Reading Online Novel

SEAL Team Six Hunt the Scorpion(30)



While he was washing his face in the bathroom, a woman with a blue scarf tied around her head entered the bedroom with food and fresh tangerine juice on a tray. Sunlight created a sharp angle on the floor. Through the doorway he saw a courtyard with a lemon tree.

“Where am I?” he asked her.

Smiling, she said, “Palm City.”

“Palm City. Where’s that?”

“It’s in Janzour.”

“Oh…” He remembered the woman in the hotel shower, Doug Volman crouched in the front seat of the SUV, flames rising from the front of the Sheraton.

He’d forgotten about Volman and Mustafa. And he hadn’t seen Davis since leaving him in the brasserie.

What the hell happened to them? he asked himself.

“This home of…Mr. Remington,” the local woman said.

“Remington?”

“Yes.”

Crocker didn’t know the name. He felt disoriented, perplexed.

“Mr. Remington is American?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

She returned a minute later with clean boxers, a T-shirt, a dark green polo shirt, black workout pants. “For you.”

“Thanks.”

Standing under a warm shower, he felt sharp pains in his back. His whole right side was sore and bruised. The muscles in both arms were tired and tight. Otherwise, he seemed intact. Alive.

Not like Al Cowens, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

He dressed and entered the courtyard, where an orange cat was stalking a little bird with an orange beak—a finch maybe. Looked up at the sky above and saw the sun at approximately 9 a.m. The angle of the light reminded him of Southern California, when he was a young member of SEAL Team One living in a double-wide trailer with his first wife. She’d kept spice finches as pets.

A tall African American man in khaki pants and a white shirt entered. The lines in his face were deep.

“Crocker,” he said. “My name’s Jaime Remington. I’m Al’s deputy. Rather, I was his deputy. I’m running the station now.”

“Al.”

“Yeah…It’s terrible. I just got off the phone with his wife. She’s in California. They were living apart.”

“Children?”

“Two daughters. One married; the other a junior at Fresno State.”

The image of his dead body flashed before Crocker’s eyes.

“Fucking tragic. I saw him last night at the Sheraton.”

“I heard you were there in the middle of everything.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re all in shock…How did you sleep?”

“So-so.”

“I’m kind of in a fog myself. But here’s the situation…You were brought to my house last night.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Your men are being moved to a guesthouse near the embassy. You’ll meet them there later.”

“What about Davis?”

“Who’s he?”

“A member of my team. He was with me at the Sheraton last night, in the brasserie.”

“What about him?”

“He was hurt. I want to know if he’s alright.”

“I’ll ask. What’s his last name?”

“Davis. John Davis. I left two more people in an SUV out front. Doug Volman and a driver named Mustafa.”

“Volman’s resting. The embassy doctor said he’ll be fine. Mustafa is back at work.”

“What’s wrong with Volman?”

“High blood pressure and heart palpitations. Look, I’m about to leave for NATO headquarters. I’d like you to come with me, if you feel up to it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Finish your breakfast.”

“No appetite. Let’s go.”



A weird calm hung over the city. Crocker had no idea in which direction they were headed. All he was aware of was movement, the sunlight, and the automatic pistol Remington held in his hand as they sat in the backseat. A bodyguard with an Uzi and sunglasses sat in the passenger seat. A backup car behind them held more armed guards.

They were speeding; tires screeched around turns. Everyone seemed tense. The muscles around Remington’s mouth twitched.

A thousand thoughts were flying through Crocker’s head—Davis, Al Cowens, the attackers, the kid who had helped him, the helicopter that blew up in the sky.

He noticed that the safety on Remington’s pistol was off. He was about to say something but stopped.

He tried to think clearly. First I have to find out if Davis is alright. Then I have to ascertain if what happened last night affects our mission.

His head felt thick and heavy on his shoulders.

“How many casualties?” he asked.

“We counted twenty, but more bodies are still being recovered. Another fifty-seven spent the night in various local hospitals. We’ve got doctors and nurses out checking on them now.”