SEAL Team Six Hunt the Falcon(39)
Melkasian cut him off. “Chase, I don’t believe these gentlemen had a chance to peruse the documents in question.”
Rappaport looked at Crocker, confused. “You recovered them, didn’t you?”
“I did, yes,” Crocker answered. “But I immediately handed them over to Mr. Navarro. I expected that we would be leaving our hotel first thing this morning because of the violence that took place in Petare.”
In addition to the man Crocker had killed with his bare hands, another presumed terrorist had been gunned down inside the house—something the Venezuelans wouldn’t be too pleased about, especially if they found out that the men had been offed by U.S. operatives.
“Oh,” Rappaport said, cleaning his gold-framed glasses with the tail of his shirt, then placing them back on his nose. “Then Melky, you have some filling in to do.”
“Yes,” his deputy said, arching his spine and rubbing the back of his neck. He pointed to a pile of documents on the table. “From what I’ve been able to learn so far, it looks like Unit 5000 is in the process of organizing a substantial base here in Venezuela with the help of people in the Chávez-Maduro government.”
“Colonel Torres,” Mancini muttered.
“Yes, Colonel Chavo Torres. He’s helping the Iranians build a terrorist base in Venezuela capable of delivering attacks on the U.S. and other targets. The men you killed last night were Iranian Unit 5000 functionaries who had been given new identities and Venezuelan citizenship.”
As he tried to follow Melkasian’s train of thought, Crocker’s head hurt—a result of the trauma his body had suffered and the pain medication he had taken for his back. Mancini, seated beside him, poured another cup of black coffee and downed it. The skin around his eyes was swollen and gray.
“How big a base are we talking about?” Crocker asked, trying to appear alert.
“Let him finish,” Rappaport snapped.
Crocker wanted to reach across the table and punch him in the face. He used a paper clip to dig the dried blood from under his fingernails.
“The men you killed were probably lower-level people in charge of distributing money and documents,” Melkasian continued, picking a stack of Xeroxes off the table. “Couriers, basically. Inside the packet you recovered was a coded log and copies of visa applications and travel documents. From them we’ve been able to ascertain that the group contains at least a dozen individuals of Iranian origin who have been given Venezuelan citizenship and new identities, which allows them to travel throughout the region without raising suspicion.”
Crocker immediately thought of the Falcon, because this sounded like one of the devious plans he had cooked up in the past. The proximity of this new program to the United States alarmed him.
Then Melkasian said, “Obviously, they’re planning something, but we don’t know what.”
Crocker leaned forward and said aggressively, “We can’t sit back and wait.”
“We’re cross-checking recent immigration records and flight manifests, hoping to ID some of these cats,” Melkasian continued.
“Alizadeh is dangerous. You have to move fast.”
Rappaport shot back, “When we find out something, we’ll tell you what you need to know.”
Crocker felt his anger rise. He wanted to tell Rappaport that he didn’t appreciate his snippy attitude, but he was disciplined enough to know this would serve no purpose.
He asked, “What do you want from us?”
“You’re to stay in-country and await further orders,” Rappaport responded. “This thing is red hot. Insidious. We plan to give you a chance to do what you do, which is to kick some ass.”
“Excellent,” Crocker said. “I assume you’ve cleared this with my CO.”
“You can be sure about that. Captain Sutter, Jim Anders, Lou Donaldson—they’re all on board.”
“Good.”
“Melky and Neto will be your point men. Be ready to deploy.”
Chapter Ten
Character is power.
—Booker T. Washington
First, he and his men checked out of the InterContinental Tamanaco Caracas and moved their gear to a safe house in the nearby La Florida section of the city. Then they slept.
Crocker dreamt he was swimming against a strong current with a huge white shark close behind. When the beast opened its mouth, he saw teeth made of serrated steel. The shark closed in on his legs and snapped its jaws, causing Crocker to wake with a start and grab his cramping right foot. Sore from head to toe and running a slight fever, he downed two more Advil with a glass of H2O and then met his men in the kitchen, where they were feasting on takeout from a local Taco Bell.