Seal Team Six Hunt the Wolf(35)
Donaldson slapped the table. “Well I’m afraid the king of Norway is going to have to wait.”
“Fine with me.”
Donaldson reached into his briefcase and removed a manila file. “Remember the laptops that were recovered from Zaman’s safe house? Well, we might have found something.”
“What?”
“A lead, Crocker. A reference in a coded e-mail to a known terrorist who calls himself Rafiq.”
“Who’s he?” Crocker asked, relieved that the raid in Karachi had yielded some actionable intel.
“Headquarters believes that his real name is Rifa’a Suyuti. A Saudi national. Midtwenties. Slight, approximately six foot one. Dark eyes, darkish skin, dark hair.”
“What’s his relationship to Zaman?”
“Unclear. But the NSA traced the e-mail to a motorcycle club in Marseille. The message seemed to refer to the delivery of certain products. It seems to indicate that this guy Rafiq has been procuring materials for Zaman.”
“Bomb-making materials, I bet.”
“Maybe. We know that Zaman has been looking for ways to inflict major damage. No doubt the raid in Karachi pissed him off. If you kick a hornet’s nest, you can expect to get stung.”
“What do you want from me?” Crocker asked.
Donaldson handed him the folder. “Look this over quickly and commit it to memory. Then you’re headed for the airport.”
“How come?”
“You and the French-and-Arabic-speaker on your team have been authorized to fly to Marseille. There’s a reservation for you at the Hotel Select by the port. One of my operatives will meet you there.”
Crocker eyeballed the contents of the folder, which featured photos of a tall, good-looking man with shock of thick, wavy hair.
“I’ve wired ten thousand euros to an account at the Banque de France to cover your expenses. Keep all receipts.”
Crocker said, “I assume all this has been cleared with my CO.”
The commander answered, “Yes.”
As Crocker pushed the folder back to Donaldson, he asked, “What about Zaman?”
Donaldson frowned. “You let him get away, remember?”
“I want to find him.”
The commander with the buzz cut sounded as though he was reading directly from an intelligence report. “The Pakistanis have tracked him into the mountains along the Afghan border.”
Crocker asked, “Where’d that come from, the ISI?” Meaning Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence.
The commander didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “NSA has been picking up a lot of chatter about an attack against a major target in the area. Possibly on a U.S. facility. Some people think the two might be related.”
Crocker was trying to figure out what two things he was talking about when Donaldson, sneering, got to his feet. “Don’t worry yourself, Crocker. We’ve got other assets working on Zaman. You need to get moving.”
“All right.”
“Please, no collateral casualties this time. Try to locate this Rifa’a Suyuti character and report back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Ten
You can go a long way with a smile. You can go a lot farther with a smile and a gun.
—Al Capone
CROCKER ARRIVED in Marseille early the next morning feeling as though a load of bricks had landed on him. The tight airplane seat combined with the residual effects of the climb had caused lactic acid to build up in his muscles. He knew he needed to move, rehydrate, and rest.
The last one would have to wait.
Crocker deplaned from the Air France Airbus surrounded by businesspeople and tourists. He wanted to go for a run or speak to his wife, but knew he couldn’t do either because he was on a short-fused mission and had to move quickly.
Beyond the baggage turnstile he found Akil at a news kiosk leafing through a magazine. He looked fit and rested.
“What took you so long?” he said when he saw Crocker.
“They sat me in the last row. Don’t tell me you slept.”
“Like a baby.”
“Who the fuck is he?” the team leader asked, pointing to the bare-chested man on the cover.
“Samir Nasri.”
“Who?”
“One of the top young footballers in the world. Born here in a poor suburb of the city. His parents were Algerian immigrants. Plays with a fast, attacking style. Great footwork. Considered the next Zidane. Currently with the British club Arsenal.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You need to broaden yourself, boss.”
“You need to stop looking at pictures of half-naked men. Let’s go.”
Crocker was glad to see that Akil had recovered so quickly. It made him even happier to watch him flirting with the lashy-eyed girl at the desk who checked them into the three-star hotel they were staying in near the old port, Hotel Port Select.