In the West and the East of the city people were mostly tolerant of each other, regardless of religion. In the South where Hezbollah held power, tolerance was not a word anyone used or understood. Southern Beirut was an entity unto itself. The government stayed away from the area and left the fanatical militant group alone. Nobody wanted another internal war no one could win.
Lebanon's civil war had destroyed large parts of what had once been a beautiful, cosmopolitan city. Parts of downtown had been restored in an effort to preserve what was left of the Parisian style French architecture, and attempt to reassure a slowly reviving tourist trade that all was well. The effect was something that would have seemed at home on the strip in Las Vegas. The streets were clean and reasonably modern. The garbage was collected. The streetlights worked. That was more than could be said for the area south of the unofficial dividing line.
Yusuf Abidi lived in the southern part of the city, on the top floor of a crumbling twelve story building. The bottom two floors were leased out to a charitable organization that formed a front for Hezbolla. It provided a convenient conduit for some of Abidi's shipments. Hezbolla was one of his best customers.
Small arms, ammunition, explosives, heavy machine guns, Russian rocket launchers and the like were the staples of Yusuf's trade. From time to time, he negotiated larger deals for older models of Russian tanks, armored vehicles, antiaircraft batteries and heavy weapons, along with the occasional French fighter jet or two. Authentic end-user certificates purchased with large bribes protected the more obvious transactions.
Most of the large items went to Africa, where regional warlords and dictators happily blew each other's people to pieces with Abidi's products. They had an insatiable appetite for AKs, of which there was an endless supply. The bread-and-butter of his business was the daily hardware of death in the Middle East. For Abidi, the rise of ISIS had been a gift from Allah.
Business was booming. All in all, Abidi was a happy man. He wouldn't have been as happy if he'd known he was being watched.
On the third day after they'd arrived Nick, Ronnie, Diego and Selena sat in a black Mercedes with tinted windows, watching the entrance to Abidi's building. The street in front of the building was narrow, in poor repair. Several seedy looking Hezbollah fighters lounged in front, their AKs openly displayed. The façade of the building was pockmarked where bullets had struck it sometime in the past. The architecture was completely forgettable. The building looked solid, unlike most of the others on the block. Under Hezbollah control Southern Beirut was a sprawling slum. The entire block looked like a perfect candidate for urban renewal. Nick kept the windows rolled up and the air conditioner on against the heat and the clinging stench coming from piles of uncollected garbage lining the curbs.
Selena wore a full head scarf and a shapeless dress that concealed her regular clothes and reached to her ankles. Long sleeves covered her arms even in the heat of the Lebanese summer. Her conservative Muslim look blended in. She would draw little attention. The dress was hot. At least it had the advantage of hiding her pistol.
The men wore casual clothes indistinguishable from the locals. Nick's tan and a three-day stubble concealed some of his foreignness. At a quick glance, Diego and Ronnie could pass for being from somewhere in the Middle East. The tinted windows of the Mercedes made it difficult for anyone to see in.
The plan was to isolate Abidi and question him. They were still in observational mode. They had to wait for the right opportunity. So far it hadn't occurred. Everyone on the team wore transceivers that allowed them to communicate with each other and by satellite link with Elizabeth and Stephanie back in Virginia
"I don't understand why talking to this guy is such a big deal," Diego said.
"You're not supposed to understand." It was Ronnie. "It's beyond your pay grade."
"Yeah? But not beyond yours?"
"It's a big deal because the president is concerned," Nick said. "He has to know if the treasure is real or not. It's potentially real trouble. Temple relics would strengthen the Jewish claim on the Temple Mount."
"So?"
"Anything that validates Israeli control of Jerusalem is like a time bomb. If it goes off, it will take the Middle East with it. If we can find out who Abidi sold that Semtex to, we'll know who has the scroll. Then we can figure out what comes next."
In Virginia, Elizabeth and Stephanie were monitoring a live shot from a drone circling high above Abidi's building and the car where the team waited. Elizabeth Spoke into her headset.
"Abidi should be leaving any time now."
"Copy," Nick answered.
Their target usually left the security of his building at about eleven in the morning for his office in a warehouse near the port. He would stay there until three or four in the afternoon. After that, his movements were unpredictable until he returned to his apartment some time in the evening.
As they watched the building a new, white BMW 760i pulled up to the entrance. The driver sat in the car while two bodyguards emerged, carrying submachine pistols. They were large men, unsmiling. They looked up and down the street. They saw the Mercedes and passed over it.
"Skorpion vz61s," Nick said. "Nasty."
"Old and efficient," Ronnie said.
Diego nodded at the car. "That beemer's top-of-the-line. Twelve cylinders, over five hundred horses."
"My kind of car," Selena said.
"There he is," Nick said.
Abidi came out of the building. He wore a light beige suit and dark glasses. He was an unimposing man, with black hair and an olive tinted complexion. His shoes gleamed in the sunlight. One of the guards held the rear door open until Abidi had gotten into the car. The bodyguard closed the door, walked around to the other side and got in. The second guard got into the front. The car pulled away, headed for the harbor. Nick pulled out after him.
"Target acquired, moving," Nick said.
"Copy that," Elizabeth answered. "We see you."
They followed the BMW through heavy traffic. The white car continued past the point where Abidi normally turned off toward his warehouse. It kept going, headed south.
The shabby high rise buildings of the city gave way to flat roofed slums two and three stories high. The street was potholed, dirty. Emaciated dogs lay unmoving in the sun or rooted in piles of trash by the side of the road. Bearded men carrying rifles seemed to be everywhere, watching the Mercedes go by with suspicious eyes.
The flag of Hezbollah flew from almost every building, a stylized assault rifle in green against a bright yellow background. Red and green letters in Arabic completed the design.
"Hezbollah country," Nick said. "I don't like this. If something happens we're outgunned."
"What does the Arabic on the flag say?" Ronnie asked.
Selena said, "The main logo under the rifle says Party of God. The rest of it says they'll be victorious and that they are the resistance in Lebanon."
"Yeah, right," Diego said. "Resistance to what? They're the main reason this country is so screwed up."
"Where's Abidi going?" Ronnie watched the white BMW ahead.
Traffic was light along the highway. Nick dropped back. It was easy to see the distinctive white car.
"How would I know? Maybe it will give us an opportunity to grab him. Director, are you following?"
"Affirmative, Nick. Stay back and don't engage. Let's see what he's up to."
"Copy."
On the open highway the big BMW carrying Abidi picked up speed. The Mercedes was a rental, older. Nick hoped it was up to the task. It was 104° outside. He kept a wary eye on the temperature gauge. Off to their right, the blue Mediterranean swept by, the kind of view tourists died for. In Lebanon, dying for a view could turn out to be more than just a phrase.