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stood next to the base of the gantry crane. He took a last drag on a cigarette as he watched the final container settle into place. Next to him was a short, stocky man in khakis, a white polo shirt, and black cowboy boots: Mark Raditz. His skin, after less than a day in Mexico, was blaze red with burn. He was overweight.
    â€œWere you able to deliver the other things I asked you for?” asked Raditz.
    â€œYes. The passport is with the money. It’s Mexican, I don’t know what name they used, but it’s been cleared up through the proper authorities.”
    â€œCan you trust the people who did it?”
    â€œYou can’t trust anyone,” said Miguel. “I don’t know the government official who arranged everything. But I wouldn’t worry. If these officials didn’t have their little bribes and corruption, they would all starve to death.”
    â€œHow much did it cost?”
    â€œOne hundred thousand dollars.”
    â€œThat’s less than your fee.”
    â€œMuch less,” said Miguel, “but if you don’t like it, perhaps I can send a refund to your office, Mr. Deputy Defense Secretary?”
    Raditz sneered.
    â€œHow much money is left over?”
    â€œThe total amount of funds that you wired was eight hundred and eight million dollars. That was ten million more than the job, the weapons, et cetera. Subtract the fee for the passport as well as my fee for arranging the passport, and there is nine million six hundred and fifty thousand dollars left over. As you asked, I washed nine million into a new bank account. The details are with the passport. I converted the rest into euros, Visa gift cards, and pesos.”
    Raditz nodded, staring at the ground.
    There was an awkward moment of silence.
    â€œI’m curious, Mark,” said Miguel. “You’ve never taken anything before. Suddenly you decide to take a lot of money. You arrange for a new identity. It’s fairly obvious what’s happening. My question is, why?”
    â€œThat’s none of your fucking business,” Raditz said. “You know the rules. Drop the boxes and keep your mouth shut.”
    â€œThey might come looking for you.”
    â€œThey will come looking for me.”
    â€œDo you expect me to not say anything?”
    â€œThat’s up to you,” said Raditz. “But America does things to people who deliver guns and missiles to terrorists.”
    â€œI’m like the FedEx man, that’s all.”
    Raditz shot Miguel a look.
    â€œThey’d kill Santa Claus if they found out he was delivering guns to ISIS. You should be able to retire after this one, with what I’ve paid you.”
    â€œWith what you’ve paid me?” asked Miguel, grinning. “You mean with what the United States of America paid me.”
    â€œWhatever. But I wouldn’t come back, not if you value your life. I’m saying that to protect you. You can listen or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”
    Miguel flicked another cigarette stub into the water and leapt onto the ship. He nodded to a crewman standing along the starboard gunnel, indicating he wanted him to untie the ship so that they could put to sea.
    â€œFine,” said Miguel. “By the way, you don’t look so good, Mark. You look like you’re one cheeseburger away from a massive heart attack.”
    Raditz smiled. “Fuck you. How many days will it take you to get to Syria?”
    â€œThat’s none of your business,” answered Miguel, grinning.
    Raditz’s smile disappeared. If he found amusement in Miguel’s flippant answer, he didn’t show it.
    â€œWe’ll have the Gulf Stream behind us. Eight days to Gibraltar and another three to al-Bayda,” he said, referring to the port on the Syrian coast.
    The ship made an almost imperceptible tremor, indicating it was moving.
    â€œSafe travels,” said Raditz.

 
    11
    DAMASCUS, SYRIA
    As Marwan