Hunt the Scorpion (23 page)

“You found her? Is she okay?”

“Listen! You grab her and get as far away from the building as you can. The third floor is rigged to blow in less than two minutes!”

“But—”

“Do it! Now!”

He picked her up again and ran to one of the front windows, using the cast on his wrist to punch away what was left of the glass. Black smoke was pouring out of the first- and second-story windows.

He shouted and waved to Akil and Mancini below. They ran and positioned themselves under him.

Crocker wrapped one end of the rope around a water pipe in the corner that ran from the floor to the ceiling and handed it to Farag. He said, “Hold this. Don’t let it go. Wait for my signal, then let it out slowly.”

The young man looked confused.

Crocker quickly demonstrated what he wanted him to do. “Like this.”

“Okay.”

With the rope around the chair taut to the pipe, Crocker picked up the chair and lifted it out the window until Holly was clear.

“I love you, baby.”

Silver tape still covered her mouth, so she nodded vigorously.

Then, holding on to the rope, Crocker signaled to Farag to give him some slack. The rope burned his hands, ripping the skin off his palms, twisting the bones in his injured wrist.

Gritting his teeth through the searing pain, he watched Holly’s head disappear in the smoke. He hoped she could breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Akil shout, “We got her, boss! We got her!”

Huge relief.
Alright!

Quickly pulling up the freed rope, he grabbed Farag by the shoulder. “You’re next!”

“No!”

“Hold on to the rope. Use your legs and walk down the side of the building. Like this.”

“Maybe.”

“You can do it. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yes.”

He helped Farag out the window, took a deep breath, then climbed out himself. Halfway down Farag stumbled and got caught in the rope. The thick smoke stuck like hot tar in Crocker’s throat. He couldn’t breathe, but he heard his colleagues shouting. He was too light-headed to make out what they were saying.

Instead he focused on Farag, and climbed down as fast as he could to where he was stuck and hanging by one leg. He was reaching around to try to untangle him when the explosion went off. He saw a tremendous light and felt the oxygen being sucked out of his lungs. As he was flying through the air, he lost consciousness.

H
e lay
on his back in the dark, feeling as if he’d been there for years. He couldn’t move and was barely conscious. He couldn’t even feel his body, aware only of the blackness nestled around him.

Maybe I’m dead and buried. This is what it is.

It was like being stuck in a void, only worse, because part of him was alive enough to be aware of the state he was in.

How long is this going to last…Forever?

He’d deal with it; take what was coming to him, as he always had. Figure out a way to make the best of it, if that was possible.

He kept repeating, “At least Holly’s safe.”

It made him happy.
I didn’t die for nothing.

More darkness.

After what seemed like hours he heard a sound that was barely perceptible, like a breeze stirring the grass, or a whisper.

“Ka…Ka…”

Or the sound of a bird calling.

“Kr…Kr…”

It took him awhile to realize that someone was whispering his name.

“Crock-er…Crock-er…” Almost like a song.

He tried to respond but nothing came out. So he focused on the sound, and as he did, the darkness around him started to move like a million moths waking up and taking flight. The flutter of their wings tickled his skin and brought it back to life.

“Crocker…Hey, Crocker…” Sharper this time.

As the darkness dispersed, he saw a gray light with touches of green and yellow around the edges. Tried to raise his arm, but it wouldn’t move. Tried to raise his head, but couldn’t do that, either.

Made out a fuzzy dark object looming over him.

“Crocker. Boss, can you hear me?”

He felt himself blink, which brought him joy. Hope. Slowly, and with great effort, he made out a face with two dark eyes.

“Crocker, can you hear me?”

He blinked again and moved his head slightly.

“Crocker, it’s me, Manny.”

He blinked one more time and tried to smile. The pain he felt around his mouth and in his neck was welcome. Affirming.

“Crocker, we’re in Germany. Holly’s here. The rest of the team is back in Virginia.”

He smiled slightly.

“Unfortunately, Farag didn’t make it.”

He winced and shook his head.

“That brave little man saved your life.”

He tried to pull himself up.

He heard Mancini say, “His body shielded you from the explosion.”

Crocker stopped and sighed. Felt a tear form in his eye.

“I’ll go call Holly. She’ll want to see you. I’ll get her now.”

An enormous feeling of warmth and appreciation enveloped his chest and squeezed his heart. He started to weep.

There were no medal ceremonies or parades. Just six weeks of convalescence for injuries to his wrist, lungs, back, neck, head, and ribs. Then another week with Holly on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, where they held each other, rested, took long walks on the beach, paddled their kayaks in the bay, and made love.

Holly wasn’t ready to talk about her ordeal in Libya. Though she was okay physically and hadn’t been sexually violated, she’d been tied up and forced to witness the torture and execution of Brian Shaw. She said he’d been her friend and colleague, nothing more.

It was difficult, ugly stuff. Both of them understood that the psychological wounds would take time to heal, if they ever did.

Crocker was happy to be alive, but still pissed off.

His first day back at ST-6 headquarters, he was in the team room unpacking his gear and talking to Ritchie about Harley motorcycles when someone summoned him to the CO’s office. As he slowly walked across the cement exercise area, teammates came over to congratulate him and shake his hand.

He entered the CO’s office with a feeling of pride in being a member of ST-6 but also a sense of resignation. He didn’t care what came next. Even if he was going to be forced to retire for insubordination or taking too many risks, Holly and his men were alive. That’s all he really cared about. He wished Farag was alive, too. Planned to track down his family and help them somehow.

Captain Sutter rose from behind his desk and shook his hand vigorously. “Congratulations, Crocker. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, sir. It’s real good to be home.”

“We’re all damn proud of you.”

Crocker started to choke up. “That means a lot to me, sir.”

He didn’t notice Jim Anders from the CIA until he stepped forward and greeted him, too. “You look rested and in remarkable shape, considering what you went through.”

“I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Sit down.”

Sutter shut the door, then sat behind his desk. Anders popped open his briefcase and removed a yellow legal pad and a file filled with documents. “First,” he said reading from his notes, “let’s talk about the shipping containers.”

“The shipping containers?” Crocker asked back.

“Yes.”

He had participated in post-op meetings dozens of times, but today he found it took real effort to retrieve the image of the white 727 and the six rust-colored containers.

“What about them?”

“The team from IAEA just finished their inspection. They found that those six containers held enough enriched uranium to make at least four five-megaton bombs.”

Sutter: “What do you have to say about that, Crocker?”

“Holy shit, sir.”

“Holy shit is right.”

Crocker recalled that a five-megaton bomb had hundreds of times the destructive power of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. “That’s a lot of enriched uranium,” he said.

“A whole hell of a lot.”

“That son of a bitch Iranian,” Crocker snapped, his anger stirring. “Did he escape?”

“You mean the one you saw meeting with Salehi?” Anders asked, leafing through the stack of documents and locating the one he wanted.

“That’s the one.”

“You were right about him, too. We’ve identified that individual as Farhed Alizadeh of the Iranian Qods Force.”

“I
knew
it. I wanted to grab him, but I was more concerned about whatever was in those shipping containers leaving the country.”

“Understandable,” Sutter acknowledged.

Anders: “According to confidential reports we’ve received from reliable sources, he escaped south and crossed the border into Niger.”

“That’s the same place he was operating from before. Not far from the Libyan town of Toummo.”

“Correct.”

“I’m real sorry we didn’t get him.”

Anders: “We are, too. And you’re going to regret it even more when you hear this.”

“What?”

“Remember the thumb drives you recovered from the tunnel? The ones belonging to the kidnappers?”

Crocker winced at the memory of following Farag into the concrete room, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Based on information we found on them, we believe that Alizadeh was working with Anaruz Mohammed the whole time. We think it’s possible he even had a hand in planning, directing, and financing Holly’s kidnapping.”

Crocker pictured the Iranian’s intense, falconlike eyes. “That evil bastard.”

“We also suspect he might have been behind the attack in Sebha.”

Crocker was fully alert now and ready to fight. “Son of a bitch!”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Sutter: “In a diabolical kind of way, yes.”

Anders: “He knew you and your men were in Libya looking for the Scorpion program WMDs, and he needed to either kill you or distract you.”

“Where is he now?”

“Somewhere, planning more attacks against the West, probably; looking for more ways to help his country build nuclear weapons. Where that is, specifically, I can’t say right now.”

“What about Anaruz Mohammed?”

“We expect the Iranians are still going to use him to forward their agenda in Libya and Niger. But he doesn’t have enough of a following to pose a political threat on his own.”

“That evil fucking Alizadeh has got to be stopped,” Crocker concluded.

Anders: “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Sutter: “What would you say if I said you could get another shot at him?”

Crocker leaned forward and said, “I’d love that, sir! I’d thoroughly welcome the opportunity.”

Anders: “Good. Very good.”

Sutter: “Pull your team together and come see me when you’re ready.”

Crocker: “How about first thing tomorrow morning, sir, right after PT?”

In his head he was already explaining to Holly that he had to leave to track down the man who had planned her kidnapping and had helped kill Brian. She was telling him that she’d miss him, but she wanted the bastard punished.

Sutter: “Eight a.m., Crocker. I’ll see you back here.”

“Very good, sir. See you then.”

We couldn’t have done this without the hard work, expertise, and intelligence of a whole team of people, starting with our agent, Heather Mitchell, at Gelfman Schneider and a very talented group at Little, Brown led by our editor, John Parsley, and including William Boggess, Theresa Giacopasi, Nicole Dewey, Peggy Freudenthal, and Chris Jerome. Thank you very much.

We also want to express our appreciation to our families for their love and support—Don’s wife, Dawn, and his daughter, Dawn; and Ralph’s wife, Jessica, and his children, John, Michael, Francesca, and Alessandra.

Don Mann (CWO3, USN) has for the past thirty years been associated with the U.S. Navy SEALs as a platoon member, assault team member, boat crew leader, and advanced training officer, and more recently as program director preparing civilians to go to BUD/S (SEAL Training). Until 1998 he was on active duty with SEAL Team Six. Since then, he has deployed to the Middle East on numerous occasions in support of the war against terrorism. Many of today’s active-duty SEALs on Team Six are the same guys he taught how to shoot, conduct ship and aircraft takedowns, and operate in urban, arctic, desert, river, and jungle warfare, as well as Close Quarters Battle and Military Operations in Urban Terrain. He has suffered two cases of high-altitude pulmonary edema, frostbite, a broken back, and multiple other broken bones in training or service. He has been captured twice during operations and lived to talk about it.

Ralph Pezzullo is a
New York Times
best-selling author and an award-winning playwright and screenwriter. His books include
Jawbreaker
and
The Walk-In
(with CIA operative Gary Berntsen),
At the Fall of Somoza
,
Plunging into Haiti
(winner of the Douglas Dillon Award for Distinguished Writing on American Diplomacy)
,
Most Evil
(with Steve Hodel),
Eve Missing
, and
Blood of My Blood
. His film adaptation of
Recoil
by Jim Thompson, directed by James Foley, is scheduled to reach theaters in 2013.

SEAL Team Six: Hunt the Wolf

Inside SEAL Team Six

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