Chapter 66
The Ghost had managed to relax during the interminable wait for the first speaker to begin. The only close call had come not
from security, but from an Argentinian news crew trying to kill some time. The cameraman came over smoking a cigarette and
asked something in Spanish. The Ghost replied in English that he didn’t speak Spanish.
The man looked at him quizzically, then in broken English, asked, “You make your anchorman carry your batteries? I wish I
could get mine to help.”
The Ghost said, “My assistant got food poisoning. Ramzi said he’d help. It’s no big deal to work as a team for us.”
The man flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, saying, “You come all the way from Lebanon for an Argentinian
ceremony, and you don’t speak Spanish? How are you going to cover this?”
The Ghost snapped at him, “So you speak Hebrew? No? Then what the hell are you doing here. The ceremony will be in three languages, and I understand two.”
The Ghost had no idea what languages would be used in the ceremony, and most certainly couldn’t speak Hebrew, but his harshness
was enough to cause the Argentinian cameraman to retreat.
Since then they’d simply waited, pretending to fiddle with the equipment and lounging about. Eventually, the guests had arrived,
taking their seats in front of the stage, then the entourage of VIPs entered. He’d glanced at his watch, seeing it was 11
a.m. He’d checked his phone, and his first spasm of anxiety hit.
He had no texts from either Yassir or Fatima.
The first speaker finished and the second one began. Still no text. He glanced at Ramzi and slightly shook his head. He decided
to focus on his mission. If the Hezbollah crew had been cowardly and decided to run, there was nothing he could do about it
now.
He put his eye behind the viewfinder and focused the center dot on the nose of the speaker. He hit the forward zoom function
and felt the casing vibrate, loading the bolt and cocking the arms.
He continued looking through the viewfinder and felt it shake. He’d thought the machinery inside had bound up and pulled his
eye away, and then felt more than heard a thump, the windows on the building behind the stage vibrating.
The audience members glanced left and right, and the speaker made a joke about thunder in the forecast, then continued speaking.
The Ghost glanced at Ramzi, but he only shrugged.
Five minutes later, the Ghost could see a scrum of security men at the equipment entrance to the north, two talking on radios.
The security stationed around the stage went from five men to one, as four others joined the men with the radios.
All of them left the building, and the Ghost knew why. For whatever reason, the Hezbollah members had been forced to initiate
the diversion, and it was working just as planned.
He now wanted the second speaker to be done, but the man droned on relentlessly. Five minutes, ten minutes, then twenty and
he continued to talk. The Ghost began to worry that the security would return once they realized there was no outside threat.
After thirty minutes, the speaker finally finished and introduced the man of the hour: the Israeli prime minister.
A bespectacled, shorter man with a head of black hair going bald, a yarmulke perched atop his head, he took the podium and
shuffled his notes.
The Ghost said, “Call Omar,” and put his eyes to the viewfinder.
He lined up the center circle of the reticle on the prime minister’s nose and took a breath.
He placed his hand on the zoom function, then heard a commotion at the equipment entrance.
He glanced that way and saw a man being wrestled to the ground, a woman shouting in Hebrew and fighting security next to him.
The man hit the deck on his stomach, the audience now focused on him, and the man looked up, shocking the Ghost to his core.
It was the predator. The American who had captured him all those years ago. He was here, in Argentina, and he was pointing
his finger right at the Ghost.
Two men were punching him, but a third looked where he was pointing and drew his sidearm. He raised it in a two-handed grip,
and the Ghost rotated the camera, putting the security man in the reticle. He pressed the zoom button and the camera bucked
ever so slightly, the bolt flying at four hundred feet per second. It impaled the security man in the right eye, flinging
him to the ground.
The Ghost released the camera and turned to Ramzi, yelling they had to run. Ramzi drew the detonator from his pocket, pressing
the button down to arm it. He raised the detonator over his head, screamed “Allahu Akbar!” and began sprinting up the aisle
between the chairs towards the stage, shocking the Ghost.
The final security man at the stage leapt down, drawing his pistol. He took aim and fired, hitting Ramzi in the chest. Ramzi
staggered forward, then dropped the detonator from his hand.
The Semtex exploded instantly, cutting his body in half and shredding the guests nearest him, the security man thrown violently
backwards.
It all happened in a little over two seconds, the Ghost momentarily stunned. The entire courtyard erupted into chaos, the
guests nearest the bomb that remained unharmed staggering about in a daze, the rest rushing to get away without knowing where
they were going.
He saw the Israeli prime minister huddled behind his chair with the American secretary of state, both attempting to hide.
He began fighting his way through the crowd, pushing towards the stage.
He glanced back at the predator and saw him still on the ground, the security men unsure if he was a threat, a predicament that not only kept him from pursuing the Ghost, but also tied up the two security men holding him.
The woman he’d come in with was also being held, although still upright. She was completely still, no longer fighting. She
simply tracked his movement. He caught her eye and she pierced him with her gaze, a disconcerting stare that caused him to
flinch.
He broke the gaze and bulled through the last of the crowd, leaping onto the stage. He flung the chairs aside and said, “Grab
my sleeve! I’m going to get you out!”
He meant it only for the prime minister, but the woman—the American secretary of state—immediately clamped her hands to his
right arm. The prime minister grabbed his left, saying, “How are you going to shoot if we’re holding on?”
He raised his hand, showing them both the detonator. He said, “I don’t have a gun, but if you let go—and I mean even by accident—I’m
dropping this. They’ll be picking up your body parts with a shovel.”
The shock on their faces was something he wished he had time to enjoy. He slowly stood, then turned around, forcing them to
rotate with him. Just below the stage he saw the predator and the woman, both now released, and both pointing weapons at his
head.
He raised the detonator, shouting, “Stop!”
He saw the recognition on their faces, the woman turning around and shouting something in Hebrew. The uniformed security men
began backing up, but the predator remained where he was, his pistol as solid as if part of a granite statue.
The Ghost turned to his captives and said, “Move, but do not let go,” and the three shuffled to the stairs on the right, going
down them to the path leading to the bulletproof entrance. The predator matched his stride, the pistol still aimed at his
head. Two security men at the personnel entrance backed away, getting clear of the door.
The predator said, “Let them go and you can still get out of here alive.”
The Ghost smiled and said, “It should be patently obvious I’m fully willing to die. You and I both know if I let them go, you’ll put a bullet in my head. Better to take them with me.”
He kept moving to the door, the predator following. He reached it and said, “This is where you stay. If you follow, the inside
of that bulletproof area will have to be cleaned with a mop.”
To the woman, he said, “Pull the door.”
She swung it open and they shuffled inside. He let it close, leaving the predator inside the courtyard. He searched for the
man behind the counter, looking for a threat, but he was standing at the back of his cubicle, his hands in the air, slowly
shaking his head, silently asking to be left alive.
The Ghost reached the final door and repeated the process of opening it using the woman, and they shuffled to the street.
Outside was a gaggle of men, all holding rifles pointed at him. He held up the detonator and they backed away. He searched
for Omar but didn’t see him. He cursed under his breath, thinking the coward had fled.
He looked up the block, finding nothing but more security and barricades. He saw a sedan parked just inside the barricades,
one of the sawhorses overturned and the vehicle cockeyed, like it had been parked in a hurry. For a split second, he thought
it was Omar, but then realized it was a different make of vehicle.
He turned behind him, and beyond another line of barricades, at the corner of the block, he saw the front end of what he believed
might be their vehicle.
He turned the entire group around, all of them shuffling awkwardly, and began dragging them down the block, the phalanx of
security parting like Moses splitting the Red Sea.
He passed the final barricades and reached the end of the block, seeing Omar behind the wheel of the car, his face red and
full of fear.
He said, “Female in the front. Male in the back.”
They entered the car first, and he followed, sitting in the rear. Omar turned around, and with a trembling voice said, “What
are we going to do?”
The Ghost said, “Drive to the airport.”