Enemy of My Enemy (33 page)

"Naw, it's been too long for that."

She leaned down and kissed his scar. Before long she was using her tongue over his entire body. She took him into her mouth, playing with his balls, finding a sensitive pleasure spot in the sac between them. When he was hard again, she rolled over onto her back. As Jack entered her, she raised her legs high so he could penetrate deeper. After they both came this time, and Jack rolled over onto his side, she snuggled up beside him pressing her breasts against his back.

"Stay the night, Jack," she said.

He was totally exhausted. He had neither the desire nor the energy to move. He was ready to say, "Of course I will," but then he remembered Avi, whom he had totally forgotten about.

He peeked at the digital radio alarm. It was already 12:48. Avi had been at his apartment the last two nights. Maybe he was there tonight with some news about Nadim, or something Jack had to do.

"Unfortunately, I have an early business appointment tomorrow."

"Cancel it," she mumbled, only half-awake.

He turned around and kissed her. "I'm sorry, I can't," he whispered. "But I promise I'll never make another one
on a
morning after we go out. How's that?"

She was satisfied. "Let yourself out," she said as she closed her eyes.

He looked at Layla and thought about what they had done.
Unbelievable,
he decided.
Absolutely unbelievable.

As he gathered up his wrinkled clothes from the floor, he realized that he reeked of sex. Avi might be in his apartment. He couldn't walk in this way. He took a cold shower, which woke him up. Then he put back on the wig, mustache, and glasses. Satisfied that he had restored his appearance, he dressed.

Before leaving the apartment, he looked out of the living room window at the sidewalk below. There were two men loitering in front of Layla's building: burly, swarthy men in black leather jackets. One of them had been there last evening.

Jack went into Layla's kitchen and grabbed a sharp boning knife. He held it concealed under the front of his jacket.

He took the stairs down in case they planned to surprise him when the elevator doors opened. The lobby was deserted.

Before walking out of the building, Jack looked through the glass front entrance, surveying the sidewalk while gripping the knife handle tightly in the palm of his right hand. He couldn't see the men. Maybe they were gone—or they had never come for him. He took his glasses off and stuffed them into his pocket, calmly walked outside, and turned left. It was only a couple of blocks to the Place de l'Alma. He'd be able to find a cab there, even this late at night.

As Jack passed the open space between Layla's building and a four-story office building, one of the two men sprang out. He came at Jack from the rear, looping a powerful arm around his neck. He pulled Jack into the concrete pavement between the buildings, hissing into his ear. "Major General Nadim has a message for you. Keep away from the girl."

Jack felt the man loosen his grip when he delivered the message. That was the opening he wanted. Jack drove his left elbow hard into the man's ribs. As pain shot through the assailant's body and he tumbled to the ground, Jack slipped out of his grasp. He looked up to see the second man with a large wooden club raised high in the air. His jacket was unzipped and open in the front.

"You're dead meat," he shouted at Jack, brandishing his club. From the look in his eyes, Jack had no doubt that he intended to beat Jack to death.

"I don't think so," Jack said defiantly.

The man was coming at Jack fast, planning to smash his head with the club, when Jack whipped out the knife. In a single swift motion, he flung it at his assailant. The knife stuck in the man's chest. He screamed and collapsed onto his back while the club fell to the ground.

In a rage, Jack pounced on him and put his hands around the man's throat, while cursing, "You bastard... you
bastard."
At the same time the man was fighting back, grabbing for Jack's face and eyes, punching and scratching. Jack tasted blood running into his mouth. He kept squeezing until the man stopped moving.

By now the first one had recovered and was charging Jack with a knife of his own. Jack was too fast for him. He grabbed the wooden club and smashed it against the man's side. He could hear the sound of ribs breaking like dry twigs on a cold day. When the assailant let go of the knife and collapsed to his knees, Jack began pummeling the man's face with his fists. After several blows, the man fell on the ground with blood flowing from his nose and mouth.

"This is the message you take back to Nadim," Jack said. His breath was coming in short bursts. "What we say in Chicago is go
fuck
yourself."

Jack removed the knife from the dead man so it couldn't be traced to Layla. Lights were being turned on in Layla's building. People must have heard the commotion, Jack decided. He moved fast and began walking along the sidewalk toward Place de l'Alma, hoping nobody had seen him. When he was almost there, two police cars with their sirens blaring were driving the other way, toward the scene of the attack.

Jack signaled to a waiting cab. In the backseat he collapsed. Totally drained, he closed his eyes on the ride home.

The lights were on in his apartment. Hopefully it was just Avi. Facing him would be bad enough. Dealing with other goons of Nadim or Moreau might be more than he could handle. Jack was glad he still had the knife from Layla's kitchen.

When he cautiously opened the door and looked around, he gave a sigh of relief. The apartment was empty.

Jack went into the bedroom and looked in a mirror. His face was all battered and bruised. Blood was caked on his nose and cheek. One eye was puffy and half-closed.

On the bed behind him he saw some papers. Jack crossed the room and examined them. There was a note from Avi:
We're on a six a.m. plane to Rome. Here's your ticket. It's in the name of Henri Devereaux.

"Just what I need." Jack groaned.

Since he was leaving Paris in the morning, Jack decided he'd better have someone look at his face. There was an Israeli doctor, Mordecai, temporarily in France, whom the embassy used. He was on call twenty-four hours a day.

"I'll come to your place," Mordecai said when Jack woke him up.

Exhausted, Jack was tempted to say, "Thank you. I'D be here." Then it hit him: he couldn't stay in this apartment tonight. Nadim might have had someone follow him here. Perhaps there was a third man, who had watched what happened from a parked car. After what Jack did to Nadim's thugs, the Syrian would try to kill him for sure.

He told Mordecai he'd take a cab to the doctor's apartment. He'd be able to sleep there for an hour before going to the airport.

Once Mordecai cleaned him up, Jack dialed Layla's home number and let it ring and ring until she finally woke to answer.

He told her what happened with the two men and explained that he had to leave for Paris for a day or so for business. "You have to go to a hotel right now," he said. "Nadim could send people to attack you."

"I can take care of myself," she said.

"Are you sure? You're the one who told me how dangerous he is."

"I've got a gun. Don't worry about me."

Jack put the phone down and shook his head in bewilderment. She should have been terrified by what he had told her. He felt a cold chill.

 

 

 

Chapter 24

 

Bulgakov was a dimly lit, intimate club in the heart of Moscow. Prices were twice what they were at comparable places in London or New York, but it was mobbed inside, with a long waiting line on the sidewalk. Most would never get in. It was ultrachic and trendy. The doormen admitted only movers and shakers.

Irina had become a regular during her modeling days. Women in that business were passed right in. Since she had introduced Michael a month ago, he now got the VIP treatment as well.

He was sipping slivovitz, waiting for her on a couch in the corner, as far from the combo and the noisy bar as possible. He didn't like meeting her in public places.

"It's too dangerous," he had told her when she called him back this afternoon and suggested it.

She had brushed aside his concern. "Don't be a killjoy. I haven't been to Bulgakov in days. I'll die if I don't get there soon."

So he had acquiesced because he was desperate to see her after Nadim's visit to Suslov.

She arrived wearing sunglasses, as if they could ensure her anonymity. It had the opposite effect. Several men looked up to see who this blond bombshell was in the Versace shades. Two old friends kissed her on the cheek as she made her way to Michael in the corner.

She slid down next to him on the couch and kissed him on the lips. "Ah, you taste so good," she said, then giggled.

A waiter immediately hustled over with a bottle of Dom Perignon and a plate with caviar. He knew what the lady liked.

"You sounded upset when I called you today," Michael said. "I was worried."

She paused to sip some champagne. "We had an important visitor. Some big-shot Arab. Security in the building was unbelievable. The guards tried to keep everybody away from Dmitri's office. Nobody was supposed to see this Arab."

Michael's mind was churning. This was consistent with the idea that Suslov was about to do a deal with Nadim for nuclear weapons in Volgograd.

He tried not to appear too interested. "But you, my dear, were busy typing outside of Dmitri's office. So they couldn't interfere with you."

"It didn't matter. Dmitri shut the door as soon as the Arab went in. Guards outside his office were leering at me the whole time. This one guy got so excited I thought he was going to start jerking off." She laughed. "So I handed him a few tissues from the box on my desk. He was too stupid to get it."

Michael decided to change the subject. "How's your mother?"

"Ach. The same. She's sick. She whines."

"Does she need money?"

"For a vacation. I think it will do her good."

"Later tonight I'll give you some."

She reached over and kissed him. "You're a sweetie. Now you have to feed me. I'm hungry."

They ordered steaks. She devoured hers along with two more glasses of champagne and the caviar. Michael was too nervous to do anything more than pick at his food.

When she was finished eating, she said, "I called my girlfriend Natasha."

"The good-looking brunette you used to model with?"

Pangs of jealousy shot through Irina. She didn't want Michael to think any other woman was good-looking. "Actually, she's a cow. Her tits are too large. But you men like that."

He smiled and rubbed his hand over her breasts. "I think these are just the right size. They fit into my mouth perfectly."

That satisfied her. "She said we could use her apartment tonight for a couple of hours."

"That's great."

"I told her that you'd leave her a little money to help her out. She's not working so much these days."

"Sure, my little bird. Whatever you want."

Michael was relieved that Joyner had told him to forward his expense reports directly to her. Nobody else in Langley would believe what he spent his money on.

He wanted to take a cab to Natasha's and meet Irina there. But she insisted on having him ride in the Mercedes with her. He didn't argue. Otherwise she would have pouted. Tonight he wanted to keep her in good humor. He had something important to ask her.

As they pulled away from the club, a dark blue BMW, with one of Suslov's security men at the wheel, fell in behind Irina's Mercedes. Michael kept glancing back to see if they were being followed, but in the Moscow night traffic with all the lights, it was impossible to tell.

* * *

He waited until they had finished making love to tell her want he wanted. They were naked, lying in bed. She was on her back, smoking a cigarette, her breasts rising and falling with each breath.

"If you ever hear anything more about this Arab who came today, and his business with Dmitri, please let me know. It could be important to my oil business."

A horrified expression appeared on her face. "You want me to spy on Dmitri for you?"

"Not spy," Michael said, selecting his words carefully, because she was smarter than the airhead she liked to portray. "Help me because you love me."

Not certain that love alone could do it, he climbed out of bed, reached into his pants pocket, took out a huge roll of dollars, and put it on her purse.

She said. "I could never do anything like that for money. Only because I love you."

Michael reached for the bills to take them back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

She smiled. "You can leave them there." A worried expression suddenly appeared on her face. "I could get into trouble for doing this. Dmitri's a dangerous man."

"If you're careful, he'll never find out."

"And if he does?"

"You don't have to worry. I want to take you to the United States."

She was elated. "Really, you mean that?"

"Absolutely."

"To live there with you?"

He turned away, not wanting to look at her when he lied. He would do everything he could to get her safely out of Russia once his operation with Suslov ended, but he wasn't in love with her. He had no intention of being with her in the United States, regardless of how good their sex was.