by Brad Taylor
The Ghost continued on, shaking his head. Why on earth was there a monument to a president from a country that had absolutely nothing in common with Mexico? He put the thought out of his mind and returned to the mission. Or more precisely, his mission.
He had demanded that he meet Farooq before the actual sale so he could deliver the Ghost’s new passport. In no way was any money exchanging hands if he didn’t have that. Farooq had agreed. In demanding to get it before the meeting, he hoped to ensure the passport was actually created, as he knew what Hezbollah intended once the sale was complete.
Once he had that, he would ask the American for a test of the system to ensure it functioned. If it did, he would give half of the money in his account for purchase. Al-Qaeda had provided Gamal two million dollars, and from what Farooq had said, the sale was for one million, which would leave him a nice tidy sum to escape with.
Insh’Allah, he would leave with the device, following Hezbollah—ostensibly believing he was going to share in the treasure. A lamb being led to the butcher. Like Mr. Pink, Hezbollah was under a false assumption. They thought they were going to kill him. Mr. Pink thought he was going to wait on a signal from the Ghost to trigger an interdiction. None realized what was really going to happen.
As soon as they stopped at whatever kill zone Hezbollah had picked, he would initiate the device, knocking out the GPS in the ankle cuffs. Then he would slaughter the Hezbollah members. Afterward, he would flee with his new passport and money, finding someone to cut off the cuffs and leaving the cursed Mr. Pink and Mr. Black to pick up the pieces.
He would never be found again. He had earned the nickname the Ghost, and he would put that to good use.
He passed a throng of street vendors selling food and T-shirts in a parking lot and saw his destination: the National Anthropology Museum.
He walked up the stairs, past a fountain, and looked for Farooq. He was nowhere to be seen. He checked his watch and saw the meeting time was less than five minutes away. He grew concerned about a trap, snaking his hand into his pants and rubbing the initiation device Pink had given him. Basically a small pager tied into the cell network and slaved to Pink’s phone, it had two buttons: one benign for signaling the meeting was over and he had the device, and one for initiating the assault. Mr. Pink had said the second one was also a panic button. If anything went wrong, all he had to do was press it and forces would intervene.
The irony wasn’t lost on the Ghost that he was relying on Pink to rescue him if something went bad, but he had no intention of reciprocating if everything went as planned.
He saw a man sprinting up the stairs and recognized Farooq, a laptop bag swinging behind his back.
He reached the top out of breath and said, “I’m sorry. We got caught in a massive traffic jam. We’re late. We need to get inside.”
Should have walked, you idiot.
The Ghost said, “No. First my passport. I won’t transfer the money without it.”
Farooq fished in his pocket and pulled out a key. “It’s in a locker downstairs. I was supposed to get it before you came, but I ran out of time.”
The Ghost felt the trap. They didn’t make the passport because they intend to kill me.
“Without the passport there is no deal. I can’t get home on the one I have.”
Farooq turned and pointed down a set of stairs leading to an underground parking area. “It’s in a locker down there. Please. I didn’t place it there. I only had it made and delivered. It is done, I promise. You can retrieve it afterward.”
He was sweating and looking like he was on the verge of panic. Looking truthful. The Ghost considered. They would know I would go straight to the lockers, and they couldn’t kill me here, in broad daylight in front of tourists. If it’s not there, I’ll simply have to find another way out. After I kill them.
He took the key and they entered the museum. They purchased tickets and moved through the line of people. The Ghost noticed a strong police presence, but nobody searched either of their bags. They entered into a large open area with a giant fountain raining water from the ceiling, kids splashing about. Farooq consulted a map and said, “Come on. He’s out back, in the Mayan temple section.”
They moved through an exhibition hall, ignoring the displays and exiting on the south side of the building, into an outdoor area lined with paths and displaced temples. Farooq, seemingly knowing the terrain, went behind the stonework, almost running on the granite path. They turned a corner and the Ghost saw two men sitting at a picnic table, looking expectantly at them. He casually slid his hand into his pants and pressed the first button, letting Mr. Pink know the meeting was on.
Farooq took the lead, introducing a Caucasian as Arthur Booth and a Latino as Pelón. Booth said nothing, sitting meekly on his bench, a laptop in front of him. Pelón nodded, locking eyes with the Ghost. In that stare the Ghost saw his essence reflected back at him.
The man was a killer, just as he was.
61
Farooq couldn’t see it, but the talent that had allowed the Ghost to survive in the cauldron of Lebanon was predicated on a sixth sense that others lacked. He had an inexplicable gift for feeling danger, and he was staring it in the face. Unlike the pretenders from Hezbollah, this man was death.
The Ghost saw Pelón’s eyes narrow and knew the man recognized the same skill in himself. The two remained in a trance for a moment, neither speaking, ignoring the other men at the table. Farooq broke it, saying, “Shall we conduct business?”
Keeping his eyes on the Ghost, Pelón said, “Certainly. Have a seat.”
Farooq gestured to the Ghost and said, “Gamal here has your money, but he insists on a test before transferring.”
Pelón, still staring at the Ghost, said, “You people saw it yesterday. Transfer the money first. I’m not a traveling amusement park.”
Booth said, “I have to give you a class on it anyway. Let’s kill two birds with one stone. Pay him, I’ll teach you, then I’ll place it on your computer.”
The Ghost said, “I didn’t bring cash. I thought we were doing a wire transfer.”
Pelón broke his gaze and gestured to Booth, who brought out the portable MiFi device. Pelón said, “Let him have your computer and he’ll get you to the Internet.”
The Ghost did so, and while it was being worked, Pelón said, “What do you do, Gamal?”
Farooq looked confused, as there was to be no mention of their past, but the Ghost understood. “I do the same as you. Only in a different place.”
Pelón smiled, as if he’d learned something profound. “I have often wondered if there were others like me. Besides in Mexico, I mean. Others who do what I do. I’ve asked an American, and he told me no, that such men are evil and exist only in evil places. I wondered if he was wrong, or if Americans simply had no evil in their world.”
The Ghost answered as if the other men did not exist. “Americans have a quaint notion of evil. They don’t know the meaning of the term, unlike those where I am from.”
Now Farooq looked completely baffled, but he remained silent.
Pelón nodded, saying, “Tell me, do others fear you where you are from? Do they know your name?”
“Yes. I am known as the Ghost.”
Farooq’s eyes squinted, as if he were searching for something lost in his memory. The Ghost realized he’d said too much. Given away his shield. His secret. Should Farooq make the connection and realize his skill, he would have a much harder time killing them, as they would be on their guard. Even so, he was glad he’d told the truth to Pelón. A man who would understand.
Before Pelón could respond, Booth interrupted, saying, “Okay, we’re ready to make the transfer. I just need Gamal to input his account and password, and I need you to use your token.”
Annoyed, Pelón glared at him, and Booth shrank back. Pelón said to the Ghost, “I’d like to talk to
you again. After we have completed our business. I have so many questions.”
The Ghost nodded, keeping his face neutral, wondering if the others understood Pelón wasn’t all there. Wondering if the man was completely insane. It didn’t matter, as they would soon be done, but unlike Farooq, he sensed the danger within Pelón. A killing instinct that was barely contained, like a vat of acid held in place by masking tape, the liquid dripping down.
He tapped in his account information, then watched as Pelón pulled out a digital device, read a number, and tapped that into the computer. When it was done, Booth said, “How much?”
Looking at the Ghost, Pelón said, “How much does he have?”
“Close to two million dollars.”
“Then that’s what it will cost.”
The Ghost said, “Wait, I was told one million.”
“The price has changed. Unless you don’t want it. I’m sure it’s worth much, much more than that to others.”
Farooq tugged his sleeve. “It is worth much more. Pay it now and I will talk to my people about reimbursement.”
You mean after I’m dead? The Ghost decided he would enjoy killing this ingrate liar but knew his escape hinged on turning off the GPS. Money was something he could always get. He still had the real Gamal’s credit cards for a head start.
“Okay. So be it.”
Booth completed the transaction and opened his own laptop, going through a biometric authentication, turning off his security traps, and establishing a connection with his two GPSs and the cellular Wi-Fi. When it was complete, he began showing the Ghost the various dials and switches on the screen, describing each one. He turned the final dial, detailing how it affected the timing signal, making it the heart of what would generate the false locational data. His words took a moment but finally sank into the Ghost’s brain.
“Wait, wait. I thought this device turned off the GPS signal. Isn’t that what I’m paying for?”
Booth said, “No, it renders GPS devices here on the earth inoperable by sending a false timing signal. In effect, it causes them to think they’re somewhere else.”
“You mean it tricks the receivers here? Instead of shutting them off?”
“Yes.”
The Ghost felt sweat pop onto his neck as his heart rate skyrocketed. The ankle cuffs are going to think they’re outside the boundary.
He said, “We don’t need to test it. If that’s it, let’s transfer the system to our computers. We’re taking too much time here.”
Farooq said, “No, no, it’ll only be for a few seconds more. Show him the car on your GPS.”
Out of options, the Ghost snaked his hand into his pants, found the panic button, and triggered it, pressing it over and over. He said, “Wait, before you do, explain to me again how it works.”
Booth started to say something, and Farooq cut him off. “Who cares about the science? It works. Watch.”
And he hit the enter key.
The Ghost saw the car disappear, then reappear in Canada. And felt both cuffs begin to vibrate. He felt a colossal urge to run, but he knew it would do no good. He had three minutes before both feet were amputated. Farooq said something that came out as white noise.
Farooq spoke again, then touched the Ghost’s sleeve. “Gamal, are you okay? Look, now the car is back where it is supposed to be. See? You can control how far it moves as well as how long.”
The Ghost felt the vibrations cease in both cuffs.
He took a deep breath and said, “So all the GPS receivers are working again?”
Booth said, “Yes.”
He jammed his hand back into his pants and hit the first button, the nonpanic one, in an attempt to stop the assault he knew was coming.
Farooq continued. “Show him how you can do it without Wi-Fi. Show him the delay.”
Booth said, “If I want, I can set up multiple strings of outages for as long as I’d like.” Using the laptop track pad, he turned another dial, saying, “For instance, I could shut off just the GPS receivers in Mexico for five minutes, then set the entire constellation to go out permanently in twelve hours. Now, if I were to hit enter, we’d get two outages of varying degrees and varying lengths of time.”
Farooq said, “That way, you can set it when you have Wi-Fi, but it won’t release until you’re away from Wi-Fi.”
The Ghost was pressing the nonpanic pager button again when Mr. Pink and a woman he didn’t recognize rounded the far side of the stone temple. He heard noise behind him and saw Mr. Black and an African-American closing from the opposite direction.
Pelón took one look at the woman and leapt to his feet, pulling a gun from inside his jacket. Farooq slammed the lid on Booth’s laptop with his hand still on the keyboard, drawing a howl. The GPS screen went blank.
And the Ghost felt the ankle cuffs vibrate again.
62
Sitting at a corner table inside the small museum cafeteria, Jennifer said, “I find it ridiculous that I’m out here while Knuckles and Blood get to roam around the museum. They don’t care one bit about what’s in this place.”
I said, “We’ll come back when this is over.”
She said, “I have a degree in anthropology. This is one of the largest anthropology museums in the world!”
I started to say something when my phone buzzed for the second time, meaning the meeting was over.
That was quick.
I looked at my screen and felt a jolt fire down my spine. Next to me, Jennifer said, “Pike, he just alerted.”
I said, “Let’s go,” just as my radio came alive, Knuckles and Blood confirming the worst. Something had gone horribly wrong, and my beautiful plan was turning to absolute shit.
With the five-man team I had—well, four men and a woman—I was hard-pressed to accomplish both primary tasks of capturing the American hacker and taking down the device he’d created. Whoever had picked the place of the meeting had done a pretty good job. The anthropology museum was wide open, with multiple halls and levels in addition to a plethora of outside exhibits. On top of that, it had a large security presence to prevent theft and damage. Enough to preclude any shenanigans from either side during the sale of the device.
I’d decided to wait until after the sale, allowing the men to split up and leave the museum, with the Ghost alerting us when the meeting was over, triggering surveillance. I’d left Decoy outside in an SUV, giving us some flexing options should we need to mount up, and tasked Knuckles and Blood with tracking the American. Jennifer and I would take the device and the Hezbollah crew, along with the Ghost.
I wasn’t comfortable allowing anyone else on him, feeling he was my sole responsibility, and was glad the assignments had already been decided by our previous actions. Whoever we had chased on the rooftops of Tepito would recognize Jennifer and me, but they hadn’t seen Knuckles or Blood, meaning they could conduct a proper follow. The downside was they couldn’t identify the targets like we could, as we had no photographs or anything else. I wasn’t too worried, though, because the guy who had the American was definitively strange looking and would be easy to spot. All they had to find was a devil dragging a Caucasian.
Allowing them to split up and leave was a risk, but I didn’t like the odds of successfully conducting an assault inside the museum, then escaping with an American in tow. Especially if we were going to leave some dead bodies behind. Too great a chance of compromise inside a treasure that Mexico valued highly.
And now I was being forced into it.
Speed-walking through the open courtyard, Jennifer took the first left she could find into the exhibit area, weaving through the displays but not moving fast enough to draw stares. I went through our options and began coordinating the assault, shifting mission focus from what I’d given previously.
“All elements, all elements, priority is the device. I say again, priority is the dev
ice.”
Knuckles said, “Coming in from the west. Copy you want to forget second target?”
Jennifer reached a large glass door and we were through, into the garden area full of old relics and temples. I said, “Roger. Good copy. If we can, we’ll take him, but the device has priority.”
We rounded a temple and I saw the Ghost sitting with three other men. The one on the end reacted first, and I recognized the devil from Tepito. He raised a weapon and began firing. Jennifer split right, behind a stone head, and I went left, diving into the protection of a brick wall. I rose and saw the American running full out toward the museum, screaming, with his arms over his head, the devil firing at his back. I snapped two rounds, hitting the devil in the upper body and causing him to drop the gun. But it didn’t put him down. He whirled and sprinted into the temple behind him.
I focused back on the table, seeing Knuckles and Blood closing on the Ghost and one other man running through the trees toward the fence that fronted Paseo de la Reforma Avenue. Blood broke left, into the temple, and I leapt up, reaching the Ghost at the same time as Knuckles.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jennifer take a knee, pulling security toward the museum. Knuckles closed down the other half of our circle, facing the direction the other target had run and getting a status from Blood on the radio. I turned toward the Ghost, who was lying on the ground.
I jerked him to his feet, pointed at the two laptops on the table, and said, “Is this it? Which one is the device?”
He screamed, “No! Farooq has it. The man running toward the road.”
I dropped him, turned to Knuckles, and said, “Go.”
He took off and I began coordinating, “Decoy, bring the vehicle down Paseo de la Reforma. Precious cargo is on foot, headed to the fence. Interdict him. Blood, Blood, status?”
I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he rounded the corner of the temple. “Both guys are in the crowd. I never saw the American, but the other guy is headed to the entrance. You want me to move to the front?”
