Now, as the plane jockeyed into the gate, he felt the adrenaline rise once again. It was only a domestic flight, and he should have no other interactions with Argentinian authorities, but this time, he’d be meeting his sponsors.
He pulled out the cell phone he’d been given in Mexico, knowing full well the risks of using it. He’d been out of the game for close to a decade, but he’d kept up with technological advancements virtually. He’d seen news stories of how Israel and other countries had the ability to turn smartphones into full-service collection devices, from recording voice and texts to geolocation within feet.
He had no other option. He initiated the device, watched the home screen load, and found an app called Signal—something not available when he’d left the free world. He hoped it was secure. Inside the app was a single contact under the username Hadi, the relative he was supposedly visiting.
He initiated a chat and typed one word:Here.
He waited, then saw a string of dots undulating up and down. He presumed that meant someone was on the other end. A text appeared:Follow the signs for ground transportation. Exit the airport and look for the driver waiting area. I’ll be holding a paper with Sardar on it.
He wanted to ask about customs or further immigration controls, but didn’t. He simply typed back,Okay. Coming now.
He waited until the passengers ahead of him exited, retrieved his carry-on, and followed the signs to baggage claim. From there, he saw an arrow pointing to ground transportation, took a left, and exited the airport, the cloying, humid air causing his glasses to fog.
He took the opportunity to clean them, pretending to look through the lenses after wiping the glass, but really surveying the area. He saw about a dozen men, all holding signs with names, some on electronic tablets, some with official tourist placards, and some just scribbled on pieces of paper.
A swarthy man with a sign proclaiming “Sardar” was staring at him intently. Of average height, with a well-groomed goatee, he nodded, and the Ghost walked to him, unsure of whether he was supposed to act like his name was Sardar or pretend they actually knew each other.
The man took the initiative, dropping the sign and embracing him in a hug, saying, “You made it! Hadi will be so happy. Come, come, I’m parked over here.”
Surprised, the Ghost returned the embrace, saying nothing. He let the man take his carry-on and they walked a short distance to a small two-door Renault hatchback.
The man started the vehicle and they exited the airport, leaving on a two-way road winding through a jungle, the forest dark and close on each side.
The man said, “The airport is right in the middle of a national forest, but our hotel is not far. Ten minutes, maybe.”
The Ghost said, “What do I call you?”
The man laughed and said, “Sardar. That’s my name. The harder question is what do I call you?”
“Tarek Navarro. That’s the name on the passport.”
Sardar flicked a glance to him and said, “Lebanese passport, right?”
The Ghost answered, but with a rising voice, like a question. “Yes?”
Sardar said, “Pretty strange name for a Lebanese.”
“We had to pick a name that sounded both American Indian and Lebanese. Something that would pass for both nationalities for people who are neither. Didn’t you know this?”
“No. My people funded it, and I provided the blank passport, but the details were left to the men I used. For good reason, it turns out. I most certainly wouldn’t have picked a name that sounded like an American Indian.”
The Ghost took that in, then said, “Who are you, really?”
“I’m sure you have many questions. Let’s wait until we get to the hotel to discuss.”
“At least tell me who your ‘people’ are. While I greatly appreciate all you have done, I have no idea.”
Sardar glanced at him in surprise and said, “Who do you think I am?”
“Party of God?”
Sardar chuckled and said, “Hezbollah is powerful and righteous, but not powerful enough to do what I have done. They don’t have the reach to bring you here from a secret American prison located in the heart of the Great Satan.”
Sardar glanced at him, and the Ghost saw pride leaking out.
He said, “I’m Pasdaran.”
Chapter 25
