Enemy of Mine by Brad Taylor Page A

a vendetta. I heard you talk in your house, but why use us? Use Pike? He said you were his friend, and that means a lot to him. He doesn’t have many, and you used that against him.”
    “I did no such thing. I would never do that. I’m not a terrorist. You are wrong about the computer.”
    “Then let me go. Right now. I need to use my phone. Pike’s in real trouble.”
    He turned to the men and said a sentence or two in Arabic. They released her. She pulled out her phone and called the Taskforce, knowing she was breaking every rule there was by using an open line.
    A receptionist answered. “Blaisdell Consulting, how may I help you?”
    “I’d like to speak to Kurt Hale, please.”
    “I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”
    She mentally crossed her fingers and said, “Prairie Fire. I say again, Prairie Fire.”
    The receptionist hesitated, then said, “Please hold.”
    After a wait, a voice she recognized came on. “Whom am I speaking with?”
    “Kurt, it’s Jennifer. I don’t have time to explain, but I need a lock on Pike’s phone. Right now.”
    There was a pause, then, “Who is this? I’m not sure you have the right number. We’re a consulting firm.”
    They’re going to blow me off. Even after the code word. They’re going to sacrifice Pike to protect the Taskforce.
    “Kurt! Listen to me! Pike’s in serious trouble. Send me the grid. Please!”
    “Good-bye. Please don’t call back.”
    The line went dead. She was stunned. She couldn’t believe they would sacrifice one of their own to protect themselves. She noticed the men staring at her, waiting for her to talk. She said nothing, sagging against the metal of the van, her mind trying to find a solution that didn’t exist.
    Her phone vibrated with a text message. When she looked at it, she saw a latitude and longitude displayed, along with the note “call secure immediately.”
    Jesus Christ. Damn Taskforce subterfuge. Kurt’s going to pay for that.
    Back in business, she barked, “Take me to the U.S. Embassy. Drop me off as fast as you can.”
    “Why? The Embassy can’t help. We can. Tell me what you know.”
    “Like I would trust you as far as I can throw you. Take me to the damn Embassy. Where’s my bag?”
    One of the men tossed her knapsack to her. She pulled out a tablet PC and began working it.
    Samir said, “I had nothing to do with that bomb. Maybe someone else sent it. This is Lebanon, you know.”
    She didn’t look up, still working the tablet, saying, “And that’s why the security detail we saw before the explosion immediately singled out Pike, huh? They knew it was his computer because they saw him inside with it.
They
knew who put the bomb in there, and so do I.”
    “Even if that’s true, it wasn’t me. I was used just like you were. Let me help. Where is Pike?”
    She turned the tablet to him. “Here. Take me to the consulate right now. We’re running out of time.”
    He looked at the map and said, “That’s the Palestinian refugee camp. Your consulate will be no help there. It’ll take forty-eight hours to even get permission to enter, and that permission will reach the men holding Pike long before you do. Let us help. The gates of the camp are guarded by Lebanese Armed Forces. I can get you in.”
    “For what? So you can kill both Pike and me and prevent embarrassment to Hezbollah with our story? We wouldn’t want it to get out that they were behind the killing, would we?”
    He said nothing for a moment, then turned and spoke in Arabic to the men in the van. The conversation lasted a couple of minutes.
    In English, he said, “If you are correct, they used me just as they used you. I’m not convinced they did, but I know that Pike has been captured, and I will give my life to free him. My men as well. Is that enough?”
    She knew what he said about the consulate was correct. The damn State Department weenies would pee their pants when she came running in with her story. Pike’s location was