Enemy of Mine (39 page)

I paid for five minutes, then pulled up Internet Explorer, finding the history empty. I plugged in the thumb drive and gathered the websites for the last hour. The most recent were for strip shows here in Frankfurt, which would make our follow a little bit easier tonight and might make it easier to kill Lucas since he’d probably be drunk.

Continuing, I found references to news stories about the Burj Khalifa, which confirmed that I was on the right box, then a site that confused me. It was a State Department travel agency, and the request had been for State Department personnel on all flights going from Germany to Qatar for the next few days.

Qatar? Why’s he looking at that? What’s he up to?

In the end, I decided it didn’t matter. He only had a few more hours on this earth anyway.

L
ucas returned to his room
a little bored. He’d toured just about everything he could around the city, and with the lack of information about the couriers, he had nothing to really work on. He’d thought finding an RFID reader would be hard in Germany, but he’d managed to do that on the first attempt, even locating one that appeared like an ordinary computer, with inconspicuous antennae he could loop outside of his laptop bag when the time came.

With nothing else to do, he powered up the new reader and checked if he could dial into the device he had planted in Qatar. Once online, he inputted the ISP address and smiled when it connected. The improvised explosive device was in place and online. All it needed was a trigger, and he would get that soon.

Seeing it was four o’clock—past check-in time—he packed his bags and called the front desk. “Yes, this is Lucas Kane. I hate to be a bother, but this room is a bit stuffy. I’d like to switch.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re completely full. I can offer you a discount.”

Dammit.

“I don’t want a discount. I want another room. Don’t you have any open for late check-in? Give me theirs and they can have this one. I haven’t been here all day, so the room’s clean.”

“Please hold.”

While he didn’t feel it necessary to switch out hotels every single
day, on the days he wasn’t leaving he liked to at least switch rooms, after the check-in time had passed. He did it out of habit. Practice. He felt no danger in Frankfurt, from Hezbollah or anyone else, but that didn’t mean he needed to be sloppy.

The receptionist came back on. “Okay, sir. I do have a room. When would you like to switch?”

“Right now.”

I
leaned against the headboard
of my small hotel bed, remote in one hand and a Glock 30 in the other, the compact gun overshadowed by the large can on the end of the barrel.

I stared at the television, the screen nothing but a bunch of jumbled images that didn’t register in my conscious mind. Nothing was registering in my conscious mind. It was intentionally blank, like a Zen warrior guiding the arrow that is not aimed. At least that’s what I was trying to achieve. In reality, I’d blanked my mind because I couldn’t take the conflict raging between my good angel and my bad. It was easier just to sit, thinking of nothing.

And so I did, for hours, answering the phone occasionally to get an update on Lucas’s night out. He was apparently a sexual dynamo, but he hadn’t had a drop of liquor. At least he’d be sleepy from the workout. I hoped.

I was startled out of my reverie by a knock on the door. Shoving the Glock under a pillow, I opened it to find Jennifer outside.

“What’s up? Is there an issue?”

“Not really. Just bored. I take it the call hasn’t come in yet.”

“Nope, but it’s only ten
P.M
. He’s probably not coming back until after midnight.”

“Can I come in?”

I really didn’t want her to. I didn’t need the distraction. I needed to
think. Or more precisely, I needed a still room so I wouldn’t be forced to think.

She saw my reluctance and said, “Please? I need to ask you a favor.”

I opened the door and pointed at the lone chair in the tiny room. I climbed back on the bed.

“You got a preference on channels?”

“An English one would be nice.”

“I got
Doogie Howser
in German. Will that work?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

I flipped the TV, turned down the sound of bad dubbing, and said, “What’s up?”

“How are you getting to his hotel tonight?”

“Taxi.”

“You think that’s smart?”

“Well, it’s smarter than walking. Trains have quit running this late.”

“Yeah, that’s my point. You’ll be remembered when they find Lucas. I mean, you’ll probably be one of two cabs who stop there tonight. You and Lucas himself.”

“So, you have a better idea?”

“Yes. Let me drive you.”

The offer surprised me, but it was out of the question.

“No way. Nobody else is getting involved. Especially you.”

“Why? You need the help. Why ‘especially me’?”

I hadn’t meant for that to slip out, but I meant it. We’d never had our big talk on where we stood in our relationship, even though she’d threatened it a couple of times—scaring the hell out of me—so I’d never really told her how I felt about her. Truthfully, I was afraid of rejection and had tricked myself into believing that I was content with a lesser connection of being simple business partners. A little Jennifer was much better than none. But that didn’t alter the fact that I would protect her from harm, whether she felt the same way about me or not. Especially since this harm was easily averted.

“Jennifer, you’re not going with me. Period. Out of the question.”

She came over and sat on the bed next to me, pulling up a pillow to place behind her back. And revealing the Glock.

She stared at it for a second, a look of regret on her face, as if she’d caused it to appear. She said, “Pike, I want to be a part of this. I feel responsible. I’m the one who told you. I want to help.”

I waved my hand. “Quit it. It’s not going to happen. Just drop it.”

“It
is
going to happen, dammit! I
am
going to be a part of this operation!”

Whoa. Where’s that coming from?

Before I could say anything, she continued. “Pike, it’s my fault.
I’m
the reason you’re doing this. I’m the one who brought it about. I know you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to, but I need this. I
need
to be a part of the operation. It can’t be all you. We both suffer the consequences. I can’t have you doing this alone based solely on what I told you.”

What the hell was she talking about? Because she found the hotel rooms, she should be culpable for his death?

I decided to end this with a lie. “Okay, okay. Head on back to your room. I’ll call you when I get the trigger he’s back in bed.”

She said, “Why don’t I just stay here?”

“Because I want to be alone, all right?”

She squinted at me, catching the whiff of dishonesty, but walked to the door. She opened it and said, “You’d better call.”

I said, “I will. Go.”

I lay back on the bed, thinking again of what I was doing. More and more, it didn’t seem right. Maybe it was simply disingenuous mental gymnastics, but Taskforce operations were sanctioned at the highest levels of government. When we went out on a hit, we did so after a thorough vetting, always because the target was a distinct threat to American lives. Doing this on my own, simply for revenge, was beginning to eat at my soul.

We operated with rules for a reason. I wondered if ignoring them made me no different than Lucas. Made me like the stalker of my dreams. A murderer.

Time passed quickly, and when I looked at the motel clock, I was surprised to see it was now past one
A.M
. The call would be coming at any moment. I made my decision and felt a measure of peace immediately.

Sorry, Ethan, but you know it’s the right choice.

I reached for the phone to call surveillance when there was a knock on the door. Jennifer stood behind it, causing a little thread of anger.

“What are you doing here? I said I’d call.”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I figured it was getting close, so I came back.”

She glanced away, refusing to look me in the eye.
She can’t lie worth a damn. But apparently you can’t either. She knew you weren’t going to call.

“Well, you can go to bed for good. The mission’s off.”

She said, “Why? Did he get on a train or something?”

“No. It’s me. I’m not going to pull the trigger.”

I
t took a moment
before the implications of his words settled into Jennifer’s mind.

No, no, NO. He can’t get a conscience now.

She said, “What do you mean? What happened?”

Pike turned away from the door, saying over his shoulder, “I can’t do it. I’m going to call Kurt tomorrow, tell him everything we have and get him on board. Make it legal.”

Jennifer said, “Pike, you know that won’t work. Kurt will flip out that we’re even in Germany. He’ll order us home and then rip us apart. Even if he agrees, he’ll want a support team here, and we don’t have time for that.”

He held up his hand. “Let it go. I’ve been thinking about it for two days. I’m not going to do the hit unsanctioned. Either Kurt facilitates or he doesn’t, but I’m not going off on a vendetta like a Mafia hit man. It’s eating me alive, and I don’t like the damage.”

Jennifer heard what he said and felt shame for what she was putting Pike through. She considered letting it go when that
day
sprang forth. Lucas’s hot breath, the lamp cord cutting into her hands on the bed as she tried to keep him away, the beating she had taken.

That bastard deserves to die. And Pike deserves to kill him.

“Pike, I need to show you something.”

“Jennifer,
forget
it. You didn’t see me at my worst. It was a living hell, and this damn mission is bringing me back.”

“Please sit down.”

He did.

Jennifer said, “I found more than Ethan’s driver’s license in Lucas’s room.”

“What do you mean?”

Jennifer pulled out an ID card and handed it to him. She watched him recognize the face, then saw him begin to change before her very eyes. The resignation of only a moment ago disappeared, replaced by a rising tsunami of violence rippling just underneath the surface. A rage vibrating the very air around him. She felt the threat from across the room, and knew she’d made a mistake.

His face twisted toward her, almost unrecognizable, the scar on his cheek standing out stark white against the mottled red of his fury. “Where the fuck did you get this? What are you up to? Some parlor trick to get me to destroy myself? Why?”

He leapt to his feet, shouting now. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you’d do this! I don’t even know you! I don’t want to know you. Get the fuck out!”

She began to backpedal, holding out her hands, getting out of the danger zone while she still could.

“Pike, it’s real! I didn’t want to tell you before. I didn’t know what to do with it. I found Heather’s license with Ethan’s. Lucas killed your wife. And your daughter.”

Pike stopped, the violence beginning to crack the surface. He stared through her, saying nothing, his body beginning to tremble. The phone rang, and he snatched it up. He listened for a moment, never saying a word. He ended the call, picked up the Glock, and racked the slide.

“Let’s go.”

She hesitated, frightened by the change. Unconsciously, she prepared to fight. To defend herself against what she’d created.

He didn’t attack her. Just shoved her into the wall, stabbing his hands into her jacket pockets. She began to fight back when he found
what he wanted, ripping the pocket open and removing the keys to her rental car.

“Fucking stay here then. I’m not going to beg you.”

He slammed the door behind him, sucking the darkness out of the room. She collapsed into the chair.

What have I done?

I
parked illegally on the street
, right outside the front door of the hotel, the traffic light enough that I could do so without drawing attention. Not that I gave a damn anyway.

I stalked past the front desk, the woman behind it wishing me a good night. When I looked at her, she melted back, then glanced down quickly, pretending to become interested in something on her counter.

I sprinted up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time to the fifth floor. I glanced down the hallway, seeing it was deserted.

I walked until I reached the elevators, then took a left. Shortly, I was standing outside Lucas’s door, the Glock now in my hand.

I felt the press of time, knowing someone could poke their head out at any moment and see me with the pistol. I gently slid in the key-card, getting a green light. I popped open the door a crack and listened. I heard nothing, the room dark.

I snaked my way inside, leaving the door propped open a crack with the damaged dead bolt to give me enough light from the hallway to see.

I made out Lucas in the bed, lying facedown. I walked up to the foot and placed the red dot from the Glock right at the base of the skull, holding it in a two-handed grip. I’d already decided not to do anything stupid like waking him up and telling him why he was about to die. No, it would be a quick double-tap and I would be gone, leaving
the maids to clean up the mess and the devil to explain to him why he was now in hell.

The barrel trembled, wobbling up and down, left and right, refusing to settle. My little corner of darkness wanted more than a simple bullet. Wanted to slice his life away one cut at a time, drawing it out as long as his body could stand. I finally had a face to the stalker of my dreams. And the black corner of my soul wanted to kill him exactly the way he had murdered my family.

Get a grip. Get a grip. Can’t do that and escape. Clock’s ticking. Put a bullet in his head.

I took a deep, slow breath, the crime-scene photos shining in stark Technicolor in my mind. I felt the darkness swallow me and saw my hands steady, my arms becoming twin rails with a thin bloodred dot at the center. I tightened my finger, the slack from the trigger safety gone, the trigger beginning its journey smoothly to the rear. I saw movement under the covers next to Lucas. Someone groaned, a sleep-filled little exclamation.