SEAL Team Six Hunt the Falcon(34)
“Ernesto Navarro. Most people call me Neto,” he said, offering a hand with a large burn scar.
Crocker asked, “You the guy who’s selling the beachfront property?”
“On Margarita Island. Yes.”
Having dispensed with the bona fides, the SEALs sat. The room was dark and noisy, with most of the young patrons crowded around the bar.
Neto, who was with the Caracas CIA station, asked, “You guys okay to talk here, or do you want to go somewhere else?”
“This is fine,” Crocker said, looking around and seeing that no one was seated close by. “Do we run any risk of being watched?”
“By SEBIN this time of year? About as much of a chance as the Wizards winning the NBA finals.”
SEBIN (Servicio Bolivariano de Inteligencia Nacional) was the Venezuela secret police, previously known as DISIP. The Washington Wizards were the worst team in the NBA, with a record of two wins and fifteen losses.
“I assume you’ve been briefed on why we’re here,” Crocker said, cutting to the chase.
“Unit 5000,” Neto answered, pointing to his head. “I’ve become an expert.”
“Thanks for doing this on Christmas Eve.”
“Duty, man. Whatever needs to be done. My kids are already in bed dreaming about Santa Claus.”
“How many do you have?” Mancini asked.
“Two young boys. Total rascals.”
Crocker: “I hope Santa’s going to be generous.”
“He will be.”
The waitress, who wore a Hawaiian shirt tied above her waist, placed three bottles of cold beer on the table and smiled to reveal a metal ball in her tongue. She left behind a cloud of orchid-scented perfume.
“Here’s to getting lucky,” Neto said, raising his Corona.
Crocker leaned on his elbows and spoke directly into Neto’s dark eyes. “What’s the story with 5000?”
“It’s an interesting one,” Neto said, “with several new developments. Two things. One, we’ve been watching a house in Petare, which is one of the city’s two major barrios. It’s more like a shack on a hill. We’ve been tracking several known Unit 5000 operatives in and out of there for the past three weeks.”
“Sounds like a good place to start,” Crocker commented.
Neto said, “You’ll never find it on your own. I’ll have to show you.”
“When?”
“How about Wednesday?” That was the day after Christmas.
“How about tomorrow night?” Crocker countered.
Neto frowned, then consulted his BlackBerry. “Christmas night? That might work.”
“Good. We’re gonna need gear.”
“What, exactly?”
Crocker pointed to Mancini. “Talk to my colleague here.”
Mancini grabbed a napkin and started writing. He said, “I’ll give you a list right now.”
Neto continued. “The barrios are dangerous, lawless places. Something like sixty percent of the city’s population lives in them, and they’re run by gangs.”
“What kind of gangs?” Crocker asked.
“Primarily young punks who deal dope.”
“You tell us how you want to handle getting in,” Crocker said. “Maybe we’re from a humanitarian organization handing out medicine. Maybe we give the gangs money to look the other way. Maybe we kick their asses. We don’t care. We just want to get in and take a look at the house. Maybe grab a couple of the terrorists.”
“You’re talking about a raid, right?” Neto asked.
“Exactly.” Crocker finished his beer and set the bottle down. “We’re all about hitting 5000, capturing their asses, getting the guys we grab to talk, stopping them before they do more damage.”
“I got it.”
“What was the other thing?” Mancini asked Neto as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You said there were two.”
“Yeah.…We’ve picked up something from a source close to the minister of the interior. Seems like the Venezuela side of the Unit 5000 operation is being run by one of the president’s top men—a colonel high up in SEBIN named Chavo Torres. A real shit-bag who we know is involved in drug dealing, prostitution, dogfighting, human trafficking, smuggling. Travels to Cuba frequently and hangs with the Castros. He happens to be the right-hand man of Nicolás Maduro, who is the current VP and will probably succeed Chávez when he croaks—which according to our sources could happen anytime.”
“Torres sounds like a charmer,” Crocker commented.
“A snake charmer, maybe.”
“Can we assume that this Chavo character wouldn’t be involved with Unit 5000 unless President Chávez and this Maduro guy approved?” Crocker asked.