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

street.”
    “Roger.”
    Ten minutes later they entered the Sultanhan Hotel lobby. Janice stood near the elevator wearing a black jacket and black pants, with her hair pinned back.
    “We were followed,” Crocker said.
    “I know. Those are Colonel Oz’s men. They were sent to provide security.”
    “Two clean-cut guys in a Renault 19 wearing civilian clothes, black jackets?”
    “Sounds right.”
    “Who is Colonel Oz?”
    “He’s a section leader with MiT. You’re about to meet him. I’ve got a vehicle waiting.”
    She led the way through a narrow hallway that exited into an alley. Akil elbowed Crocker, thrust his chin toward the rear of her tight pants, and smiled.
    Crocker leaned into him and whispered, “Grow up.”
    Two beefy guys in black suits waited by the black Suburban. They had buds in their ears and looked like Scorpions—CIA private security personnel. Probably ex-military. Both of them appeared to have been bench-pressing serious weight and doing ’roids. Veins stood out on their necks.
    Janice climbed into the front with the driver—bull-necked, shaved head, with a tattoo of an inverted cross behind his ear. Crocker and Akil slid into the back with the second Scorpion. Crocker sat wondering whether the inverted cross stood for atheism, humanism, the occult, or devotion to Satan as expressed by one of his favorite bands, Black Sabbath. Depended on the context, he supposed.
    As they left the alley, Janice turned to face them. “Anders set up a meet with a couple of guys from MiT. They’ll brief you.”
    “When are we gonna see the guy who shot the video we watched earlier?” Crocker asked.
    “The engineering student? We’re arranging that now.”
    “I want to talk to him.”
    They left the historical/tourist area and turned onto a well-lit freeway that cut through the northern hills and suburbs. Akil’s eyes closed, and he seemed to be taking a power nap.
    Crocker glanced out the darkened windows and followed the full moon in the cloudy sky. “Nobody told us about the security,” he said. “We thought we were being followed.”
    “Our oversight,” Janice answered. “After what happened this morning, we’re not taking any chances.”
    He phoned Mancini to update him. He and the rest of the team were already at the Amedros Café. Crocker heard singing and rhythmic slapping in the background. His teammates hadn’t forgotten how to have a good time.
    As he put the cell away, Janice asked, “You been doing this long?”
    “Three years in the navy; sixteen on the teams.”
    “I admire you guys a lot.”
    “Thanks.”
    He knew her type—dedicated, serious, probably a screwed-up personal life. Sometimes young women like her overdid the tough act as they tried to fit into a field dominated by men.
    “What about you?” he asked.
    “Eight years in.”
    “Overseas?”
    “No, mostly at HQ.”
    “Nice.”
    He imagined a town house in Reston where she lived alone. Probably dated within the Agency. Looked like she ran and worked out.
    “We have a friend in common,” she announced. “John J. Smith.”
    Crocker smiled. John Smith was the alias of a CIA officer who ran Shkin Firebase on the Afghan-Pakistani border. Crocker remembered him as a tireless worker with a positive, can-do attitude. He had heard that Smith had gotten into trouble with management for running unauthorized ops into the Pakistani tribal areas.
    “What happened to John?” he asked.
    “Last I heard he’s living near Tampa, running a private executive protection and recovery outfit.”
    From the wistful expression on her face, he concluded that they had either dated or had had a thing.
    “Married?”
    “Yeah, to some Colombian girl. They have a baby.”
    “Good for him,” Crocker said, thinking he should call him when he got back to the States.
    So many of the guys he had served with as SEALs or with the Agency overseas resurfaced in private security and military companies (PMCs) like Academi (formerly Xe, and