The Ghost wanted to explore the issue further, but realized it made no difference. He would absorb the slight of this attack being about vengeance, because no matter why Sardar set it in motion, it would help his people. Let them believe that it was solely revenge for the deaths of their revered leaders. He would still swing the sword.
Sardar said, “Our targets are going to be here three days hence. In 1994, the Party of God conducted the most successful attack on the Zionist state since it was formed, blowing up the Israeli cultural center in Buenos Aires. Until October seventh, it was the greatest attack the Zionists had ever felt, and their leadership feels the need to reflect on the loss. There will be a ceremony, and at that ceremony, we will strike again, a poetic attack.”
Khalil said, “That will be impossible. Do you know how much security they will have? How do you propose to do this, with a rocket fired from a ship?”
The Ghost nodded his head in agreement, saying, “You don’t need my skill for an attack like this. You need ashahid, and even that is asking for failure.”
Sardar said, “True, if we were going to attack the castle from the outside, battering against the walls, but we’re not. Have you read about the battle of the three hundred at Thermopylae?”
Khalil nodded, saying, “Yes. Three hundred Spartans held off the entire Persian army for a week. Are you saying we’re the Spartans? Because they all died, and the Persians won.”
“No. Of course we’re not the Spartans. We’re the Persians. Because after failing to win by direct attack, they succeeded by stealth and guile. They learned of a secret path and used it to go to the Spartans’ rear. That is what we’ll do.”
“How?”
Sardar turned to Ramzi, the one always wearing a threadbare suit, and said, “Tell them.”
Ramzi opened a briefcase at his feet, handing out what appeared to be badges and saying, “As you mentioned, the ceremony itself will have massive security, so much so that the entire ceremony will be in a courtyard surrounded by walls and security, where only vetted guests and members of the press will be allowed.”
The Ghost took his badge, surprised to see his photograph already on it. Underneath his name was an official-looking stamp and the word “cameraman.”
Ramzi said, “We are those vetted members, a Lebanese news crew, and we have secured an invitation to attend.”
The revelation drew a small gasp from Fatima and open mouths from the rest. He said, “Don’t get too excited. We only knew Khalil. Fatima and Yassir, while we welcome your help, you will have to travel on your Brazilian passports—we don’t have badges for you.”
Fatima’s smile faded and Sardar said, “It’s actually better this way. We’ll use you for any activities where we need a break from the cover. It’s necessary. Even if I had the information for all of us to become a Lebanese news crew, I wouldn’t do it.”
She nodded, accepting the explanation. For his part, while impressive, the Ghost was the only one who didn’t see the cover as a panacea. He said, “There will still be security. Just because we’re press doesn’t mean we’ll be free from inspection. We can’t go in there with AKs. How do you propose this will work?”
Sardar said, “Ash’abah that will be up to you. I will give you the means, but you will determine the how. As we speak, a specially designed video camera is being smuggled into the country. In it is a firearm that will be undetectable by X-ray or casual inspection. You see your title on the badge.Youare the assassin.”
He nodded, then broached something that had been itching in his mind since this had begun, “If it is up to me, then I will need to be in charge. You understand that, right? I appreciate all you’ve done to get me here, but I make the decisions on the attack.”
Surprising him, Sardar said, “I understand. You will have Omar, who will get the equipment, Ramzi, who knows the press cover, and Khalil, Fatima, and Yassir, if they’re willing. You will be in charge of the operation.”
The Ghost looked at Khalil, and he nodded, saying, “This is a good plan. We’re willing.”
Seeing their fervent expressions, the Ghost realized that Sardar had been correct earlier. The Hezbollah memberswantedto believe in the mission—any mission—that would give them a chance at redemption against their enemies, and Sardar had adroitly played on their desires.
He returned to Sardar, saying, “What about you?”
“I will leave you here. I have other matters to attend to. As you say, you are in charge now.”
While he liked the words, he couldn’t fathom why Sardar had said them. “Other matters? What on earth could be more important than this mission?”
“None of your concern. I have to meet others like you in a different country, for a different strike. As I said, the Pasdaran is everywhere.”
The Ghost remembered what Khalil had told him on the raft, about a bigger strike, and said, “The Americans? The ones who broke me free?”
Sardar let out a sly grin and said, “Maybe. Cross the river back to Argentina.”
Chapter 34
Shane looked at his watch and said, “Jesus, how long does it take to get across the border?”
Flynn pulled a toothpick out of his mouth and said, “It all depends on what’s happening at any given moment. Don’t start to piss your pants. It doesn’t mean he’s caught.”
They were sitting inside a Freightliner semi-tractor at a cross-dock facility within the Mariposa border crossing, on the western edge of the city of Nogales. They’d arrived before the sun had risen, taking all the paperwork Taco had provided to prove they were the legitimate carrier to long haul the load to its destination.
