to stop me, I’ll still leave, only a little more winded.”
    The bearded man sized him up, saying nothing. Then he smiled. “You don’t look it, but you are who they said you’d be.” He held out his hand. “I am Abdul Majid. This is Ja’far Hussein. Thank you for coming.”
    The Ghost shook both their hands without giving a name, then waited.
    Majid said, “We believe that the Palestinian cause—your cause—isbeing hijacked. The Palestinian Authority has agreed to a peace overture from the United States and Israel. A meeting is being set up in Qatar, where money will exchange hands. Money that will kill the Palestinians’ right of return. We have contacts in Hamas who would like this meeting to be stopped.”
    The Ghost bristled. “Hamas? Why on earth would I care about them? At one time they would never have agreed to anything short of Zionist annihilation. Now, they’ve joined in a unity government with the Palestinian Authority. They are like everyone else. Giving in when it suits them.”
    “Not all in Hamas agree with the unity government. But you’re right about one thing: They have political concerns and won’t do this themselves. Neither will we, which is why we’ve contacted you. We can put you in touch with some men here who are not Hamas or the Resistance. They have contacts with a financier in al Qaeda who uses a bank here in Lebanon. A bank that we control. This group will give you further instructions, if you are willing.”
    “Willing to do what? You haven’t said.”
    “Kill the American envoy. The Palestinian Authority is almost bankrupt. They cannot continue because of the sanctions the West has placed on them due to their political reconciliation with Hamas and their bid for statehood with the United Nations. They have asked for covert funding, saying the moderate Palestinian elements are in danger of being swept away. The West has agreed, and the