Krantz pulled out of the parking garage and was immediately caught in traffic, thanks to all the emergency vehicles blocking the routes around the Ritz-Carlton. He had anticipated such a move from law enforcement and had parked five blocks away. Clearly that hadn’t been far enough. Up ahead, he could see a traffic bottleneck and several police cars. A roadblock. And there was no way to get around it.
Slowly, at least, the traffic was moving. It took less time than Krantz had expected to reach the roadblock, and as he drove past the first police car, he understood why. The cops weren’t stopping every car, only a select few. A uniformed police officer shined his flashlight into Krantz’s vehicle before waving him through. Krantz accelerated away, relieved he hadn’t been stopped and the car searched. It would have been difficult to explain why he was carrying explosives in the trunk of his rental car, though most cops wouldn’t even know what they were looking at.
Krantz entered an address in the navigation system of the Jeep Cherokee and followed the directions to his desired place—Van Heerden’s men’s staging area.
Located in one of the less desirable neighborhoods of San Francisco, the staging area was a medium-size apartment usually rented to criminals or unsuspecting college students looking for a cheap place to spend a night. Krantz had secured it through a popular online marketplace.
He parked the Jeep Cherokee down the street, but close enough so that he could keep an eye on it as he went to do his business. He killed the engine and climbed out of the vehicle. He opened the trunk and grabbed his backpack.
It was easy to see why the apartment didn’t fetch more than eighty dollars a night despite being within the boundaries of one of the world’s most expensive cities. The streets around the building were filthy and smelled of decay and waste, the light drizzle from the overcast sky incapable of dispelling the offensive odors. Trash, discarded dirty diapers, and empty liquor bottles littered the entrances to run-down, crumbling buildings. Ragged shelters of cardboard and tin had been put up in every alley.
Krantz shook his head in disbelief as a pair of rats ran past him, scurrying through split-open garbage bags. He wondered how the most powerful and prosperous nation on earth could allow such a terrible thing to happen to its citizens. In Krantz’s mind, it was an affront to human dignity. But it wasn’t his fight.
He spotted the getaway car Van Heerden had purchased for his men. It was an old, light gray Honda sedan. The kind of car that didn’t draw attention in a neighborhood like this, although Krantz was pretty sure that, left unattended, the wheels would be gone within days. There was nobody else in the street, but it was possible that eyes were watching him as he made his way to the front of the car. Krantz took from his backpack what he needed and then lay on his back next to the front bumper. He quickly installed a red filter on his penlight and rolled to his side, holding the small light in his mouth. Then he went to work.
Back in his vehicle, Krantz turned on his smartphone and waited for it to boot up. He then scrolled through his contact list and pressed one of the numbers.
“Who’s this?” a man answered, his strong South African accent evident.
“This is Phoenix,” Krantz said. “Identification is Romeo-Five-Five-Six. Confirm.”
“Confirmed. This is Erik. Identification is Victor-Six-Five-Five.”
“Confirmed,” Krantz replied. “Are you with Frank?”
“Yes, but I can’t reach Albert.”
“Understood. Albert has been taken into custody,” Krantz said. “You gentlemen need to begin your exfil now. Follow the third protocol. You know which one this is?”
“Stand by,” the South African mercenary replied.
Krantz knew they had cheat sheets. They weren’t supposed to, but these types of guys always did. They were shooters, not spies. Krantz and Oxley had built different exit protocols. They were primarily for the safe withdrawal of Van Heerden and his men, but also for unfortunate scenarios like the one they presently found themselves in.
“Got it,” the man replied thirty seconds later.
“You have the keys for the vehicle?”
“Frank found them on a small hook under the bathroom sink.”
“Perfect,” Krantz said. “These keys are for an old, light gray Honda parked a few hundred feet west of your apartment building.”
“If Albert is out of commission, who’s gonna pay the second half of our fee?” the mercenary asked.
“Let’s focus on getting you guys out of the country first,” Krantz replied. “Since our arrangement was with Albert, you’ll have to give us your wiring instructions.”