Infidel felt comfortable following the Druze. He had stuck to main thoroughfares and was now walking on foot down the Corniche, the long stretch of western coastline along Avenue de Paris. Full of fishermen and tourists, it was easy for the assassin to blend in. The only reason anyone came to the Corniche was to walk, so no destination was expected. He could follow all day long without arousing suspicion. Not that it mattered. The Druze seemed relaxed in the environment and showed no signs of attempting to sort out any surveillance efforts.
Yesterday, the assassin had met his contacts in Hezbollah at the same coffee shop they always used, in the heart of the Dahiyeh, surrounded by thugs. He was not a timid man, but he greatly feared being killed by mistake inside the stronghold. After all, he looked exactly like someone a paranoid foot soldier for Hezbollah would think was a U.S. spy. Someone to torture purely for the pleasure of it. He was thankful for the iron hold Hezbollah’s hierarchy had over their men. It was cultlike in its efficiency.
The meeting was strained, with a vibe that was different from previous encounters. He’d been paid and congratulated for his successful killing of the investigator, then told about a rumor of an attack in Lebanon, possibly against U.S. interests. A walk-in, a Druze no less, had brought information from an unknown source.
Ja’far and Majid had both professed innocence, but had heard of a meeting between Palestinian freedom fighters that they wanted to check out. The meeting was supposed to be a simple strategy session, but Hezbollah now wondered if it was something more. They wanted him to provide the Druze with equipment to record the meeting. Which was definitely strange.
Why waste effort on a recording? Why not just hammer them? Hezbollah certainly had the ability-and the will-if this meeting had a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping their political agenda. Killing Palestinians wouldn’t affect Hezbollah at all, unlike killing an investigator of the Tribunal-and they’d paid him for that easily.
He was sure there was something more going on, and he thought he knew what it was.
They’ve set something in motion and are afraid of losing control.
The meeting was in the port city of Sidon, a little less than an hour south of Beirut, but outside of Hezbollah-land. If he was right, it meant they were using Sunnis for the job-whatever it was-but the Sunni groups had nowhere near the discipline of Hezbollah. All rage and jihadist fervor.
And that’s why I’m being asked to help. They wanted him to provide the means to ensure that the Palestinian radicals weren’t just taking the money and about to screw up Hezbollah’s plans.
The one thing that confused him was the Druze connection. Why make up the story about an unknown source and a possible assassination attempt? Why not just say they’d heard about something strange going on and have him provide the equipment, like every other transaction they had done? The story held a ring of truth, and an unknown source providing information to Hezbollah scared him.
Doing some digging, he’d learned that the Druze had been an operator in a very elite section of the Lebanese Armed Forces. A counterterrorist expert who’d cut his teeth on the operational side, then proven just as valuable on the analytic side, creating an intelligence fusion cell that had grown to be a thorn in Hezbollah’s side. Actually, a thorn in everyone’s side, from the Sunnis to the Israelis. Very, very effective-and nonpartisan. Why the soldier was now working with Hezbollah was a mystery. It raised the hair on his neck. His paymasters may not care, but he wanted to know what he was getting into.
The Druze finally left Avenue de Paris, cutting down to the Riviera Hotel, then hanging a left, going into the tunnel underneath the highway to the hotel’s beach club, a popular tourist attraction on the coast, with multiple bars, pools, and beachfront property.
He wandered around for a moment as if looking for something, then settled onto a stool at a bar, with a view of the entrance to the resort. He ordered a drink and seemed to be just killing time.
Infidel took a seat behind him, on a chair underneath an umbrella, his back to the ocean. He settled down to wait, but it didn’t take long before he saw activity.
A Caucasian came through the entrance and scanned the area. The assassin recognized him immediately, not believing what he was seeing. His stomach clenched in unfamiliar fear.
What the fuck is he doing here?
I entered the Riviera Beach Club thirty-five minutes before the meeting I’d set with Samir. I wanted some time to check out the area, find any vantage points or entrances I’d missed to locate any surveillance that might be following him. I’d given Samir a specific route, then dropped Jennifer off at the tunnel on the Corniche, a chokepoint that was ideal to see if someone was on his tail. Her location would give a good five minutes before he came within view. If she called me, I’d simply disappear.
I glanced around the area, then did a double take. Samir was sitting at the bar.
I stalked over to him, fuming.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I come in first. You follow. Did you forget that?”
He held his hands up. “Whoa. Calm down. I was in the area early and didn’t feel like sitting on a park bench downtown. You’re paranoid. Nobody’s following me. This isn’t the civil war.”
I sat down on the barstool next to him. “You’d better hope not, or we’re both getting our heads cut off.” I then looked into his eyes. “Unless you’re protected and serving me up.”
“Pike, trust me, I’m the one on the inside. This is my country, and I would never put you in jeopardy. I did what you asked and got some information. You were right. You want to hear it, or walk away?”
I grimaced, wanting to punch him, but said, “Give it to me.”
“There’s a meeting planned in Sidon. It’s between a couple of Sunni Palestinian groups and supposedly about the financing of Palestinian efforts with no specific targets. The same stuff that goes on all the time. My contacts have heard that they’re going to talk about a general planning of attacks inside Israel. They’re now worried that they’re discussing an attack against the envoy from America, here in Beirut. They want to stop it, if that’s the case.”
“Okay. Great. Go stop it.”
“Come on, Pike. How many gunfights have you heard since you’ve been here? You think we can just run in and shoot everyone like it’s the Old West? They can’t simply ‘stop’ it, like you say. It’s just a meeting between men, and we still have some semblance of law here.”
“Okay, fine. What can you help me with? Where’s the meeting?”
“I don’t have the address yet, but it’s coming. I do know it’s not in the camps. The meeting is being held in neutral territory in the city proper. Apparently, the two groups don’t trust each other, and, as you know, any territory in the camps is owned by some militia. Even given that, more than likely none of my contacts will be able to get close. It’s a Sunni area, and you’d be surprised at how quickly they can sniff out another sect.”
“Including Druze, I suppose.”
“Uhh…well…yeah. That’s where I’m going.”
“Why can I get in and you cannot?”
“I don’t know you can, but you have a greater chance than me or my contacts do. We smell, look, and act Lebanese, but we don’t belong in Sidon. The city is not like Beirut. It’s much, much more conservative, but if they want to meet in neutral territory, it probably means in an area full of people like you to prevent any overt attack. You don’t belong in Sidon either, but you have a reason for it, as a tourist. You have a good shot at getting what we want.”
I considered what he said, knowing it would be very, very dangerous. He saw me thinking and thought my resolve was faltering.
“We can’t get into the site, but we’ll be there on the outside. Providing security.”
That didn’t give me any confidence.
“Who? A bunch of lunatics who would just as soon cut off my head?”
He smiled. “No, no. My men. Druze. They have no other allegiance than to me. They will do what I say.”
“Are they any good?”
“Just as good as me. I trained them. And you trained me.”
I threw down the toothpick I was playing with.
“Well, that doesn’t give me any assurance. Today, you fucking ignored all of that training.”
He held his arms out and smiled. “Today there was no threat.”