Read Online SEAL Team Six: Hunt the Fox by Don Mann, Ralph Pezzullo - Free Book Online

orty minutes later, the five members of Black Cell were on their way to the Amedros Café on the other side of Divan Yolu, a touristy street that ran down the center of Sultanahmet, the old section of the city. Crocker, Mancini, and Suarez, dressed in casual attire, walked on one side of the street, Davis and Akil following on the opposite side, with both groups keeping an eye out for surveillance. They had progressed a block and a half, checking out the shops and the people strolling, and Crocker was thinking that it would be fun to explore the city sometime with Holly when his burner cell phone pinged.
    He reached into his black 5.11 Tactical cargo pants and discovered that it was Akil, who had texted “*87!”
    Suddenly the environment turned hostile. “Again? Fuck.”
    “What’s the matter?” Mancini asked.
    “We’re being followed.”
    “Who? Where?”
    “Don’t know.”
    Again the opportunities for countersurveillance weren’t ideal because of the large number of tourists walking the narrow streets. And the SEALs weren’t armed, which was a big disadvantage. Nor did they know the city.
    “Follow me,” Mancini said, nodding left and entering a hotel lobby. He was quick on his feet for a man built like a linebacker, which he had been at Boston College. As they stood near the front desk eyeballing the people who entered, Crocker’s cell pinged again.
    “Akil again?” Mancini asked.
    “No, it’s Anders.”
    The text from Anders read “Meet at the gym in 30?” According to their prearranged code, the thirty minutes had to be halved, and “the gym” meant Anders’s room at the Sultanhan Hotel.
    He pecked back “OK,” and decided not to tell him about the surveillance. He and his men were totally capable of dealing with that.
    “What’s up?” Mancini asked, continuing to watch the people coming and going.
    “Anders wants to see me. I’m taking Akil. You’re gonna have to eat without us.”
    “I think I lost my appetite. Two guys in jumpsuits, eleven o’clock.”
    Crocker quickly checked them out. The jumpsuits were too stylish and colorful. Seemed like two dudes going out for an evening run.
    “Doubt that,” he countered as the men exited through the revolving door.
    Mancini grinned. “You’re right. My appetite for food is hard to kill. You want me to order you some kabobs and bring ’em back to the room?”
    “Unnecessary. But first you’ve got to shake whoever is following.”
    “Of course. You, too.”
    Crocker nodded and consulted his Suunto watch. “Be alert. If they’re the same guys I tangled with this morning, they’re deadly fuckers.”
    “Got it. Suarez and I will go first. We’re gonna exit out the back.”
    “Cool.”
    Crocker consulted the tourist map he carried in his back pocket, then called Akil and told him to meet him on the corner of Divan Yolu and Bab-I Ali. He took an elevator up to the roof, lingered there for five minutes listening to two British women discuss who they considered sexier, Jon Hamm or Daniel Craig, then descended the stairs and exited out the back.
    It was a beautiful, warm night with a sweet breeze. He found Akil standing in a tourist shop called Hookah John that sold rugs and knickknacks.
    “What’d you see?” Crocker asked.
    “Two guys riding in a dark-green Renault 19.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A boxy looking hatchback similar to a VW Passat.”
    “What did they look like?”
    “Young, clean-cut. One wore a black leather jacket. They both had short black hair. No facial hair.”
    “You see them now?”
    Akil shook his head.
    “Follow me.”
    They entered the heavy foot traffic on Divan Yolu, then hurried to catch the tram at Ç emberlita ş , near the Grand Bazaar. They rode it in the direction they’d come from and got off at the Sultanahmet, checking around them. No dark-green Renault in the vicinity. No one who looked suspicious.
    “I’ll go first,” Crocker said. “You follow on the other side of the