Enemy of My Enemy by Allan Topol

cheered when he had heard an American plane had been shot down, though he had no idea who was responsible. What surprised him was that the Americans hadn't released the name of the pilot the way they usually did. So he activated some very good sources in Washington. To his pleasant surprise, he found out that the pilot's father was one of President Kendall's big supporters. Nadim, who had spent three years attached to the Syrian Embassy in Washington, knew how the Americans worked. This incident had to be getting a lot of top-level attention at the White House.
    The phone rang. It was Kemal. "I'm in front of the hotel in a black car. Come now."
    Nadim moved swiftly from the hotel entrance to the car. He wasn't surprised that Kemal was in the back of a bulletproof vehicle. Van was a focal point for the Kurdish separatist movement, and violence was a daily occurrence. Nadim got into the back with Kemal. Up front next to the driver a soldier clutched a machine gun tightly, his eyes darting in all directions.
    They drove for about fifteen minutes until they reached a hospital surrounded by armed soldiers.
    Kemal climbed out. With Nadim at his side, he led the way to a staircase, then two floors underground. The armed guard from the car was following right behind.
    Midway along a deserted corridor they reached an empty room with a table and two chairs, used to interrogate prisoners who happen to be patients. Kemal told the guard to wait outside. Once he and Nadim were alone, he kicked the door shut.
    This was an odd place for their discussion, Nadim thought, but he decided not to say anything. It was Kemal's show. The two of them had increasingly cooperated since the Americans had brought down Saddam Hussein's regime. Kemal and Nadim had developed a mutual respect.
    "Thank you for coming on short notice," Kemal said when they were both seated.
    "You told me it was important. That was enough. I assume it concerns the American pilot."
    Kemal nodded. "It was my idea to shoot down one of their planes and say the Kurds did it."
    Nadim raised his eyebrows. "Very creative."
    "But now it's all turning to shit."
    "Because of the identity of the pilot."
    "How do you know?"
    "I have my own sources in Washington. What are the Americans telling your government?"
    "They know we did it, and they're all worked up because it's Terry McCallister's son. Initially I thought it was good that the pilot had an important father. Maybe he'd be valuable to swap for something."
    Kemal paused and shook his head in disgust. "Now I realize I got a bad break. If it had been some ordinary kid, they wouldn't be going berserk in Washington... and turning my prime minister into a wild man." He took a deep breath and repeated. "A bad break. I need your help, my friend."
    Nadim's mind was racing. An idea was taking shape—something that was at once brilliant, daring, and sinister. Something that could radically change the course of events in the Middle East and propel Nadim to control of the government in Syria.
    "Perhaps it's not a bad break at all," Nadim said softly. "Perhaps you got lucky."
    "I don't understand."
    "Where is the pilot now?"
    Kemal raised his hand and pointed a finger to the right. "We're holding him in a room at the end of the corridor... sedated and unconscious. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. He's being carefully watched and monitored by a doctor and a nurse. But I can't keep him here much longer. I'm under tremendous pressure from my government to find him and return him to the Americans. That's why I called you. I was hoping you'd be able to take him secretly to Syria. That way I could say he's not in Turkey. Even if the Americans came here with a whole army, they wouldn't find him. You could kill him and dispose of the body however you'd like. I can't do that any longer because they'll interrogate people, and some frightened bastard will talk. But they'll never think to focus their attention on Syria. If you do this for me,