Chapter 49
Sardar scanned the QR code on his computer screen and followed the prompts to link his new Signal account to his laptop. He
was running out of SIM cards for his phone, but he couldn’t take the risk that the last one wasn’t burned.
On his last contact with Omar, he’d learned about the unknown team tracking them through a credit card Cyrus had used during
pre-mission activities, the tale ending with the skin-of-the-teeth escape before the police stormed the hotel. While concerning,
he was gratified that his enormous effort to break free the Ghost had been worth it.
Ostensibly done for plausible deniability, the Ghost had proven to be as fearless and deadly as the legends from his past
had proclaimed. As for his mission in the United States, he wasn’t concerned, since both he and Cyrus were using completely
different bank accounts and credit cards from the ones used in Buenos Aires. At least he’d felt that way initially. When Cyrus
had failed to answer his Signal messages, he began to worry. Maybe Cyrus had been compromised on his exfiltration—and he was
using the same bank account as Sardar.
After crossing into the United States the same way he’d evacuated the Ghost—through the Tohono O’odham tribal lands—Sardar
had rented a car in Tucson. Being so close to the border, he’d known the rental company would be worried about customers taking
the vehicle into Mexico, and had disabled the rental company’s GPS module in the vehicle, so that wasn’t a worry, but it had been rented using one of the Cyrus exfiltration cards, which meant if that platform was compromised, they would have a description of the vehicle, along with a license plate. He’d have to take care of that tonight.
If Cyrus was compromised, the damage was limited to the rental car, meaning they would know he started in Tucson, so there was no worry
about continuing to use the cards in that location. He’d hit five separate ATMs at different locations in the city and withdrew
the maximum limit of cash at each, then had cut those cards up and started his journey to Washington.
He’d made it as far as Nashville before pulling over to rest and conduct future planning. He’d located a mid-priced motel
on Interstate 40, just outside the Nashville airport, and used his last fresh bank account. The one reserved for his own exfiltration
after the mission. If these cards became compromised, he’d have to rely solely on cash, which, in this day and age, wasn’t
the most inconspicuous way to travel.
He finished the synching of the new Signal account and SIM card with his computer and started a fresh chat with a contact
called Nomad.
—This is Saladin. Are you secure? Ready to transfer?
He waited a full two minutes before he saw the bubbles appear from a reply. They cleared and he read:
—Give me the town of the man you had me take to the border.
Sardar smiled. The Nomads weren’t as stupid as they appeared.
—Panguitch, Utah.
The bubbles appeared again, then:
—What the fuck has taken you so long? I’m sitting on a load that’ll put me away for a long, long time. You owe me money.
—I know. I’m here in the States now, and I have the payment. Are you in DC?
—No. Virginia. About an hour and a half outside the city. I can’t park this truck in DC dumbass.
Sardar bristled at the insult, thinking he was going to enjoy giving them payment in the way of a bullet. He typed,
—Understood. We need to meet first in DC. I’ll confirm drop-off and give you further instructions.
—Give me the drop-off location now. I’m sick of waiting.
He couldn’t do that, because he needed their help for the next step, whether they wanted to do it or not. He couldn’t accomplish
the mission on his own. He needed their expertise with the truck.
—No. We meet and discuss. There is an additional step.
Bubbles, then,
—What the fuck does that mean? We give you the truck, and you give us the money. Don’t fuck me on this or I’ll turn in that
guy I got across the border.
—Meet. Then discuss.
He waited, seeing nothing. He was sure they were discussing it among themselves. Finally, bubbles appeared, revealing success:
—When and where?
And he gave them the detailed instructions for the meeting location, one he’d surveyed ahead of time for a different mission years ago.
He’d never used it then, the mission not coming to fruition, but it facilitated both protection and anonymity and he was glad it was still around, because this operation was much more important.
It was the culmination of all his training and skill. It was his coup de grace, a grand attack that would be sung about years
from now, his heroic deeds cemented in the annals of the IRGC.
He closed the chat and looked at his watch. He did the math, and realized he still had about thirty minutes before his command
was available in Iran. He shut the computer down, dug around in his backpack and found a screwdriver. He exited the room,
walking down the concrete balcony to the back stairs away from the interstate.
He skulked past the back of the motel, the lot illuminated by a vapor lamp at each end, but dark in the middle. He reached
a battered pickup truck with an Arkansas plate, the numbers hidden by a hitch attached to a small trailer. Perfect. Won’t be easily missed.
He glanced around, seeing no movement. He had trees behind him and shadow from the back of the motel, with just enough light
from the streetlamp a hundred feet away to help him. He bent down and quickly went to work. In a matter of minutes he had
the back license off the truck. He went to the front and saw there was no additional plate. Even better.
He quickly circled the lot to his rental car, parked near the woods and out of the light. He repeated the process, replacing
his Arizona plate with the new one from Arkansas. He threw the Arizona plate over the chain-link fence into the darkness of
the woods and returned to his room, confident he had done what he could to camouflage his vehicle.
He rebooted his computer, opened Signal, and checked his watch. He waited until it was 0730 in Tehran and initiated a chat
with the contact called Father.
—Update on Zarbeh-e Sāyeh. Everything is in motion on my end. Some small issues, but nothing that will stop success. God willing,
both the Great Satan and the Little Satan will feel our wrath in two days.
He waited, feeling the tension build as he always did when talking with his superiors—even if these men hadn’t been in their positions as long as he had been in his.
They were the chosen ones, selected for the judgment after their predecessors had been wiped out by Israeli airstrikes and drone attacks.
He grew concerned when the clock ticked past forty after. He hadn’t been focused on the news, and feared maybe he’d missed
another assassination campaign by Mossad. Maybe they were dead.
Finally, the bubbles appeared and he exhaled.
—Good to hear from you. We were growing concerned. What issues?
—Nothing to worry about. It is contained. How does the other operation fare?
—Do we still have deniability? Have you been compromised?
Sardar shook his head. They were going to accomplish the greatest attack the Persian state had ever achieved, and all his
command cared about was whether they could be overtly blamed. Fearing the repercussions from the very people they were attacking.
He thought it cowardly, but couldn’t say that.
—We have deniability. Using the Ghost will lead away from us, pointing to the same people in the West Bank, and I will not
leave any fingerprints here in DC. We are secure. They will naturally blame us, but even their own intelligence will be confused.
They won’t be able to justify a massive retaliation.
—Good. We are proud of you.
—What about the final operation?
—We had success. The Syria ratline is no more, but we managed one final infiltration of weapons and explosives, including
the special device.
—Good. So they’re waiting on the word? The delivery vehicle is complete?
—Not yet. They have the cylinders, but have not yet built the delivery vehicle.
Concerned that the men in the West Bank might balk, afraid of what they were about to unleash, he dared to question his superiors.
—They don’t know what it is, correct? We don’t want them to become frightened at the last minute.
—Sardar, let us take care of this operation. You overstep your authority.
He took the rebuke, sitting back and thinking of another way to ask the question. Instead, he retreated.
—Sir, I meant no affront. I just want success.
He waited, wondering if he’d tainted his legacy of success.
—As do we all. They don’t know what it is. They think it’s an accelerant that will just increase the explosive effect. A secret
recipe. They’re waiting on you.
Sardar smiled, feeling a weight lifted.
—God willing, the next time we talk you will be able to give them the command.
He closed out the Signal chat and shut down his computer, wishing he could talk to the men in the West Bank. Even with both
of the operations on this side of the world on his shoulders, he wanted to give them advice.
Wanted to ensure they had the fortitude to continue.