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SEAL Team Six Hunt the Scorpion(80)

By:Don Mann


The neighbor’s twin boys were standing outside in their school uniforms and backpacks, waiting for their father. As they drove off, they waved to Crocker, big smiles creasing their faces.

He waved back.

One of the boys shouted, “Have a good day.”

“You, too. Thanks.” A sob caught in his throat.

Mancini climbed into the Suburban with Davis and Akil. He was ready to come along, too, but Crocker wanted him to stay near the phones in case Ritchie should call with news.

“Okay, boss. Good luck. Signal if you need me to meet you somewhere.”

“Thanks, Manny. I will.”

Davis: “Where are we going?”

Akil: “I spoke to the watch officer at the embassy. He said Remington’s at home and not expected in the office ’til noon.”

“Let’s go see him.”

Davis drove as if demons were chasing them. Fortunately, the streets were mostly empty, and they arrived at the station chief’s house in less than ten minutes, tires screeching.

Two Libyan guards outside stood at attention and looked scared. They watched Crocker ring the front gate bell. No answer. He was about to climb over the gate when a thin Hispanic man wearing a shoulder holster came out.

Crocker: “I’m the SEAL team leader, and I need to see Remington immediately.”

“I know who you are. He’s asleep.”

“Wake him.”

“I can’t.”

“Then get out of my way.”

Crocker tried to squeeze by. The aide held out an arm to stop him as the Libyans watched.

“He gave me strict orders not to bother him unless it’s an emergency.”

“This is a fucking emergency,” Crocker growled, pushing his arm aside and entering.

He knew the house well enough from his earlier stay to locate the back bedroom. There he found Remington sleeping with the curtains drawn and a CD of nature sounds playing.

He yanked open the curtains and pulled the stereo plug from the wall. The CIA man blinked, rubbed his eyes, and raised himself up on his elbows. Seeing Crocker, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Crocker shouted in his face, “You forgot to tell me about Brian Shaw.”

Remington lay back on the bed and turned away from the window. “I thought we agreed that you were going to let me handle this.”

“And you said you were working nonstop and going to keep me informed!”

As Remington turned to look at the clock, an enormous racket echoed from the hallway, sounds of men shouting curses and struggling.

Seconds later the Hispanic aide burst through the door. Davis had an arm around his neck and Akil was in the process of wrestling the man’s pistol away from him.

Remington shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

His aide: “Sir, I tried to stop them from entering the house!”

“This is unacceptable! Out of control!”

An angry Remington turned and pointed a finger at Crocker. “I blame you. You’re way out of line, Crocker. I’m reporting this to your command!”

“Call the fucking president if you want. You’re not doing your job.”

Remington grabbed the sat-phone from the night table and started to dial a number. Reconsidering, he stopped and shouted, “Come with me!”

“Where?”

“We’re going to see the ambassador.”



Saltzman was pacing the floor with his hands behind his back and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played softly on the stereo. He stopped when he saw the two large men. Said cheerfully, “Come in. Make yourselves at home.” Pointed to a silver coffee service on a tray. “Who would like a morning beverage? Coffee or tea?”

The clock on his desk read 9:35. The whole setting seemed absurd to Crocker. Time was slipping away.

Remington ordered his coffee black. The SEAL opted for a glass of water. The men took seats facing the ambassador, Crocker in a straight-backed chair. The red-haired secretary lowered the music volume.

Saltzman said, “I learned as a young attorney filing civil rights cases against the Justice Department to never panic, never lose hope. Things can change in unexpected ways. They often do.”

The emotion Crocker held back was almost overwhelming. He wanted to slap them both in the face. Wake them the fuck up.

The ambassador calmly wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and pushed the tray aside like an actor in a play.

While my wife is suffering and the minutes tick away.

He raised an eyebrow and turned to Crocker. “I assume you heard about Brian Shaw.”

Crocker: “What are you doing about that, sir?”

“Shocking and horrible.”

Remington: “Leo ID’d the body.”

Saltzman: “Animals. Savages.”