“No. What is it?” Crocker asked, running his finger over the little spheres.
“Those balls are magnetic,” Anders said. “And that device is empty, which is a real good thing, because the operative ones are packed with a plastic form of CL-20, a small detonator, and a digital timer. Very powerful and extremely deadly.”
CL-20 was the highest-energy solid explosive produced in the United States, 20 percent more powerful than HMX and extremely expensive to make. It had been called the most significant energetic discovery since the hydrogen bomb. Crocker knew it was used in high-rate detonating cord and high-performance gun propellants. But this was the first time he’d heard of it packed into a stand-alone explosive device.
Even more alarming to him was the news that it had fallen into the Falcon’s hands.
“I didn’t know that anyone besides us had access to CL-20 or other nitramine explosives,” Crocker said.
“Apparently they do now,” Sutter responded.
Anders said, “As far as we know, the only place that made it was the Thiokol Corporation in Ogden, Utah.”
Crocker’s head shook as he considered the implications. But investigating breaches of domestic security was not part of his job description. They fell under the purview of the FBI.
“Similar devices were used to kill Sunni leaders in Iraq. But those were packed with RDX and C-4,” Anders added. “In each of the car bombings we’re talking about now, someone on the back of a motorcycle attached one of these bad boys to a car’s rear fender, near the vehicle’s gas tank. The people inside didn’t stand a chance.”
A well of anger rose inside Crocker as he thought of the assassination of John Rinehart and the recent death of Neal Stafford and the other SEALs in Nuristan Province. He growled, “That evil, fucking bastard.” Then, thinking of Rinehart, he asked, “Do you know why those particular people were targeted?”
“Most of them were diplomats. There seemed to be no reason they were selected, except to instill terror, fear, uncertainty,” Anders answered.
Sutter added, “The Iranians are too clever to take us on directly. So they try to undermine us and rattle our cage with acts of terrorism or working through proxies. It’s a coward’s game, in my opinion.”
Crocker growled, “I won’t rest until I have Alizadeh’s head on a stick.”
“We feel the same,” Anders added, meaning the CIA. “Which is why I’m here.”
Anders reached into the metal briefcase and retrieved an envelope. Crocker was hoping it contained information regarding Alizadeh’s current location. Inside were several stills of a modest-size hotel surrounded by tropical foliage, a name (Lieutenant Colonel Sarit Petsut), and an address in Bangkok.
“What’s this?” he asked, feeling somewhat disappointed.
“The Special Operations Unit of the Royal Thai Police believe they have a lead on the terrorists who struck twice in Bangkok. We want Black Cell to go there and pursue whatever Thai officials can provide.”
Black Cell was the name recently given to Crocker’s six-man team—consisting of himself, Mancini, Ritchie, Akil, Davis, and Cal. They were a subgroup of the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, known as DEVGRU, specifically tasked with top-secret antiterrorist operations assigned by CIA and the White House.
“You want us to gather intel?” Crocker asked. He’d much rather go after Alizadeh directly.
“You don’t understand,” Anders answered. “We’re taking the gloves off. So we expect intel, suspects, dead terrorists. We want to know what Unit 5000 is planning, and we want to punish the people who ordered the attacks, built the bombs, and carried out those attacks.”
All of this was sweet music to Crocker’s ears. He said, “Sir, you have my assurance that we’ll go after these Unit 5000 characters as hard as possible.”
“That’s what we expect.”
Sutter rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and added, “I suspect you’ll find an intricate chain of connections that lead directly back to Iran.”
Anders pointed at the contents of the envelope he had handed him and continued, “We’ve made reservations for the six of you at the Viengtai Hotel under assumed names. Those are your passports and travel documents. Your contact in Bangkok is an American businessman named Emile Anderson. Among other things, he runs a local tourist agency and is one of our assets. Anderson will help you get around and connect you with Lieutenant Colonel Petsut.”
Crocker frowned.
“Is there a problem?” Anders asked.
“I was hoping you were sending us to get the Falcon,” he answered.