SEAL Team Six Hunt the Falcon(90)

“Do us a favor,” Ritchie said. “Don’t tell us what you dream tonight.”

“Why? You don’t want to know what’s coming?”

“I’d rather be surprised.”

Crocker tried to push away the doubts he had about Ramin and Scimitar, and focus on the positive—they were in Iran and within striking distance of Alizadeh and Suleimani. If they did manage to get as close as Ramin said they could, they’d kill the Quds Force leaders. The more difficult task, and one they hadn’t discussed with Ramin, was exiting the arena unharmed, then escaping across the border.

One thing at a time, he told himself, acknowledging that they were operating in the gray area of guts, instincts, and faith.

In an attempt to give his restless mind a break, he looked up and tried to find the constellation Orion. Through the hazy, cloud-swept sky, he located its brightest stars, blue-white Rigel, and reddish Betelgeuse, then traced the rest. In Greek mythology Orion was a hunter and usually depicted holding a club in one hand and a lion’s head in the other.

He considered it a good omen.



In the morning the SEALs ate MREs and took turns washing in water from a spigot at the rear of the plant. Then they huddled and went over responsibilities. What they wanted to do was position themselves at the back of the arena and fire at the officials and their bodyguards from two directions, thus reducing any chance of escape.

Crocker and Akil would fire from Position 1, along the back wall of the arena. Mancini and Ritchie would situate themselves at a forty-five-degree angle from them somewhere in the rear parking lot (Position 2). One shooter from each position—Crocker at 1, Ritchie at 2—would focus on taking out the bodyguards and disabling the vehicles. The other two shooters, Akil and Mancini, would aim at the targets—Alizadeh and Suleimani.

Ramin didn’t return in the morning like he said he would, so the SEALs spent the day cleaning and checking their weapons, reviewing positions, fire vectors, and signals, and going over various contingencies. By five everything was locked and loaded. The men were ready.

“Where the hell is he?” Ritchie asked.

“Fuck Ramin,” Akil said. “All we need is the kid to drive us to the arena.”

An hour passed and no one arrived. By 1815 hours Crocker started to worry. Ramin had said the game would start at 1900, and the arena was approximately twenty miles away.

Security around the city of Ahvaz was tight, and the Iranians were known to use electronic surveillance. With no way to communicate with Ramin, they waited.

At 1830, as the sun started to set, Crocker considered calling John Smith on the sat phone and telling him to pull them out. Ten minutes later a vehicle entered the back lot of the steel plant and flashed its headlights twice.

He and Akil approached through a mist of yellow-orange dust. The vehicle wasn’t a BMW, but a white Toyota sedan. Danush sat behind the wheel with Anahita in the seat beside him.

“What happened?” Crocker asked through the driver’s-side window, trying not to lose his cool. “Ramin said he’d be back this morning. He never came.”

Anahita leaned over and said, “There’s been a problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“The problem is that the arena is closed and the game was canceled.”

“Why?” Crocker asked, checking their eyes for signs of betrayal, and alert to the sound of approaching people or vehicles.

“A pipe broke,” she answered.

“A sewer pipe,” Danush added.

“A sewer pipe broke inside the arena?” Crocker asked. “When is it likely to be fixed?”

Danush shrugged and looked at Anahita for help. “We don’t know,” she answered. “It’s a big mess, as you can imagine.”

“Where’s Ramin?” Crocker asked, still superalert to the emotions that played on their faces and in their eyes.

“He asked us to come. He thinks he’s being followed.”

“Is he?”

The two Iranians looked at each other. Danush shrugged and answered, “We don’t know. He gets nervous when things go wrong.”

Crocker leaned his hand on the roof of the car. Everything they had told him sounded reasonable so far. Anahita got out, lit a cigarette, and gazed at him intently with her dark eyes. She looked disappointed.

She blew smoke over her shoulder. A small plane passed overhead.

He took note of it, then turned to her and asked, “Do you have another idea?”

She leaned her head back, exhaled smoke into the sky, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Then you and Danush should go.”

She looked at her colleague still sitting in the car and said, “We’re both very angry about this, because you’re here. It’s a big opportunity.”