He started running to the parking garage, reaching the entrance, and then had another realization that was as jolting as the first: the rental car was on the card. In fact, the damn garage parking was on the card.
He stopped short, thinking furiously. The garage charge wouldn’t reflect until he left, but the rental itself was already posted. He couldn’t get back behind the wheel. The authorities would be searching for the license plate.
The revelations kept coming, a shock to his system each time as his brain made the connections: the fireworks he’d purchased were on the card, and the meal he’d just had with Reynaldo might also register. He cursed, wishing he’d given Reynaldo more than a painless death for making him pay for the meal.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Omar, getting him on the first ring. He shouted, “Get everyone out of the hotel. Right now. I’m coming to you. I’ll meet you on the street, but you need to get everyone out of the hotel.”
“What? Why?”
“Mossad! Mossad! They know about the credit card we used. They’re coming. Get the team out.”
Omar stuttered for a moment, and the Ghost said, “Trust me on this. Pack up right now! Don’t check out. Just leave the building. I’ll meet you out front.”
“You’re driving back now?”
“No. We used that card for the rental, and I paid for the garage with the same one. It’s only six blocks. I’ll come to you on the run.”
He hung up the cell and began sprinting through the separate plazas, drawing stares from the locals out enjoying the sunshine, and eventually reached the street that led to the hotel. He slowed to a walk and called back. Omar answered, saying, “We’re packing right now. Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, yes. Get the van out and load everyone up in it. Right now.”
He hung up and began sprinting through the streets again, dodging the traffic. He saw the entrance to the hotel, then saw a squad of police in assault gear pile out of a van, all milling about in a beehive of activity, not yet in attack mode.
He stopped walking, sagging against a wall and thinking about his next steps. Obviously, the mission was done, all that remained was survival.
He saw a van attempt to drive into the hotel entrance and be waved off by the police. The van backed out and parked on the street. He was astounded to see Omar exit and wave his hands at the entrance, then the restof the team dragging bags and running to him. They loaded the van in a hurry and left the circle drive while the police were giving final instructions.
The van disappeared from view just as the police aggressively stormed through the hotel doors, as if they were willing to shoot anyone who got in their way.
Chapter 47
For probably the hundredth time, I watched the news footage of the clown show at the Alvear Hotel, seeing yet again the loss of surprise created by the assault element milling about in front of the hotel, onlookers all gawking. The news crew blessedly cut this version short, focusing on the team entering the hotel lobby like they were storming the beaches of Normandy.
I said, “Turn that shit off. I’m sick of seeing it.”
Knuckles did, saying, “Looks like you’ll get a little bit of ‘I told you so’ here.”
I nodded, but said, “Doesn’t help the mission. Those fuckers are still out there running around, and the SECSTATE is still arriving in two days with the Israeli prime minister.”
Just before sunset last night, Jennifer and Shoshana had come back with the credit card number we’d found in the hotel in Puerto Iguazú, surprising the hell out of me, as I was sure we’d have to do some type of penetration to get the information. I’d congratulated them on the mission, and Jennifer had tried to tell me something else, but I’d pushed her off, saying, “Let me get this into the system.”
I’d immediately fed it back to the Taskforce, asking for any type of geolocation where the card had been used, rubbing my hands together like a mad scientist.
That done, I’d had Jennifer tell us how the intelligence collection had transpired, because there’s nothing better than a war story. I knew shewouldn’t exaggerate like Knuckles or me—turning the small mission into the most impossible derring-do in the history of the Taskforce—but we still wanted the story. It was tradition.
She’d simply said, “No big deal. I had to pay a girl some baksheesh, and after a little prodding, she came back with the number.”
I’d specifically told them not to push too hard because the last thing I wanted was to burn any future operations, so I was happy with that answer, but Knuckles said, “Come on. Give us some high adventure here, even if you have to make it up.”
I looked over at Shoshana and saw her conversing with Aaron, the two of them glancing furtively at us like they were secretly badmouthing someone at a party.
Wondering if I was that someone, I said, “Hey there, Carrie, I guess you didn’t need to kill everyone to get the intel. How about that?”
Aaron shook his head and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, like he was asking for forgiveness. I’d said, “What?”
Jennifer said, “Well, about that. It wasn’t our fault. What I told you is absolutely what happened, and I now believe you’re spot-on. That credit card number is tied into the bad guys. We should get something good out of this.”
Knuckles leaned forward and said, “What wasn’t your fault?”
