While he may have been behind the times with respect to Apple Pay and TikTok, he still remembered the skills he’d had before his capture and hadused that to work on the rental diversion while the rest of the team spent the day waiting on contact from the smugglers.
He’d originally wanted to use the promised Semtex explosives from their shipment, but that had been short-circuited by the timeline the smugglers had forced upon them. With the targeted visit within forty-eight hours, he no longer had the luxury of retrieving the equipment, planning the assault,anddeveloping the diversion.
He’d learned that fireworks celebrations happened year-round in Argentina, and had purchased a quantity of them. That, along with two retro flip phones and an assortment of other tools and supplies, had allowed him to turn his CNG-fueled rental car into a state-of-the art rolling smart bomb. A VBIED in his enemy’s parlance—a vehicle borne improvised explosive device.
While the news crew cover was very good—ingenious, even—the Ghost believed in hedging his bets. From experience, he knew how efficient the West’s intelligence services were, and while they may not penetrate their actual plan of attack, he knew they were diligently searching, and once they found a threat, they would coalesce around it like flies to roadkill, leaving the true mission to succeed. His VBIED was that deceptive threat.
Although he was absolutely certain his homemade initiator would function when required, he wasn’t positive about it detonating prematurely. Semtex was a stable explosive. His Frankenstein concoction from the guts of off-the-shelf fireworks was not, which is why he’d demanded that Omar find him covered parking. He didn’t want the trunk to sit out in the sun while he conducted this meeting, even in the mild winter weather of Buenos Aires.
He locked up the vehicle and followed the arrows to the nearest exit, popping out onto the green spaces of the interconnected plazas in front of a Catholic basilica. It took a moment to get his bearings. He traced the walls of the cemetery and located the entrance to the garage, then looked southeast, seeing a line of restaurants on the other side of the grass and trees. He returned to the modern era of smartphones, pulling up what Omar said was a “pin”—the location of his contact.
In his day, such a meeting would have been based on specific locations,complete with descriptions and addresses. Now, he had what looked like a literal pin on a digital map and instructions to look for a man wearing a fedora and drinking maté.
He walked at a relaxed pace through the grass, matching the groups of tourists. He reached a copse of trees on the far side of the plaza and held up, studying the rows of restaurants on the other side. Every restaurant had the same structure, with an inside section and an outside patio, the only distinction between them the type of furniture on display. Some had rustic picnic tables while others had white linen, advertising without words the sophistication of the menu.
He looked at his phone and saw the pin was south of his location, near the far side of the row, and moved that way. He reached the second restaurant from the end, the pin now registering within seventy feet. He studied the patrons and found his contact easily. The restaurant was a beer garden slash barbecue joint, and contrary to what he’d thought before, nobody was drinking out of anything resembling a maté gourd. Well, nobody but one man, who was wearing a fedora hat.
Short and stocky, with a face pockmarked from what looked like acne, he was fidgeting in the chair and picking at a plate of fried calamari, his maté drink ignored next to him.
The Ghost broke from the trees and walked right to him, ignoring the hostess. The man turned to him, and the Ghost addressed him, saying, “Reynaldo, I presume?”
Reynaldo smiled and said, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Wondering if maybe you’d been arrested, and it was time to hide.”
The Ghost took a seat and said, “You mean because we were delivering your drugs after we’d paid you for a service?”
The waitress came over and the Ghost ordered a soda, waiting for her to leave before returning to Reynaldo. He said, “No, no, that went fine. I’m just surprised you were able to do it.”
The Ghost narrowed his eyes and said, “Why is that?”
Reynaldo popped a calamari bite into his mouth and said, “I just had a visit from some people that don’t seem to like you. People with skill.”
The Ghost said, “What does that mean?”
The waitress came back with his soda, stopping the conversation. She asked if the Ghost wanted any food, and he declined, saying he’d just pay the bill.
Reynaldo said, “He’ll pay mine too.”
At that, the Ghost wanted to smash him in the head, but he still needed to learn the location of the shipment. That, and honestly, he wanted to try out the technology Omar had shown him.
He nodded at the waitress, and she pulled out a mobile card reader. Just like Omar had demonstrated, he flicked through apps until he reached the wallet in his phone, held it near the device, and sure enough, the phone asked him to double tap to complete the transaction. He did so, amused by the technological advancements since he’d been imprisoned.
The waitress left and he returned to Reynaldo, saying, “What do you mean, you had a visit from someone?”
Reynaldo told him what had transpired the afternoon before, describing the two women looking for the credit card in the handicrafts store.
The Ghost said, “How do you know it wasourcredit card? Maybe they were telling the truth.”
“I recognized the number. It’s the same one I was given for certain tasks before you arrived. Also, Cyrus bought a maté kit from that very store when we first met. I was the one that sold it to him. I gave him a discount.”
From Reynaldo’s expression, the Ghost could tell that he was holding something back. He said, “Just because someone asked about a credit card doesn’t mean they’re out to get us. Maybe you got the number wrong.”
Reynaldo glanced out at the plaza, thinking, then came back to the Ghost. He said, “It wasyourcard. I suspected them of being American DEA or something, so I questioned them. It didn’t go well.”
“What’s that mean?”
Reynaldo told him about the fight, playing up his own skill and heroics, but including the maiming and death of his men. He ended with, “These two weren’t tourists looking for a lost card. They were something else.”
The Ghost took that in, then said, “They might have been coming for you and not us. You are, after all, a drug dealer. Did you find any badges or identification that would lead you to believe they were law enforcement?”
