Chapter 70
Sardar pulled his rental into an empty space at the end of the lot, away from other cars, grateful that the July heat and
the fact that it was the middle of the week had kept the crowds away. He looked at his watch and saw he had twenty minutes
until the designated meeting window. He shut off the engine and anxiously pulled up the latest news from Buenos Aires.
He already knew the assassination attempt had devolved into a hostage crisis, but had to read the breaking update twice before
it sank in. They hijacked an aircraft, taking the Israeli prime minister and United States secretary of state? What on earth are they
doing?
On the one hand, it was good news, as a hostage crisis would paralyze the Israeli command more than even an assassination.
It had the added benefit of preventing a successor from assuming a leadership role while still eliminating the prime minister’s
ability to make decisions. The addition of the United States secretary of state was a welcome bonus, as she had almost as
much blood on her hands as the prime minister.
On the other hand, without their deaths the Buenos Aires mission would be a failure.
All of the nuclear scientists and IRGC generals those two were responsible for murdering demanded vengeance.
That was a priority. If he reported back to his higher command too soon they might initiate the final operation—and he was worried the Ghost would let the hostages go free when he realized the pain and destruction the attack would bring to the Palestinians in the West Bank.
The man might be an expert assassin, but he clearly didn’t understand the sacrifice required to harm the Little Satan.
The martyrs created were a necessary evil, just as had happened in the Gaza Strip.
He decided to execute his mission first, then contact those above him with an update. Maybe the situation would have more
clarity by then.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and put his hand on the door handle of the rental when he caught a vehicle slowly driving
through the lot behind him. He saw it was a Metropolitan Police cruiser, and sank down in his seat. It passed by without stopping,
continuing to the lots farther south at the same slow, methodical pace.
He waited until it was out of sight before he opened the door and began speedwalking to the entrance of the Washington, DC,
National Zoo.
Years before he was the commander, when Unit 840 was trying to recruit criminals to assassinate the ambassador to Saudi Arabia,
Sardar had been tasked with developing multiple secure meeting locations in Washington, DC, for the assessment of potential
candidates. Each one had to be free to enter and easily accessible, with enough of a public presence to provide security for
both parties. As each site could only be used once, he’d developed them all over DC, using everything from botanical gardens
to the National Mall. The zoo was one such site, and it had never been serviced with a meet, so it was still secure.
He reached the entrance, looking for the ticket counter he’d used years ago when he’d developed the site. While the zoo was
free, it still required a ticket for crowd control, allowing them to halt entrances when it was full.
The ticket booth was gone. In its place was a sign with a QR code and instructions for retrieving a pass, which was an annoyance.
It became alarming after he scanned the code, because he was required to input his name, address, and email to receive his
ticket. He could give a false name and address, but he needed a real email to obtain the voucher.
He spent an additional five minutes creating a throwaway Gmail address, then scanned the QR code again. He completed the form
and retrieved his ticket from the new email address, then walked to the admissions gate.
He hoped the men he was meeting wouldn’t be stymied by the entrance requirements. His instructions, while precise on finding the meeting site, had included the old entrance requirements. He wondered if the elephant enclosure he’d chosen as the meeting spot had changed as well.
He presented his phone to a man with a scanner, had his ticket recorded, and walked through the gate, making a mental note
to delete the electronic ticket and swap out his SIM card yet again to break the history of his phone having entered.
He walked up to a map at the education center, seeing that multiple exhibits were under renovation, which caused him a bit
of concern that his chosen rendezvous would be closed as well.
The zoo had a main promenade running down its length, with multiple side paths leading to various animal enclosures, the most
famous being the Chinese panda exhibit. When he selected his meeting site, he wanted a large enclosure with multiple different
viewing platforms. Something inside, but bigger than a hallway with aquariums. The panda exhibit provided the necessary atmospherics
but was also the most crowded.
He’d eventually settled on the elephant exhibit, as it was just as large, if not larger, but not nearly as popular. In studying
the map, he was relieved to see it was open. He looked at his watch and saw the meeting time was within five minutes. He began
walking down the primary promenade, ignoring the exhibits and trails branching out left and right. He bypassed the panda exhibit,
wanting to be within thirty seconds of what was known as the elephant community center. He reached an overlook allowing outdoor
viewing of giraffes and elephants and paused, pretending to be interested in the sights.
One minute later, he left, walking to the entrance of the community center, a large structure made of stone with glass double
doors. He entered an atrium with a family of four, then followed them into the enclosure itself.
It was populated with tourists, but not unduly so, with several open-air enclosures on the right showcasing Asian elephants
wandering about, a walkway to his front and exhibits on the wall to the left describing various aspects of the breed.
He paused, looking down the wide hall, searching for a specific exhibit.
He found it halfway down—a plexiglass tube the diameter of a fifty-five-gallon drum rising to the ceiling and full of elephant dung.
He’d chosen it precisely because it was distasteful and usually the least frequented exhibit.
That, and because he thought it was humorous.
Standing next to the tube of dung was a bald man with a craggy face and cauliflower ears and a shorter, pudgy man with black
hair and a three- or four-day growth of beard as if he couldn’t decide whether to shave or grow a full spate of facial hair.
It was Flynn and the man he knew as Tusk. He walked to them, causing Flynn to turn towards him. He saw recognition on his
face, and then a scowl.
He reached them and Flynn said, “I don’t see a backpack. I hope you aren’t planning on paying with crypto.”