Chapter 42
The Ghost held out a key fob and pressed the button, seeing nothing in the gloom of the garage, the fluorescent lights providing
little more than harsh shadows behind the rows of parked cars.
He said, “Yassir did say second floor, right?”
Omar said, “Yes, but the key fob range may be short. Let’s circle around and try again.”
After settling into their respective hotel rooms, Omar had explained to the Ghost the mechanics of the linkup with the smugglers
while Yassir had rented the extra vehicle the Ghost had demanded. He’d come back and told them it was two blocks away, in
a parking garage. With the rendezvous set up at precisely 0130, they’d waited until after midnight to seek it out.
They walked up a ramp to the next level and he pressed the fob again, seeing a flash of taillights down the left side. They
hurried over to the vehicle, finding a Renault Fluence, a nondescript four-door sedan with bland green paint. Omar went to
the passenger side and the Ghost popped the trunk.
Omar said, “What are you doing?”
The Ghost said, “Just checking.”
Omar returned to him, seeing the Ghost inspecting what looked like a yellow cylinder from the back of a forklift. Bolted into
the bottom of the trunk behind the back seat, it served the same purpose as on a forklift: a fuel cell of compressed natural
gas. Satisfied, the Ghost threw in his knapsack and closed the trunk, then moved to the driver’s door.
Omar slid into the passenger seat, saying, “A normal fuel tank wouldn’t work?”
The Ghost started the engine, “Much easier to engender a secondary explosion. A regular fuel tank is good for flame, but harder
to ignite explosively.”
He exited the garage and started heading east through the congestion of Buenos Aires, towards the Argentinian coast and the
headwaters of the Uruguay River. Along the way, the Ghost asked final questions about the linkup point.
“You’re sure the nature reserve will be easy to get into?”
“Yes. Cyrus and I conducted a reconnaissance earlier. It closes at six, and they don’t maintain guards on it. They just lock
up the gate and leave. I’ll show you where to park and lead you to the break in the fence we found.”
The linkup point was at a nature park on the coast. Called the Costanera Sur Ecological Reserve, it was more than eight hundred
acres of wild growth on the shores of the Uruguay River. Originally used as a dumping ground for excavation and construction
material from the city, it had been abandoned, and nature took its own course until it became a refuge for all manner of creatures,
from alligators to birds. Now it was a reserve for people to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.
The Ghost continued threading through the streets, following a route on his phone. He said, “Are these guys Pasdaran? Who
are we meeting?”
“No, they’re not Pasdaran. They’re not even Hezbollah. They’re drug runners who Hezbollah uses to transport their product.
Middlemen. We just contracted them to infiltrate the weapons for the hit. They have no ideology, and no idea what they’re
transporting for us.”
The Ghost said nothing, letting the silence extend out in the car. Omar said, “Don’t worry. We’ve checked them out, and they’ve
already been paid. It’ll be fine.”
The Ghost crossed a large canal, seeing restaurants and bars lining the shores on both sides. His phone told him to take a
left, and he turned the vehicle onto a tree-lined lane, the left side showing the buildings lining the canal, the right nothing
but forest.
Omar said, “That’s the reserve. The main entrance is to the south. We’re going to the north end. Drive until I tell you to stop.”
The Ghost slowed but continued forward. He saw a building next to a twelve-foot metal gate large enough for a vehicle, the
area illuminated by a floodlight. He rolled past it, reaching the end of a parking area, the road circling back to the canal.
Omar said, “Pull in over there, under that tree next to the fence.”
The Ghost did, turning off the vehicle and saying, “Did you bring a weapon?”
Omar smiled and said, “You really worry, don’t you.”
The Ghost opened the door and went to the trunk, popping it open. He unzipped the pack he’d placed inside and withdrew an
ice pick.
Omar said, “Where did you get that?”
The Ghost slid it into his sleeve, saying, “The hotel. One of us should be prepared. Something always goes wrong in meetings
like this.”
Omar scoffed and said, “Follow me.”
The Ghost shouldered the pack and they slunk up to the fence, then sidled down it, away from the building. They scrambled
through the brush for about a hundred meters until they reached a tree that had fallen over, crushing the fence to a manageable
height.
They clambered over it, then thrashed through the brush until they spilled out onto a dirt track. Omar said, “This is the
ring path around the entire place. We have about a kilometer to walk before we cut to the meeting point.”
The Ghost saw a sign next to the road and went to it. He pulled out a large D cell flashlight from his pack and bathed the
words in a red glow from a filter, revealing a map. He said, “Show me.”
Omar studied the map and then pointed to a spot about halfway down the reserve, right next to the water. “If we stay on the
road, no problem. We don’t want to go too far, though.” He slid his finger farther right and said, “The camera tower I told
you about is right here, in front of the pond. We want to stay out of its range.”
The Ghost turned off the light and they began trudging down the dirt path, the darkness punctuated by the sound of insects and their own plodding feet. The path threaded through the trees, passing an open field with picnic tables before becoming cloaked in trees again.
The Ghost heard an echo of laughter, causing him to stop. Omar said, “What?” and the Ghost cut him off with an upraised hand,
cocking his ear. He heard it again, then the clink of something like glass.
They proceeded slowly, rounding a bend and seeing a small glade among the trees, an outcropping of rock at the center, the
road winding right past it. At the base was a tiny fire with barely three sticks burning, two men hovering over it drinking
from a bottle and laughing.
The Ghost kept his hand in front of Omar to still him, thinking furiously. Omar whispered, “That rock is the far recognition
point. We get parallel to that and look for a path on the left. We take it to the shore, find an old drainage pipe and walk
that to the water.”
“How are we going to get past them? We can’t let them see us.”
“They aren’t supposed to be inside the park either. They’ll ignore us, and we’ll ignore them. Stick to the tree line.”
The Ghost could see no alternative. Against his better judgment, he began skulking along the edge of the road, trying to hide
in the darkness. They came abreast of the glade and Omar hissed, “The path. Come on.”
The Ghost followed him into the trees, then slipped when the ground sank straight down. He grabbed a branch to stop from falling,
dislodging rocks that rolled away sounding like a small freight train, the echoes bouncing through the air. He heard the men
above him shout something, then more laughter. He cursed and Omar said, “Bring out the signal light.”
He did, turning it on and flashing the path with its red glow. They picked their way through the roots, slowly moving down,
the trees falling away and revealing a beach of rocks and an old iron pipe sprouting straight out of the shelf of land. About
one foot in diameter, it ran across the shore and disappeared into the water about twenty meters away.
He followed the line of the pipe, then glanced out at the water. To his shock, he saw a boat running parallel to the shore about fifty meters out, the hull illuminated in the moonlight, a single red light flashing him from the deck. Two flashes, then nothing, then two flashes.
He hissed, “That’s the signal. They’re early.”
Without waiting on Omar, he scurried down the pipe until his feet hit the water. He raised his flashlight, aimed it at the
boat and flashed back. He saw the bow of the boat turn toward him and begin advancing.
He heard a clatter behind him and said, “Quit making so much noise.”
Omar reached the water, and the Ghost realized it wasn’t him making the noise. At the edge of the woods he saw the two men
appear, shouting something in Spanish.
He cursed again, and Omar said, “What are we going to do?”
The Ghost said, “Get the equipment. Execute the plan. We’ll deal with them after.”
The boat reached them the same time the two campfire men stumbled onto the rock shore, moving to the water.
The Ghost said, “Stall them.”
Omar scurried back along the pipe, racing to the tree line and the Ghost turned to the boat. He waded out into the water until
he was knee deep and a man threw out a rope. He caught it, pulling the boat closer and securing it around the pipe. The man
on the boat shined a light on him and said, “You aren’t Omar.”
The Ghost pointed up to the tree line, shocked to see Omar advancing with the campfire men. He said, “Omar’s on the way,”
but was thinking, What on earth is he doing?
Another man appeared on the deck, holding a duffel bag. He tossed it into the water and the Ghost quickly snatched it up,
holding it high. The man laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it’s waterproof.”
A second duffel bag hit the water, and the Ghost turned, throwing the first bag to Omar, then fishing out the second. A third
followed, splashing him with water. He glanced up, irritated, and the man on the bow said, “Take those to the drop-off and
you’ll get your instructions for your delivery.”
Huh?
He said, “What do you mean?”
Omar came forward, leaving the two men next to one of the duffel bags, both of them swaying from the booze. The Ghost almost shouted at him to remain, then resigned himself to the debacle. He waited for Omar to reach him, then said, “What is he talking about?”
Omar looked at the men on the boat and said, “What was that about payment? We already paid you.”
“There’s been a change of the payment. We want that delivered to the location we sent. When that’s done, and our man texts
us he has it, we’ll tell you where the location of your shipment is.”
“That’s not what we agreed upon!”
“Well, that’s what it is now. We sent all this to Cyrus yesterday. When we didn’t get a response, we took that as approval.”
The Ghost heard a shout on the shore and saw one of the men had opened a duffel bag. He was holding a package the size of
a brick, the entire thing wrapped in tape, and dancing about. The Ghost cursed again, turned to Omar and said, “Deal with
this. Now,” then stalked to the shore.
He met the man holding the brick, and in broken English, the man said, “You guys are getting ready for a big party.”
The other man giggled and the Ghost turned on his light, shining it at the duffel, bathing it in a red glow and saying, “See
what else is in there.”
The man bent down, and the Ghost withdrew the ice pick from the sleeve holding the flashlight. He leaned down and jammed it
into the base of the man’s skull, driving it forward until it met the man’s skull on the opposite side, the heavy plate of
bone at the forehead stopping his thrust. The man flung his arms out and fell face down, his legs twitching spasmodically.
He said not a word.
The Ghost withdrew the pick and turned to the other man, seeing him standing in a drunken stupor, shock on his face. The man
turned and began shambling back to the trees. He made it ten feet before he tripped in the rocks and sprawled forward, bashing
his head. Dazed, he rose to his knees, the blood from a gash on his forehead flowing freely down his face. He put a hand up,
mumbling in Spanish. The Ghost reached him and grabbed a fistful of hair, bending his head forward and holding it steady.
He repeated the killing blow, gripping the handle until the spasms subsided, then pulling the spike of steel out.
He wiped the ice pick and stood up, seeing Omar staring at him. He stalked back into the water, reaching him at the bow of
the boat and saying, “What are we doing?”
Omar stuttered for a second, then said, “He made a deal with Cyrus. I didn’t know about it. Our equipment is here, in Buenos
Aires, but we must deliver these duffel bags to get it.”
The Ghost looked up at the bow and said, “Describe this shipment. What did you bring?”
The man on the boat said, “Did you just ice those two guys? Kill them right here?”
Deadpan, the Ghost said, “Yes. Describe the shipment.”
The man on the boat looked at his friend, then returned to the Ghost, saying, “Two Pelican cases, each about three feet long
and two feet deep, and a duffel bag full of tripods and cables.”
“What was in the Pelican cases?”
The man chuckled and said, “I don’t know. They were locked. You guys have the combination, not me.”
The Ghost looked at Omar and said, “Does that sound right?”
Omar nodded, saying, “Yes. That’s our shipment.”
The Ghost said, “Okay. Give him your number.”
“Why?”
“We’re running short of time. I don’t want to wait on a relay from Cyrus.”
He turned to the boat and said, “You have a deal, with one condition.”
“What?”
“Give us the location you sent Cyrus so we don’t waste more time, and you take those two bodies in return. Dump them on your
way back.”
The man conferred with his friend, then said, “Okay, okay.”
They jumped into the water, Omar gave the leader his cell phone number, and together, all four of them struggled to load the bodies onto the boat. When it was done, the Ghost threw them their bowline and said, “If we don’t get our equipment, I will personally come find you.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. The bleeding bodies on the deck finished his threat. The boat backed away from the pipe,
and was quickly lost in the darkness, disappearing into the gloom.
Omar said, “I cannot believe you killed those two men that swiftly. I was still wondering what we were going to do with them,
and when I looked again, they were dead.”
The Ghost said, “I didn’t enjoy it. Your sloppy plan is what caused it to be necessary. It’s why I’m in charge of this mission.”
Omar looked at him with new eyes and nodded his head.
Omar glanced back out over the water, trying to see the boat and failing. He said, “What I don’t understand is why Cyrus didn’t
tell us about this change of payment. What is he doing?”