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

before that, Blackwater), L-3 (formerly Titan Corp), Aegis Defense Services, and others. Ten years ago his former SEAL teammate and workout buddy Scott Helvenston was in Iraq as an employee of Blackwater. He and three colleagues were escorting trucks from a food catering company over a bridge near Fallujah when insurgents attacked their vehicle with rocket-propelled grenades. The four men were killed, their bodies burned and mutilated, and two were strung up on a bridge over the Euphrates.
    All these years later, Crocker was unable to get the image of the crowd celebrating over the charred bodies out of his head.
    There was a lot of ugly shit in there that he’d like to expunge.
      
    They had turned off the freeway and were entering an industrial area. The Scorpion at the wheel guided the vehicle into a gated compound with two tall smokestacks, turned to Janice, sitting beside him, and said, “This is the place.”
    Judging by the railroad cars loaded with rock, it looked like a metal smelting operation of some kind. Behind one of the large buildings stood a streamlined office structure with cars outside. Three local men wearing street clothes and wielding automatic weapons indicated that they should stop. After Janice addressed them in Turkish through the open window and showed them an ID, they pointed to a place to park.
    The long, low-ceilinged room was crowded with people and smoke. Groups of Turkish officials stood conferring and puffing on cigarettes. Through the haze and to his right, Crocker saw Anders standing next to a tall, bald man with a walrus mustache.
    What are all these people doing here? Typical second-world shit. Invite everybody and their cousin.
    Anders appeared to be the only other American. He waved at Crocker and said something to the bald man, who slapped the table and blurted out something in Turkish.
    Three of the Turks put out their cigarettes and took places at the table. The other dozen or so nodded in the direction of their leader and left. The lone female among them paused near the door and looked back at Crocker. He thought for a second that it was Fatima wearing an olive pantsuit and a black headscarf. But this woman had a nose that stuck out like Gibraltar.
    Mr. Talab wasn’t present.
    “All these people work for MiT?” Crocker whispered to Janice, feeling somewhat awkward. He was in the country clandestinely as John Wallace, a security consultant, and didn’t like being seen in the company of a known CIA employee, especially by so many people.
    She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    The bald man at the head of the table barked something in Turkish, then shifted quickly to English. As he did, his tone softened.
    “Welcome, to you all. Particularly you, Mr. Wallace, and your associates. My name is Colonel Ozgun Ozmert. Call me Colonel Oz. Everybody does.” He spoke with a slight British accent and smiled a lot. Reminded him of the actor Yul Brynner.
    “Thank you, Colonel. It’s good to be here.”
    “You’re very welcome. My good friend Mr. Anders has asked me to answer your questions and to assist you in any way I can.”
    “I appreciate that.”
    Colonel Oz held out his hand to a thin man in a dark suit and white shirt to his right.
    “First, one of my assistants, Inspector Evren, would like to ask you one or two questions about the unfortunate incident this morning, if that’s permittable.”
    “Go ahead.” Again he felt exposed and uncomfortable.
    What’s the purpose of this meeting?
    Oz continued, “Let me say, first, that political violence of that kind has been rare in Istanbul. We’ve made sure of that. But with the war in Syria and all the problems that has caused us, these unfortunate incidents have become more frequent.”
    “Understood.” Crocker reminded himself that the Turks were U.S. allies. He had worked with them before and found them cooperative and helpful. He attributed his acute sensitivity to the incident that morning near the Blue