Chapter 45
The Ghost crested a hill and saw the walls of the famous Recoleta Cemetery across an expanse of green and slowed, looking
for a building resembling a parking garage. He saw no structure of any sort—parking or otherwise—only open greenspace full
of people enjoying the sunshine.
He reached a roundabout, and his phone map told him he was about to drive over the garage entrance. He slowed and studied
the digital screen, then glanced to his left and saw a concrete sign proclaiming “Entrada” and “Salida.” Positioned on a hillock
with grass and foliage above it and a concrete ramp below it snaking down into the earth, he realized it was the garage.
He’d been expecting a building above the ground, not a parking area constructed beneath it. He drove into the opening, the
concrete ramp dropping down until he reached a gate with a mobile kiosk. He picked up his phone, flipped through the screens
until he reached a QR code, and held it out for a scanner—something Omar had prepared for him, reserving a spot for him in
the garage.
He’d been grateful for the assistance, even though he was sure he would have eventually figured it out, as he was still learning
the depth and breadth of how technology had grown while he was incarcerated.
He found a spot on the lower level and stepped out, the coolness of the space giving him comfort that leaving the car wouldn’t
be an issue.
While he may have been behind the times with respect to Apple Pay and TikTok, he still remembered the skills he’d had before his capture and had used that to work on the rental diversion while the rest of the team spent the day waiting on contact from the smugglers.
He’d originally wanted to use the promised Semtex explosives from their shipment, but that had been short-circuited by the
timeline the smugglers had forced upon them. With the targeted visit within forty-eight hours, he no longer had the luxury
of retrieving the equipment, planning the assault, and developing the diversion.
He’d learned that fireworks celebrations happened year-round in Argentina, and had purchased a quantity of them. That, along
with two retro flip phones and an assortment of other tools and supplies, had allowed him to turn his CNG-fueled rental car
into a state-of-the art rolling smart bomb. A VBIED in his enemy’s parlance—a vehicle borne improvised explosive device.
While the news crew cover was very good—ingenious, even—the Ghost believed in hedging his bets. From experience, he knew how
efficient the West’s intelligence services were, and while they may not penetrate their actual plan of attack, he knew they
were diligently searching, and once they found a threat, they would coalesce around it like flies to roadkill, leaving the
true mission to succeed. His VBIED was that deceptive threat.
Although he was absolutely certain his homemade initiator would function when required, he wasn’t positive about it detonating
prematurely. Semtex was a stable explosive. His Frankenstein concoction from the guts of off-the-shelf fireworks was not,
which is why he’d demanded that Omar find him covered parking. He didn’t want the trunk to sit out in the sun while he conducted
this meeting, even in the mild winter weather of Buenos Aires.
He locked up the vehicle and followed the arrows to the nearest exit, popping out onto the green spaces of the interconnected
plazas in front of a Catholic basilica. It took a moment to get his bearings. He traced the walls of the cemetery and located
the entrance to the garage, then looked southeast, seeing a line of restaurants on the other side of the grass and trees.
He returned to the modern era of smartphones, pulling up what Omar said was a “pin”—the location of his contact.
In his day, such a meeting would have been based on specific locations, complete with descriptions and addresses. Now, he had what looked like a literal pin on a digital map and instructions to look for a man wearing a fedora and drinking maté.
He walked at a relaxed pace through the grass, matching the groups of tourists. He reached a copse of trees on the far side
of the plaza and held up, studying the rows of restaurants on the other side. Every restaurant had the same structure, with
an inside section and an outside patio, the only distinction between them the type of furniture on display. Some had rustic
picnic tables while others had white linen, advertising without words the sophistication of the menu.
He looked at his phone and saw the pin was south of his location, near the far side of the row, and moved that way. He reached
the second restaurant from the end, the pin now registering within seventy feet. He studied the patrons and found his contact
easily. The restaurant was a beer garden slash barbecue joint, and contrary to what he’d thought before, nobody was drinking
out of anything resembling a maté gourd. Well, nobody but one man, who was wearing a fedora hat.
Short and stocky, with a face pockmarked from what looked like acne, he was fidgeting in the chair and picking at a plate
of fried calamari, his maté drink ignored next to him.
The Ghost broke from the trees and walked right to him, ignoring the hostess. The man turned to him, and the Ghost addressed
him, saying, “Reynaldo, I presume?”
Reynaldo smiled and said, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Wondering if maybe you’d been arrested, and it was
time to hide.”
The Ghost took a seat and said, “You mean because we were delivering your drugs after we’d paid you for a service?”
The waitress came over and the Ghost ordered a soda, waiting for her to leave before returning to Reynaldo. He said, “No,
no, that went fine. I’m just surprised you were able to do it.”
The Ghost narrowed his eyes and said, “Why is that?”
Reynaldo popped a calamari bite into his mouth and said, “I just had a visit from some people that don’t seem to like you.
People with skill.”
The Ghost said, “What does that mean?”
The waitress came back with his soda, stopping the conversation. She asked if the Ghost wanted any food, and he declined,
saying he’d just pay the bill.
Reynaldo said, “He’ll pay mine too.”
At that, the Ghost wanted to smash him in the head, but he still needed to learn the location of the shipment. That, and honestly,
he wanted to try out the technology Omar had shown him.
He nodded at the waitress, and she pulled out a mobile card reader. Just like Omar had demonstrated, he flicked through apps
until he reached the wallet in his phone, held it near the device, and sure enough, the phone asked him to double tap to complete
the transaction. He did so, amused by the technological advancements since he’d been imprisoned.
The waitress left and he returned to Reynaldo, saying, “What do you mean, you had a visit from someone?”
Reynaldo told him what had transpired the afternoon before, describing the two women looking for the credit card in the handicrafts
store.
The Ghost said, “How do you know it was our credit card? Maybe they were telling the truth.”
“I recognized the number. It’s the same one I was given for certain tasks before you arrived. Also, Cyrus bought a maté kit
from that very store when we first met. I was the one that sold it to him. I gave him a discount.”
From Reynaldo’s expression, the Ghost could tell that he was holding something back. He said, “Just because someone asked
about a credit card doesn’t mean they’re out to get us. Maybe you got the number wrong.”
Reynaldo glanced out at the plaza, thinking, then came back to the Ghost. He said, “It was your card. I suspected them of being American DEA or something, so I questioned them. It didn’t go well.”
“What’s that mean?”
Reynaldo told him about the fight, playing up his own skill and heroics, but including the maiming and death of his men. He
ended with, “These two weren’t tourists looking for a lost card. They were something else.”
The Ghost took that in, then said, “They might have been coming for you and not us. You are, after all, a drug dealer. Did you find any badges or identification that would lead you to believe they were law enforcement?”
“They weren’t for me. They were tracking your men, but they had no official identification. One of them had a passport from the United States, and the other was from Lebanon.”
The words hit the Ghost hard, “Lebanon? As in the Middle East?”
Reynaldo nodded, saying, “Yeah, like that. I thought that was weird too, until I remembered you guys were from Qatar. It’s
you, not me.”
The Ghost thought, Mossad or CIA. Somehow, as good as the Pasdaran had been, breaking him out and providing the infrastructure for this mission, the enemy
had found them. Then another thought occurred, Reynaldo knows Cyrus and Omar used passports from Qatar. He’s a weak link.
The Ghost brushed a fork off the table, dropping it to the ground. He reached down to get it, and in so doing, pulled up his
pantleg and withdrew the ice pick from his boot. He set the fork back on the table, holding his other hand underneath.
Reynaldo said, “I want nothing more to do with you or your team. No money is worth the hassle that’s coming for you. I don’t
want to get roped into it when those women find you. They play for keeps.”
The Ghost said, “We paid you for a service in cash. And then you made us deliver your drugs as ‘extra payment.’ You got the
drugs, or you wouldn’t be sitting here. You’re going to tell me where our shipment is, or those two females from a souvenir
store will be the least of your worries.”
Reynaldo said, “Hey, calm down. I’m just saying I’m not going to help you retrieve it. We brought it into Buenos Aires; the
rest is up to you.”
“Where is it?”
Reynaldo pointed across the plaza to the Recoleta Cemetery and said, “It’s in there.”
“The cemetery? Are you insane? Why?”
“I didn’t want anything more to do with your shipment.
After yesterday, I’m now glad I made that decision.
I wasn’t going to store it at any location I owned, and I wasn’t going to store it at a location that someone else owned and have it discovered.
Then you’d be demanding your money back.
That cemetery is very secure, and nobody’s going digging through the tombs.
I have a man who works maintenance there, and I use it from time to time, for transfers such as this. ”
Reynaldo passed across a map of the cemetery, and the Ghost saw it was a rough rectangle, with lanes of tombs radiating away
from the center like a spider’s web. In the northeast corner was a mark.
He pointed at the mark and said, “Here?”
Reynaldo nodded and passed across two other pieces of paper and a key. One was a printout of the family lineage of the tomb.
The other was a maintenance pass. He said, “When you get inside, show them this pass. They know the company and won’t question
you. It has the contract for all the maintenance on the grounds.”
“And this other thing?”
“It’s the name on the outside of the tomb. It’s bigger than most, with a ladder leading to a crypt below ground level. Just
inside the cemetery entrance is a map with names. Locate this name, unlock the tomb, and get your shipment. Easy.”
The Ghost turned the key over in his hand, thinking. Reynaldo stood up, saying, “I wish you the best, but don’t call me again.
My network is no longer available.”
The Ghost clenched his fist around the key and said, “You’re going to show me the shipment. Right now.”
Reynaldo smiled and said, “No, I’m not. You have your instructions, and I know the shipment is there. If your group wanted
to force me, they should have sent someone a little more threatening. Thanks for lunch.”
The Ghost stood and Reynaldo said, “See you later.”
The Ghost pretended to retreat, sticking out his hand in a gesture of friendship, saying, “I wish you’d come with me to show
me the location. We could use the help, and we’ve paid handsomely.”
Reynaldo slid his hand into the Ghost’s and sealed his fate.
He smiled and said, “Fuck off.”
The Ghost squeezed hard and rotated his wrist, eliciting a squeal. He pulled Reynaldo close, as if giving him a hug.
He placed the ice pick next to Reynaldo’s jugular and focused his rage, locking eyes with him and flooding Reynaldo with fear.
The Ghost whispered, “Careful when you move. I’m not threatening enough to use this on purpose, but you might make me do it accidentally.”