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Seal Team Six Hunt the Wolf(74)

By:Don Mann


“Wait,” the colonel barked. He produced another key, a little green-tabbed one this time.

Crocker laid the suitcase on its side and opened the lock. He dreaded what he was about to see so much that he turned his eyes away as he swung it open. The smell of sweat and piss met his nostrils.

The men behind him gasped.

“Dear God—”

“It’s the girl!”

“She’s dead.”

He had to will his eyes to focus on the awkwardly folded little body, knees at her chin, silver tape around her wrists and ankles and across her mouth. The skin on her arms a smooth yellowish gray. More mottled near her shoulders.

“Malie?” he whispered, fearing the worst.

Light blond hair like that of an angel.

It had to be her.

“Malie?”

He reached inside, along the cool skin of her neck, and tried to find a pulse.

The men breathed heavily behind him.

On his knees, his hand shaking, he prayed to his mother, God, and all that he held dear. He thought he felt a flicker of life under her skin.

Is it my imagination?

He waited and felt it again.

And a third time, before he looked up and said firmly, “Call an ambulance and an EMS team. Tell them to hurry!”





Chapter Nineteen




In the darkest night one can see the most stars.

—Persian saying





MIRACLES DO happen, Crocker said to himself. He’d witnessed one. At least he thought he’d heard the hospital’s doctor say that Malie’s breathing, blood pressure, and heartbeat had stabilized and were returning to normal.

“The doctor said she’s going to pull through, right?” he asked Akil, who stood to his right.

“It was touch and go for awhile, but she’s improving, yes.”

He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t in a dream.

Then he felt strong arms around him and saw Mikael Klausen’s beaming face. “Like Lazarus. It’s like Lazarus, the way she’s come back to life!”

“Yes. Yes.” Trying to remember how long Klausen had been there with him.

“The doctor said another hour, maybe less, and her heart would have stopped.”

He saw tears in hard men’s eyes. Felt the joy in their faces. American, Norwegian, Omani, French. There were over twenty people crowded into the little waiting area. Only three green chairs. The Filipino nurse who had helped him before was passing a bottle of Australian white wine.

The clock behind her head was approaching twelve. Midnight, he thought. It had to be midnight. In the worry and exhaustion he’d lost track of time.

Klausen looked up from one of the green chairs, where he was dialing a satellite phone. “Don’t go too far, Crocker,” he said, pushing strands of blond hair off his forehead. “The king will want to thank you personally.”

The American said, “I’ve got to do something. I’ll be right back.”

He felt the sudden urge to call someone, too. Hurrying down the pale green hallway he almost crashed into an African nurse cradling a dozen cans of Coke.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I need to place an international call.”

She had kind eyes and parallel tribal scars carved into her cheeks. “The second door on the right. There’s a telephone on the desk. The code is 352. Then enter the country code and number.”

The small, unexpected kindnesses of strangers. He wanted to kiss her.

“Thanks.”

Jenny answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart. It’s your father.”

“You remembered.”

Remembered what?

A song played in the background as she said, “I was hoping you could be here, but I wasn’t really counting on it.”

That’s right. Her seventeenth birthday was the twenty-second. Was today the twenty-second? He’d promised to be home by then.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. With all that’s been going on here, I lost track of time.”

He flashed back to Malie’s half-dead face, and the stench thickened around him. Irony and guilt squeezed his head and throat. He’d risked his life to save a young Norwegian woman but forgotten his own daughter’s birthday.

What kind of father am I?

“No, Dad, it’s okay. I know you’re busy. I’m glad you called.”

“I should be there.”

Remembering all the birthdays and holidays he’d missed, he felt himself being pulled into a disorienting maelstrom of pain, flashbacks, moral ambiguities, questions about why he was doing what he was doing, and the realization that he was more than seven thousand miles from home.

“Jenny, I just want you to know that when it comes to the important things, like the fact that I love you unconditionally, I’ll always, always be there for you. No matter what happens.”