“Who are you? What are you doing?”
Her head felt swollen, like a big balloon, and her mouth and tongue were dry.
“Where am I?”
She watched the glass vial fill with red blood. Then felt another needle enter her arm.
“Close your eyes, Señora. In another minute we will be finished.”
She was trying to remember where she was and the last thing she had experienced. But all she could think of was Olivia in her pink bathing suit.
“Where’s my daughter?” she asked.
“Your daughter is resting, Señora. Close your eyes.”
The man’s soothing voice entered her ears and swirled through her brain like a dancer holding a pink veil. She smelled alcohol and knew there was a reason why she was thinking of Olivia, and that it was important, but she couldn’t focus enough to determine what it was.
Crocker sat in the dining room of his two-story house in Virginia Beach with his dog, Brando, by his side. Crocker was eating pasta primavera with his wife; his daughter, Jenny; and Jenny’s red-haired friend, Leslie, listening to Leslie talk about the volunteer work she was doing for the Red Cross, when the phone rang in the kitchen. He got up, thinking that he liked Leslie and the positive influence she had on his daughter, turned down the stereo, which was playing Gato Barbieri’s “Europa,” and picked up the phone.
He heard his XO’s voice on the other end say, “The CO needs to see you.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he answered.
“Thanks.”
Returning to the table, he announced, “Sorry, but I’ve got to go in.”
“Dad,” Jenny said. “I thought we were going to talk about colleges.” She was in the final semester of her junior year at First Colonial High School and had developed an interest in medicine and biology.
“We will, sweetheart, when I get back.”
Holly sighed and reached for his plate. “I’ll save the rest of your dinner.”
He’d planned to spend the weekend with the two most important women in his life. Maybe take them to the movies tomorrow and do some work around the house.
“See you later,” he said, pushing the chair back under the table and shifting his attention from home to work.
He turned and walked quickly downstairs to his pickup parked in the garage, removed the HUKI surf ski from the back, set it in its rack, and drove directly to SEAL Team Six compound, passing the spot where he’d hit the buzzard roughly two years earlier.
He entered the CO’s office with the bitter taste of buzzard feathers in his mouth. Captain Sutter sat in khakis reading something on his desk, with Jim Anders from CIA looking over his shoulder.
Seeing the look on Crocker’s face, the CO removed his reading glasses and cleared his throat. “You okay, Crocker?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sutter pointed to one of the four high-backed leather chairs that formed a semicircle in front of his desk and said, “Then have a seat.”
Crocker and the deputy chief of CIA operations shook hands. Anders stood about five foot ten and had the build of an NFL linebacker. His brown hair was neatly parted on the side and Brylcreemed back.
Sutter drank coffee from his blue DEVGRU mug and said, “I understand that you spoke to Senator Clark.”
Crocker nodded. “Yes, I called to express my concern and support.”
“Good,” Sutter said, settling back in his chair.
The truth was that he had told Clark he wanted Black Cell to be tasked with the recovery of Clark’s wife and daughter, but that the only way he imagined that would happen was if Clark made that request directly to the White House.
“What do you think of Tino Suárez?” Sutter asked.
“Tino Suárez?” It took Crocker’s mind a few seconds to shift gears and summon the image of the young SEAL.
Suárez was a tough young operative from Team Two who had been selected into Team Six three years ago. He’d grown up in the Bronx, the son of a Mexican immigrant mother and Salvadoran father, worked hard, seemed to handle all the challenges that were thrown at him, and didn’t take shit from anyone. Like Ritchie, he was a breacher and explosives expert. And like all the SEALs on Six, he excelled in all aspects of maritime counterterrorism and small-unit tactics. He also spoke Spanish.
“I like Tino a lot,” Crocker answered. “Why?”
“Because I’m sending him with you to Mexico,” Sutter answered.
Crocker sat up. Excellent, he said to himself.
“I should have asked this first,” Sutter said, adjusting the collar on his shirt. “Are your men ready?”
Cal certainly wasn’t. Crocker didn’t need to tell his CO that he was in nearby Portsmouth Naval Medical Center recovering from two broken vertebrae and trauma to his liver, stomach, and spleen. It would be a month at least before he was back on his feet.
That left Davis, Akil, and Mancini, all of whom were technically on standby, which meant they had to remain close to the compound and be ready to deploy in as little as four hours.
“Yes, sir,” Crocker answered.
“How many are you?”
“Five, sir, including Suárez”
“That works.”
Sutter grabbed a paper off his desk and handed it to Crocker. “This e-mail arrived today at Senator Clark’s Capitol Hill office.”
It read: “You started this war, now we’re taking it into your backyard. Your wife will die in three days if the United States doesn’t release the following people, who are being held in U.S. jails.” Following was a list of forty Spanish names that meant nothing to Crocker. At the end it read, “Your enemy, Z-13. P.S. We will send you her head after we cut it off so you will have something to remember.”
Crocker handed the e-mail back to Sutter and asked. “What’s Z-13?”
Anders shook his head. “We think it’s a cell of one of the major Mexican drug cartels.”
“Who are the individuals listed at the bottom?”
“Drug dealers and hit men,” Anders answered. “Mexicans, mostly. Two or three Colombians. The majority of them are associated with the Mexican drug cartel Los Zetas.”
Crocker had heard of Los Zetas and their brutal reputation. They and the Sinaloa cartel were considered the most powerful in Mexico.
“Why’d they target Mrs. Clark?” he asked.
Sutter: “We don’t know the specifics.”
“If you look at it from their perspective, she’s ideal,” Anders interjected. “I mean, there’s no one in the Senate who is a stronger and more vocal supporter of the war on drugs than her husband. Senator Clark’s also a hard-liner on immigration and has lobbied hard for a heavily guarded border and the arrest and deportation of all illegal immigrants.”
Crocker was already thinking ahead. He hadn’t spoken to Davis, Akil, and Mancini in a week and a half and had no idea where their heads were at. Nor did he know what they thought of Tino Suárez or how he was likely to blend into the team.
He asked, “Where do you want us to deploy?”
Anders reached into his briefcase and handed him an envelope filled with papers. “Guadalajara, Mexico. You’ll use the same cover you used earlier this year in Venezuela, namely that you’re Canadian adventurers working for Balzac Expeditions and you’re planning a trek into the Yucatán jungle.”
Crocker nodded and said, “Okay.”
“The FBI and DEA have set up a field office there, in Guadalajara.”
“Why Guadalajara?”
“Because someone from the Yavapai County sheriff’s office picked up something that, combined with tips phoned into Crime Stoppers and NSA intercepts, has made the FBI conclude that the kidnappers are operating in and around Guadalajara.”
“Got it.”
“You’ll work with the joint FBI/DEA task force but report to me,” stated Anders.
“What does that mean exactly?” Crocker asked, knowing how sensitive both the FBI and DEA were to anyone stepping on their operational toes.