Crocker felt somewhat overwhelmed by all the information and wasn’t sure what Anders was getting at.
The CIA officer said, “That’s the larger strategic picture. Africa is where the terrorist action is today. Al-Qaeda sees all kinds of opportunities because of the Arab Spring and the fall of regimes in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya.”
“I get it.”
“The Libyan coalition government has been effective so far. For a number of reasons involving oil, uranium, and other strategic interests, we don’t want it to come apart.”
“I understand.”
“Recently there’s been a marked uptick in bombings, kidnappings, and reprisals in Benghazi and Tripoli. We’re not sure who’s behind them. Some people say it’s the Tuaregs, others al-Qaeda Maghreb. Maybe it’s the two of them working together. Could be that the Chinese and Iranians are stirring up trouble. There are lots of interests competing for power and a piece of the pie.”
“There always are.”
“The immediate concern for us is Scorpion, the WMDs. We want to know, one, if they do exist. And two, if they exist, we want to make sure we secure them so they don’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Got it.”
“NATO claims to have inspected all the sites and secured the few old mustard-gas shells they found. But our chief there doesn’t believe they were thorough. The whole NATO command thing is sensitive. We don’t want to look like we’re second-guessing them or stepping on anyone’s toes.”
“Naturally.”
“But given the possible stakes, Al thinks it’s too important. And Donaldson and I agree.”
“I thought Donaldson didn’t like us,” Crocker said.
“Where’d you get that impression?”
“From him, primarily.”
“He thinks you guys are great.”
Crocker had another question. “You mentioned Al. Al who?”
“Al Cowens. He’s our station chief in Tripoli. You’ll be working closely with him. You might have to coordinate with the NATO commander there, who is a Brit. But we’re leaving that up to Al. He’s no-nonsense, like you, Crocker. I think you’ll like him.”
“I know Al,” Crocker said. “He’s a stud.”
“Oh, and one other thing. You’ll be going in undercover as American civil engineers doing a study of the city’s electrical grid.”
“Perfect.”
“Al’s idea.”
“When do you want us there?”
“Tonight, tomorrow. As soon as possible.”
Crocker’s only previous trip to Libya had occurred roughly sixteen years before, when he had run a training program for a group of anti-Gaddafi rebels, Berber tribesmen all from one extended family. They were two dozen brave men ranging in age from seventeen to seventy. After hot days showing them how to disassemble, clean, and fire AK-47s, Crocker and the two Special Forces operatives he had been sent with would sit around a fire and listen through their translator as the men told gruesome stories about tribe members who had run afoul of the Gaddafi regime.
One man had refused to sell his farmland to one of the strongman’s cronies. He and his entire family were rounded up and tortured. As Gaddafi’s friends watched, men and women were raped, then the men’s genitals were hacked off and the women were blinded.
After Crocker left he learned that the entire clan he’d worked with had been captured and killed. The memory left a bad taste in his mouth.
The Libyan Arab Airlines jet he and his men rode in banked over the Mediterranean. Tripoli, a sparkling gold crescent of concrete and glass in the light of the setting sun, glittered below.
Mancini, in the seat behind him, leaned forward and recited some facts. “It’s a city of almost two million. Founded way back in the seventh century BC by the Phoenicians. They were essentially an alliance of city-states that controlled the area around Lebanon and Israel from about 1200 to 800 BC. Big traders. Loved the color purple, which they considered royal, and they got it from the mucus of the murex sea snail.”
“The murex sea snail?” Akil groaned. “Too much information.”
“Ignorance is dangerous, Akil,” Mancini retorted. “Remember that.”
“So is clogging up your brain with trivial crap.”
The old DC-727’s landing gear groaned into place as the female flight attendants tied scarves around their heads.
“History isn’t trivial,” Mancini said. “Those who don’t learn from it are destined to repeat it.”
“Thanks, professor. Now shut the fuck up.”
The plane hit the runway like a bag of bolts and jerked right.