Omar said, “Where did you get that?”
The Ghost slid it into his sleeve, saying, “The hotel. One of us should be prepared. Something always goes wrong in meetings like this.”
Omar scoffed and said, “Follow me.”
The Ghost shouldered the pack and they slunk up to the fence, then sidled down it, away from the building. They scrambled through the brush for about a hundred meters until they reached a tree that had fallen over, crushing the fence to a manageable height.
They clambered over it, then thrashed through the brush until they spilled out onto a dirt track. Omar said, “This is the ring path around the entire place. We have about a kilometer to walk before we cut to the meeting point.”
The Ghost saw a sign next to the road and went to it. He pulled out a large D cell flashlight from his pack and bathed the words in a red glow from a filter, revealing a map. He said, “Show me.”
Omar studied the map and then pointed to a spot about halfway down the reserve, right next to the water. “If we stay on the road, no problem. We don’t want to go too far, though.” He slid his finger farther right and said, “The camera tower I told you about is right here, in front of the pond. We want to stay out of its range.”
The Ghost turned off the light and they began trudging down the dirtpath, the darkness punctuated by the sound of insects and their own plodding feet. The path threaded through the trees, passing an open field with picnic tables before becoming cloaked in trees again.
The Ghost heard an echo of laughter, causing him to stop. Omar said, “What?” and the Ghost cut him off with an upraised hand, cocking his ear. He heard it again, then the clink of something like glass.
They proceeded slowly, rounding a bend and seeing a small glade among the trees, an outcropping of rock at the center, the road winding right past it. At the base was a tiny fire with barely three sticks burning, two men hovering over it drinking from a bottle and laughing.
The Ghost kept his hand in front of Omar to still him, thinking furiously. Omar whispered, “That rock is the far recognition point. We get parallel to that and look for a path on the left. We take it to the shore, find an old drainage pipe and walk that to the water.”
“How are we going to get past them? We can’t let them see us.”
“They aren’t supposed to be inside the park either. They’ll ignore us, and we’ll ignore them. Stick to the tree line.”
The Ghost could see no alternative. Against his better judgment, he began skulking along the edge of the road, trying to hide in the darkness. They came abreast of the glade and Omar hissed, “The path. Come on.”
The Ghost followed him into the trees, then slipped when the ground sank straight down. He grabbed a branch to stop from falling, dislodging rocks that rolled away sounding like a small freight train, the echoes bouncing through the air. He heard the men above him shout something, then more laughter. He cursed and Omar said, “Bring out the signal light.”
He did, turning it on and flashing the path with its red glow. They picked their way through the roots, slowly moving down, the trees falling away and revealing a beach of rocks and an old iron pipe sprouting straight out of the shelf of land. About one foot in diameter, it ran across the shore and disappeared into the water about twenty meters away.
He followed the line of the pipe, then glanced out at the water. To his shock, he saw a boat running parallel to the shore about fifty meters out,the hull illuminated in the moonlight, a single red light flashing him from the deck. Two flashes, then nothing, then two flashes.
He hissed, “That’s the signal. They’re early.”
Without waiting on Omar, he scurried down the pipe until his feet hit the water. He raised his flashlight, aimed it at the boat and flashed back. He saw the bow of the boat turn toward him and begin advancing.
He heard a clatter behind him and said, “Quit making so much noise.”
Omar reached the water, and the Ghost realized it wasn’t him making the noise. At the edge of the woods he saw the two men appear, shouting something in Spanish.
He cursed again, and Omar said, “What are we going to do?”
The Ghost said, “Get the equipment. Execute the plan. We’ll deal with them after.”
The boat reached them the same time the two campfire men stumbled onto the rock shore, moving to the water.
The Ghost said, “Stall them.”
Omar scurried back along the pipe, racing to the tree line and the Ghost turned to the boat. He waded out into the water until he was knee deep and a man threw out a rope. He caught it, pulling the boat closer and securing it around the pipe. The man on the boat shined a light on him and said, “You aren’t Omar.”
The Ghost pointed up to the tree line, shocked to see Omar advancing with the campfire men. He said, “Omar’s on the way,” but was thinking,What on earth is he doing?
Another man appeared on the deck, holding a duffel bag. He tossed it into the water and the Ghost quickly snatched it up, holding it high. The man laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it’s waterproof.”
A second duffel bag hit the water, and the Ghost turned, throwing the first bag to Omar, then fishing out the second. A third followed, splashing him with water. He glanced up, irritated, and the man on the bow said, “Take those to the drop-off and you’ll get your instructions for your delivery.”
Huh?
