She said, “Meet me downstairs in ten minutes. I’m driving you to the airport. The flights for you and your companion are confirmed.”
That meant Donaldson had given his approval. But Crocker wanted to double-check.
“Our destination is Karachi, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. You’re very efficient.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Crocker,” the North African said. “But I’m afraid I just heard some unfortunate news.”
“What’s that?”
“French authorities have discovered the bodies of several young women buried near the lake at the house in Toulon.”
Crocker was struck more by the sadness in her usually emotionless voice than the significance of what she was saying.
“Bodies?”
“Yes, other girls were buried near the lake.”
He hadn’t considered that possibility.
“I regret to report that one of them was a blonde,” she continued. “Approximately eighteen. Same approximate height as the Norwegian girl you’re looking for.”
Crocker felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Oh.”
For an instant he imagined Malie’s parents, whom he’d never met, clutching each other and sobbing.
Through the mottled light of the narrow room, he saw Akil exit the bathroom and point toward the door. Crocker nodded as if to say “Yes, we’re going.”
The woman on the phone continued, “I’ve just finished contacting the Norwegian police security service. They’ll be e-mailing her photos, fingerprints, and dental records presently to expedite the identification.”
Crocker felt his pulse quickening. “How many girls did they find?”
“Three so far. But they expect to unearth more.”
The implications of what he’d just heard spooled out in his mind.
“Fanatics and psychopaths,” she remarked. “Different shades of evil.”
His mind was occupied with another line of reasoning. If the body that had been recovered was that of Malie Tingvoll, why was Cyrus on his way to Karachi?
Crocker explained the dilemma to Akil as they waited outside for the SUV.
Akil scratched his freshly shaved jaw and suggested that they wait in Marseille until Norwegian PST was able to confirm the identity of the body. “In the meantime,” he said, “let’s return to Albert Hayes’s place and see what else we can find on the computer.”
“I hate wasting time.”
“Why’s that wasting time, if the guy we’re looking for isn’t even there?”
Crocker’s gut still pulled him to Karachi. He couldn’t explain why.
Akil said, “You’ve always got to push ahead, don’t you, chief?”
“It’s not about me doing what I want. It’s about stopping these fucking savages.”
Crocker didn’t like pushing people. But it was his job to lead.
Akil wasn’t letting go. “How long is it going to take to get the results from Oslo? An hour at most?”
“We’re going to Karachi. End of story.”
“Boss, you’re not thinking straight.”
“Maybe not. But we’re going anyway.”
As they put their bags in the SUV, Akil shot him a look of pride mixed with hurt and a bit of defiance. Crocker took note. Part of being a successful SEAL assault team leader meant tracking the psychology of your men, especially on long and serpentine ops like this. Instead of breaking down physically, operators were more likely to experience nervous or mental exhaustion. The constant pressure of working undercover, the changing scenery, the emotional ups and downs—all took a toll.
Crocker stopped Akil as he started to climb into the vehicle.
“I can count on you, can’t I?”
Akil looked him in the eye. “Yes, you can, boss.”
“You still mad at me about Edyta?”
“I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”
Crocker said, “I know something about losing people you care for. The pain won’t go away, but you’ll get used to it.”
“Fuck you.”
The North African woman dropped them off at the international terminal, where they checked in and ran to their flight—Emirates to Doha, Qatar, then Doha to Karachi.
The Airbus was crammed with businessmen and wives. Mostly Arabs—some in robes, others in business suits. A sprinkling of South Asians. Women in chadors working at laptops. One of them glanced at Crocker from across the aisle, then quickly looked away, her big eyes glistening with curiosity.
Even a fleeting look like that could be dangerous in the potent mix of cultural influences and interests. Money battled with religion, obedience clashed with personal ambition—creating an undercurrent of danger and anxiety.