Frank Weaver woke up at five a.m., had two cups of coffee from the in-room brewer, then read the newspaper for twenty minutes before he showered and headed down to the lobby for the free continental breakfast. By seven-fifteen he was packed up and out the door.
His rig was exactly where he’d left it, as was the cask, but he knew they would be. The DOE had equipped his truck with an immobilizer. Start the engine without a key and the fuel system shuts down. Nice little feature. As for the cask, no one would run off with that thing. Maybe King Kong, who’d noticed he was missing one of his barbells, but no one else.
He did his usual inspection walk-around, checking the ratchets, padlocks, and chains, and, finding nothing out of order, he unlocked the driver’s door and climbed up into the cab. He was reaching his key toward the ignition when he stopped.
Something…
At first he couldn’t put his finger on it, but slowly it dawned on him: Someone had been in the truck. That couldn’t be, though. Like everything else with his rig, the door lock was beefed up. It’d take more than some crackhead thief to pick it. Weaver looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. He checked the glove box and center console for missing items. Everything was there. Same with the sleeping compartment. Everything was as he’d left it.
He reached under his seat. The.38 revolver was still there, snug in its leather holster affixed to the seat frame.
Weaver sat in silence for half a minute before shrugging off the eerie feeling. Maybe the hotel coffee was stronger than he thought. Made him jumpy.
He powered up the dashboard GPS unit and waited for it to cycle through the self-diagnostic check, then punched up his route. Day three of four. An easy 310 miles to Saint George, Utah.
Tariq found the Emir in his bedroom, collecting what few possessions he’d brought along into a box. “After I’ve recorded my testament and left to meet Musa, burn these things.”
“I will. I have two pieces of news. Each of Nayoan’s four men have acknowledged their go-signals. The first will be Waterloo on Sunday morning.”
“Good.”
“Second, our man intercepted the truck without incident. We have the driver’s route, including rest and fuel stops. He’s due to arrive at the facility between two-thirty and three, the day after tomorrow.”
The Emir nodded and closed his eyes, mentally recalling the timeline. “That’s perfect, my friend. Musa will be in place at least four hours early. Go set up the camera. It’s time.”
78
BY THE TIME Clark and Jack got off the plane and found their rental car, it was seven a.m. and time for breakfast and a phone call back home. Armed with only the siblings’ names-Citra and Purnoma Salim- and the date of their arrival into Norfolk, Clark and Jack had no choice but to rely on The Campus to give them a starting point.
They found an IHOP about a mile south of the airport on Military Highway, took a booth, and ordered coffee, eggs, and pancakes. While they were waiting, Clark called Rick Bell.
“All we’ve got is the hotel the Salims listed on their entry form,” he told Clark. “If they didn’t check in, we’ll have to get creative. The Indonesian embassy in Washington keeps a list of citizens traveling on vacation to the U.S., but since they came in on a bogus passport, it’s a toss-up whether they’d be logged into the system.”
“We’ll start with the hotel,” Clark said. “They have to be sleeping somewhere.”
Bell gave him the name of the hotel and signed off.
“Econo Lodge in Little Creek,” Clark told Jack. “Stuff your face. We might be doing a lot of running today.”
They found the Econo Lodge about two miles from the Amphibious Base and a quarter-mile from the Little Creek channel. Jack asked, “SEALs at the amphib base, right?”
“Yep. SpecWar Group Two-Teams Two, Four, and Eight, plus an SDV team-swimmer delivery vehicle.”
“You miss it?”
“Sometimes, but most days not. Miss the people, mostly, and the work, but there were some pretty ugly times, too.”
“Care to elaborate?”
Clark looked sideways at him and smiled. “No. It’s the nature of what SEALs do, Jack. They go places nobody else wants to go and do what nobody else can. Nowadays they call those spots ‘denied areas.’ Back then we called it ‘Indian country.’ SEALs get a lot more attention today than when I was in, and more’s the pity, as far as I’m concerned. The less people talk about you, the better job you’re doing.”
“So what changed?”
“Don’t know, really. I keep in touch with guys that are still in, and they can’t quite figure it out, either. They get a lot of kids who come in thinking they’ll jog on the beach, do some push-ups, and walk away with the Budweiser.” Here Clark was referring to the SEAL Trident badge. “Those usually last less than a week.”
“Chaff from the wheat,” Jack observed.
“At about a seventy-five percent attrition rate. Here we are…” Clark pulled off of Shore Drive and parked beside the lobby. “Might have to run a little con to get the info we need,” Clark said.
“You lead, I’ll follow.”
They went in and walked up to the reception desk. An early-twenties blond girl with a spray-on tan said, “Morning.”
“Morning.” Clark pulled out his marshal’s badge and flashed it. “U.S. marshal. Looking for a couple kids that checked in a couple weeks ago.”
“Wow. What’d they do?”
“Depends how quick we find them. After midnight, we’ll have to file a material witness warrant. We’re just trying to cross some
“They sound Arab.” She wrinkled her lip.
“What’s your point?”
Clark had put a little steel in his voice. The girl shrank back and said, “Nothing. Sorry. Uh… so you just wanna know if they were here?”
“For starters.”
The girl sat down at her computer and started tapping the keyboard. “You gotta date?”
Clark gave it to her. “Give or take a day or two.”
“Okay, yeah, here they are. They stayed one night, then checked out.”
“Cash or charge?” Jack asked.
“Paid with cash, but we took a credit card for damages.”
“You have it on file?”
“I don’t know if I can give that to you. I could get in trouble, couldn’t I?”
Clark shrugged. “No problem, I understand.” He turned to Jack. “Get the Deputy AG on the phone.”
Jack didn’t miss a beat. He pulled out his cell phone, hit speed-dial, and walked to the other side of the lobby.
The girl asked, “What’s that?”
“Deputy Attorney General. Gonna need your name for the warrant.”
“Huh?”
“We’ve gotta serve the warrant on a named individual. That’s the way it works. Gonna need your boss’s name, too. So what’s your name?”
