SEAL Team Six Hunt the Falcon(64)
Sutter snorted. “Bullshit.”
“Sir?”
“Maybe I heard wrong, but I was told on good authority that you suffered a major concussion, then spent a day and a half being tortured. Now you’re ready to go? Go where? An insane asylum?”
“Proceed with the mission, sir. Continue our pursuit of the Falcon and Unit 5000.”
Sutter chuckled and drawled, “We have a saying in Kentucky that goes: Don’t give cherries to pigs or advice to fools.”
“Are you calling me a fool, sir?”
“Draw your own conclusions,” Sutter answered. “I’m not sure who’s being more irrational here, you for wanting to continue after you’ve gotten the shit kicked out of you, or me for letting you.”
“Did I hear you correctly, sir?” Crocker asked. “Are you giving us approval to proceed?”
“I probably should have my head examined, but yes I am, Crocker. Check in with the station when you’re ready. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will, sir.”
“Dante Tremaine should be there by now.”
“He is.”
“Then Godspeed.”
As Crocker hung up, he noticed a number written on a pad by the phone. “What’s this?” he asked Tré.
“That Melkasian cat left it. Wants you to call him in the morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, mañana.”
Why waste time? Crocker thought. He was motivated, energized, and ready to jump back into the fray.
Melkasian picked up at home, where he was helping his wife assemble her new Fuji bicycle. “Hey, Crocker, you know anything about installing the axle on a Fuji mountain bike?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s pretty simple. After you insert the skewer through the front axle, make sure you put the spring in narrow side first, and don’t tighten it too much or you’ll damage the bearings.”
“I think I need help.”
“You got it. I’m ready to meet with you and Rappaport when you are,” Crocker answered. “Bring the bike.”
“Now?” Melkasian asked. “You sure you don’t want to rest up and do this in the morning?”
“I’m fine.”
“All right,” Melkasian answered. “Give me forty minutes. You need me to send someone to pick you up?”
“Not necessary.”
Crocker showered, dressed, downed another Promax bar, two apples, some old roast chicken he found in the fridge, and half a gallon of water. Refreshed and energized, he decided to walk the mile or so to the bank building on Avenida Principal de las Mercedes. The coincidence of names amused him as he recalled the tight ass in the red bathing suit.
The more he got to know this upscale part of the city, the more it reminded him of Miami, a city he’d spent a lot of time in over the years and liked.
Rappaport and Melkasian sat waiting in the conference room, coffee cups and plastic-wrapped sandwiches in front of them on the table.
“We got you a roast beef and half a tuna,” Rappaport said.
Crocker bit into both, popped the tab on a Diet Coke, took a seat. “You bring the bike?” he asked Melkasian.
“What bike?” Rappaport wanted to know.
“The mountain bike I bought for my wife. Crocker wanted to see it. It’s downstairs in the back of my car.”
“I thought we were here to discuss operations,” Rappaport growled.
“We are.”
“How’s Ernesto? I mean, Neto,” Crocker asked, changing the subject.
“He’s taking some time off,” Rappaport shot back. “He’s still shaken up.”
“Give him my best. And I regret what happened to Sanchez. I wanted at least to recover his body, but that wasn’t an option,” Crocker said.
“Good man,” Rappaport observed. “Not your fault. We’ll get his body, one way or another.”
“He left a family?” Crocker asked.
“A wife and three-year-old son.”
“Damn.” Crocker hung his head. Losing friends and colleagues was the worst part of the job. “If there’s any way I can help them…”
Rappaport: “Let’s talk about that later.”
“And Señor Tomás?” Crocker asked, remembering their host in Barinas, a place he hoped never to have to visit again. “What happened to him?”
Rappaport grinned. “That’s a man who knows how to take care of himself.”
Melkasian: “He manages to make friends on every side of any conflict.”
Crocker was about to ask how he did that when Rappaport cut him off. “Tomás was arrested and held in a local jail. Claimed that he knew nothing about you guys, but was simply renting out rooms. Venezuelan authorities released him this morning. He thinks they bought his story. I’m not so sure.”