SEAL Team Six Hunt the Scorpion(15)
Crocker was less interested in which restaurant they ate at than in getting his team ready for the grueling Marathon des Sables next week. As the team’s lead trainer, it was his job to keep them in shape and prepare them to deal with any contingency—arctic mountains, rough seas, jungles. He was concerned because, compared to their competition, he figured they were behind in training, mileage, and long-distance desert runs.
He had led his team on climbs in the Rockies, on Mount Washington, the Devil’s Tower, Grand Teton, the Himalayas, K2. They had done parachute drops from thirty thousand feet in Germany, winter training outside Juneau, jungle training in the Philippines and Borneo.
Now it was time to beat them to shit in the desert. His motto was “Blood from any orifice,” and he lived it over and over.
When they returned to the barracks, a civilian aide stood waiting beside a black SUV.
“Chief Warrant Officer Crocker?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The embassy political counselor. He wants to see you.”
That likely meant CIA.
Ten minutes later, showered and dressed in black cotton pants and a black polo, he entered an air-conditioned room in a utilitarian four-story building. The local CIA chief, Ed Wolfson, a medium-height, sandy-haired man with gray eyes, rose to greet him. Judging by his paunch and stooped shoulders, Crocker pegged him as an analyst type.
Sitting at the table behind him was Crocker’s old nemesis, Lou Donaldson.
The last time he’d seen Donaldson, he was serving as the CIA deputy in Pakistan. He had since been promoted to an important job with CTC, the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center.
“Congratulations, Lou,” Crocker said, extending a hand. “I heard you were promoted. What brings you to Bahrain?”
Donaldson ignored his hand and responded with a curt “Sit down.”
His manner hadn’t changed. Still an asshole.
They were joined by Donaldson’s broad-shouldered deputy, Jim Anders, carrying plastic-wrapped sandwiches and Diet Cokes. Anders explained that they’d driven five hours from Saudi Arabia and were delayed because of repairs to the sixteen-mile King Fahd Causeway, which linked the two countries and also happened to be one of the longest bridges in the world. They hadn’t had time to stop for dinner.
Instead of enjoying chicken masala, Crocker bit into a stale turkey sandwich. And he hated Diet Coke.
Donaldson spoke as he chewed. “That launch was completely destroyed, and with it a trove of potentially valuable intel. Were you aware of that, Crocker?”
“No, sir.”
“Blew up and sank to the bottom of the bay.”
“I suspected that might happen.”
“You couldn’t put out the fire?”
“No time, sir, and nothing to do it with.”
“Fucking shame. The White House is disappointed. Could have bolstered their case at the UN.”
“What case is that?”
Donaldson had dripped some mustard on the front of his blue shirt. Instead of answering Crocker’s question, he used a handkerchief and water from a plastic bottle to blot it. This only seemed to make a bigger mess.
“The salvage team recovered some scraps, pieces of documents, one man’s body.”
“Have you been able to ID him?” Crocker asked.
“You interview the crew?” Donaldson asked back, sidestepping Crocker’s question.
“The crew of the Contessa?”
“No, the crew of the fucking Starship Enterprise.”
Crocker clenched his jaw, fighting back an urge to reach across the table and punch him in the mouth. “Didn’t have time, sir.”
“How many of them were there?”
“We recovered six dead. There were another five men injured, plus the captain.”
“For a grand total of twelve, including the captain.”
“And the captain’s wife. That’s correct.”
Donaldson slapped the table. “Wrong.”
“Sir?”
“Captain McCullum says he set sail from Melbourne with a crew of twelve, which means thirteen, including him.”
“He sure of that?”
“Yes, he is. One of them apparently got away.”
“Got away?”
“Yes, goddammit. Escaped.”
“Maybe he fell overboard and drowned.”
“Wrong again, Crocker. I suppose you weren’t aware that one of the Contessa’s lifeboats was missing, too.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
What answer? Crocker asked himself. Why is this important? He was going to explain that he and his men had been under attack and that the action aboard and around the Contessa was unrelenting, but he realized there was no point.
“Where did this crewman go?” he asked instead.