SEAL Team Six Hunt the Scorpion(33)

“What’s up?”

Remington said, “I need to talk to you outside.”

“Sure.”

Remington pointed to the man who had followed them into the corridor and said, “This is John Lasher. He works for us and has compiled a list of former Gaddafi bases and chemical plants that Cowens wanted you to survey.”

Lasher had piercing blue eyes.

“I thought maybe our priorities had shifted,” Crocker said.

Remington nodded. “You mean in terms of what happened last night?”

“My men and I would be more than happy to go after the attackers and nail their asses.”

“You mean bring them to justice, right?”

“Bring them to justice, or shoot them in the head. Same thing.”

It was the first time he’d seen Remington smile. He said, “I like your attitude, Crocker. But NATO’s going to want to handle that.”

Based on what he’d just seen and heard, he figured it would take the NATO command weeks to get their act together. By that time the perpetrators would have vanished—or, worse, carried out other attacks.

Remington said, “Given your experience as a SPECWAR WMD officer, I want you to work with John here and check the list. But you need to do it discreetly. The ambassador is wary of doing anything that makes it seem that we don’t trust or might be usurping authority from the interim government.”

“Of course.”

Back in the meeting room, Crocker listened to more distressed reports from frustrated, embarrassed, angry men. The only difference this time was that all of them were Americans—CIA case officers, military attachés, members of the embassy political section. He spotted Doug Volman in the corner, looking pale and worried.

Still no mention of Anaruz Mohammed.

The men described again how security at the Sheraton was lax. How reports about the effectiveness of the NTC were overblown. Its weak and disorganized central security apparatus still wasn’t willing or able to stop reprisals against former Gaddafi loyalists. Looting continued throughout the country. Cars were robbed; houses were broken into; women raped. Rival militias controlled different sectors of the city. All of them were basically looking after their own interests—namely, money and power in the new government.

The embassy was reluctant to put pressure on the NTC because they were competing with the French for influence with the new Libyan government. Their primary focus seemed to be the political maneuvering going on behind the scenes. The prize: the lucrative contracts that would be handed out to service and maintain Libya’s substantial oil industry.

Internal security, though troublesome, was less of a concern. Nobody wanted to alienate the leaders of the NTC.

Crocker left two hours later, angry, tired, and depressed. Doug Volman, smelling like he needed a shower and a change of clothes, joined him in the hall.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Volman asked.

“You did.”

“Nobody wants to talk about the political vacuum that was created when we helped force out Gaddafi. Or the opportunity we’ve created for al-Qaeda, or other Islamic fundamentalists, or countries like Iran and China.”

“What about Anaruz Mohammed?” Crocker asked. “Would you include him, too?”

Volman, seeing John Lasher approaching, lowered his voice to a whisper. “Anaruz is a simple kid who’s garnered a lot of media attention because of his background. He hasn’t proved that he can generate much of anything on his own.”

“Take everything he tells you with a big grain of salt,” Lasher muttered after Volman left. Then he informed Crocker that Remington was going to take him to meet the ambassador. Crocker said he wanted to meet the embassy security chief first.

“Make it quick,” Lasher answered. “I’ll be waiting outside the ambassador’s office on the second floor.”

The head of security was Leo Debray, a huge man with a smashed-in nose and a big, sunburned face. He had a marine flag on the wall of his little office and pictures of himself as a fighter standing in various boxing rings and gyms.

“What can I do you for?” he asked with a crooked smile. Although friendly, he radiated violence.

“I’m trying to connect with my wife, Holly Crocker. I heard she’s in Cairo conducting a security survey.”

Debray leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and howled, “Holy shit! You mean to tell me Holly is your wife?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, ain’t that something. Great gal. She’s been a big help. You’re one of the civil engineers, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“She know you’re here?”