Knuckles stood up and said, “He had a knife. Didn’t you search his ass?”
Brett started pulling off the climbing harness from the body, saying, “Of course I did. He was clean.” He unclipped the leg straps, pulled the harness free, and they saw the target’s belt open at the waist, the buckle an odd, hollow square of metal.
Brett slid the belt free of the loops, took the small push knife from the dead man’s hand, and matched it to the hollow part, the blade hidden behind the leather, the buckle complete with it in place.
He shook his head, saying, “I didn’t expect him to have a James Bond rig.”
Knuckles said, “Let’s get him to the transfer point. Dead or not, he can’t stay here.”
Veep finished repacking the ropes and harnesses in their packs, shouldering the one Knuckles had brought and handing Brett’s back to him. Knuckles bent down, taking the man’s arm and Brett helped hoist the dead weight over Knuckles’ shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Veep shook his head, saying, “We’re in a world of hurt now. Not only did we not catch the Ghost, we killed the target we were told not to chase.”
With a grim face, Knuckles said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They started a slow jog, Brett whispering, “Why the fuck couldn’t that have been the Ghost? Where the hell isthatguy?”
Chapter 39
In what was becoming a familiar Pavlovian response, the Ghost felt his adrenaline rise watching Fatima and Yassir attempt to check in. He glanced behind him, seeing the rest of his new team standing expectantly with their luggage. Ramzi, the Pasdaran man who was the most versed in their cover of a Lebanese news crew, smiled and said, “They’ll get our rooms, no problem. You can tell everyone that you’re staying here like the rest of the important people, but our passports won’t be in the hotel system.”
He nodded and said, “I understand the plan. I’m just concerned we’ll be outed as freeloaders, with the whole mission falling apart because we didn’t bring duplicate documents.”
“Even with duplicate documents they would have your face.”
The Ghost said, “It’s a risk either way. I just prefer the risk of the cover instead of the risk of the maid learning we aren’t paying for a room.”
It had taken close to sixteen hours to drive from Puerto Iguazú to Buenos Aires, with only two stops to refuel, and while he’d slept part of the way, he’d still had to take his turn behind the wheel—and that had been after spending hours learning the cover.
Sardar had left them in the Islamic center in Brazil, where they’d spent the time before transiting back to Argentina studying their new careers. The television station they were representing was real, which presented enormous risks, but was necessary to evade Israeli detection. A fake station would have been unraveled even before they’d obtained their press credentials, and—in the sectarian smorgasbord of Lebanon—a real one with the wrong pedigree would be just as bad. In this case, like a parasite infecting a healthy host, they’d mimicked employment of a station owned by Orthodox Christians—one that was routinely critical of Hezbollah. The Ghost had thought that particularly ingenious. Because of its history, the Israelis had bought the subterfuge and had granted approval for the news station to cover the somber memorial of the Hezbollah bombing.
Ramzi, the expert on the cover, had been particularly proud of the Pasdaran’s ability to penetrate the station for correct technical information about departments, travel histories, badges, and other accoutrements that “proved” their employment, but while the Ghost was appreciative of the Pasdaran intelligence capability, he still saw the potential for disaster.
Like a camouflage shawl, the cover could work well when blending into the environment from a distance, but up close, it could be exposed as nothing more than a flimsy charade hiding something underneath. Ramzi assured him that the vetting from the Argentinian government was real, the approval was already accomplished, and that Israel would honor it for the ceremony.
They’d only been able to study for three hours before he’d been told it was time to leave. In the early morning hours, before the sun had time to creep into life, they’d boarded a van driven by their river guide, Adnan.
He’d snaked through Foz do Iguaçu, then began traversing rutted roads paralleling a large river, ultimately stopping at a hidden cove. The Ghost saw a makeshift wooden dock and a long johnboat with an outboard motor.
They’d boarded the boat with nothing but the clothes on their back, Ramzi carrying a single briefcase with their credentials. Adnan had pushed them out into the river, and for a terrible moment, the Ghost wondered if they were about to attempt to traverse the falls in the tin-hulled craft.
Adnan had chuckled, telling him they were downriver, then saying they were now in Paraguay. A short time later, he said they were in Argentina, then had beached the boat at another cove with a similar wooden dock.
Adnan had roped the boat to the dock and said, “This is where I toldSardar I would stop. Hopefully, your vehicles are waiting. Good luck on your journey.”
They’d exited and Adnan had slipped back into the river, disappearing into the darkness. Khalil had led them to the head of a broken trail, pointing up it and saying, “About a half kilometer through the trees. Nobody use any lights, and watch your footing. It can be steep.”
The Ghost followed Khalil, holding out one hand to protect himself from tree branches and spider webs. They’d crested the top and the Ghost saw a single late-model Mercedes sprinter van. Omar, the Pasdaran logistics man, had used a key to open it, checking inside. The Ghost looked over his shoulder and saw four sets of carry-on luggage in the back.
Omar said, “Cyrus never fails.”
The Ghost said, “He left this here?”
“Yes, this was his final mission. Now he gets to sit by a pool for a few days before flying home.”
He turned to the group and said, “Your names from the press credentials will be on your bag. Fatima and Yassir, you have the last two. Forgive me if the clothes aren’t a perfect fit. We did the best that we could.”
The Ghost could tell the apology was hollow, and that Omar was simply bragging about their clandestine skill. Even so, the Ghost thought he had a right to brag. This was impressive.
