“I’m surprised you don’t know this. It’s United States policy never to negotiate an exchange of money or prisoners with terrorists or kidnappers.”
Crocker leaned on the rail and clenched his teeth. “You’re fucking kidding me! I thought the policy was amended in 2002.”
“It was modified briefly but has reverted back. When I first heard about Holly and Brian’s disappearance, I contacted the State Department legal office to get a clarification. Officials there read me the policy. Quote: The United States Government will make no concessions to terrorists holding official or private U.S. citizens hostage. It will not pay ransom, release prisoners, change its policies, or agree to other acts that might encourage additional terrorism.”
“That’s bullshit, sir! After all Holly and I have done to serve our country!”
“Easy, Crocker.”
“Sir-”
“At the same time, I’m at liberty to use every appropriate resource to gain the safe return of American citizens held hostage by terrorists.”
“What does that mean?”
The ambassador stepped closer. “It means we’re doing everything in our power to get Holly and Brian back. It means we’re using all our assets and leaning hard on the NTC. It means we’ve got teams out looking for them now, risking their lives, gathering intelligence, leads.”
“Are you, sir?”
“I said I was. The only thing I’m not allowed to do is negotiate or make any concessions to terrorists.”
Crocker swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“The same policy applies to me, Crocker, in the event I’m kidnapped. It’s a risk all of us take when we choose to represent our country overseas. It’s in the best interests of our country.”
Crocker wasn’t sure about that, but he knew there was no point debating the policy now.
“Trust us, Crocker. We’ll get them back.”
Chapter Thirteen
No crowd ever waited at the gates of patience.
– Arab proverb
If the ambassador and Remington knew where Holly and Brian were being held, they weren’t telling Crocker. So he and his men spent the entire night searching the city on their own, stopping at roadblocks manned by local militiamen and showing them her photo, questioning the few men they saw on the streets. They even drove out to the refugee camp next to the Busetta naval base and spoke to the French soldiers stationed there, who in turn questioned some prisoners and local guards. Nobody seemed to know anything about the kidnappers or where Holly and Brian might be. Crocker also called the Canadians in Sirte, who were continuing their search of that city but hadn’t come across any clues, either.
He returned to the guesthouse at dawn, angry and exhausted. He paced the living room floor and screamed in the shower. Put in more calls to Remington, Volman, and Debray.
Then he got down on his knees and prayed for a suggestion, a lead, anything.
His body and head literally burned with frustration. The word “trust” kept bouncing around in his brain like a taunt. Crocker knew that when it came down to it, when the shit hit the fan, justice and patriotism fell away and the only people he could really trust were his wife and his men.
He was sitting down with a cup of coffee when Remington called. The CIA officer said, “The good news is that I just heard that Dr. Jabril and John Lasher are recovering nicely in Germany. The unfortunate part is that they’re not returning to Libya anytime soon.”
“Any news about Holly and Brian?”
“We’re working on that. Trust me.”
At the word “trust” he winced.
“Crocker,” Remington continued, “I’d like you to write up a report of what you’ve found so far, especially as it relates to Sebha. Include a detailed map of where we can find the UF6.”
It was almost impossible to concentrate. “Now, sir?”
“Today or tomorrow. Then we can wrap this up.”
He remembered the letter from Jabril that he still had in his pocket. “What about the trail of the UF6?”
“Once I receive your report, I’ll forward it to headquarters and make sure they send out a team to Sebha to move it to a safe location.”
Crocker said, “Aren’t you interested in why the Libyans were in possession of the UF6 in the first place, and why it was hidden in a tunnel in Sebha?”
“Most likely it was being used for their energy program.”
“Maybe not. And what about the presence of the Iranians right across the Niger border?”
“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other.”
“The presence of UF6 indicates that Gaddafi was enriching uranium, which is exactly what Farhed Alizadeh has been trying to get his hands on.”
“That’s a stretch. Besides, we have no evidence that Gaddafi succeeded in enriching uranium to the level needed to build a bomb. Even when he was trying to assemble one he didn’t succeed, because it’s not so simple. And in the unlikely event that he succeeded, who is the threat now? The pro-Gaddafi opposition? I highly doubt that they would ever consider destroying their own country.”
Even though Crocker wanted to focus on his wife, he knew the UF6 was important and that Remington’s line of reasoning was unsound. “What about al-Qaeda?” he asked.
“They don’t have a strong presence here. Besides, we keep them closely monitored.”
“What if my team and I take a look around the Tajoura Nuclear Research Center?”
“That’s not necessary. The center is inspected routinely by the IAEA.”
Crocker said, “Is this about not wanting to question the authority or the effectiveness of the NTC?”
Remington said bluntly, “I’ll expect the report on my desk tomorrow. Thanks.”
Crocker hung up with Jabril’s message burning in his head.
Akil asked, “What did he want, boss?”
“Pack the truck. You and Mancini and I are going out again. Tell Ritchie and Davis I want them to stay here by the phone in case there’s any news.”
“Yes, sir.”
They spent several hours driving the coast road east in the direction of Sirte and stopped at NATO headquarters, where Crocker was kept waiting half an hour only to be told that all NATO units in the country had been alerted to report any information relating to Holly and Brian Shaw’s location.
Then they drove south to NTC headquarters. No news there, either. Just a promise from the colonel in charge that he would alert the U.S. embassy the minute he had news.
Finally, they entered some of the poorer neighborhoods on the edge of the desert packed with ramshackle mud structures and tents. They showed Holly’s photo to women cooking and mending clothes, men drinking tea and attending to camels. All they got back were shrugs and suspicious looks. No clues.
“Now where, boss?” Mancini asked.
Crocker’s frustration level was almost unbearable. He looked at the map and saw that they were only a short distance from the Tajoura Nuclear Research Center. He said, “Let’s call the house one more time, then take a quick look at the nuclear center.”
“Why?”
“Duty. Dr. Jabril’s letter. A vague hunch.”
Mancini: “Didn’t you ask Remington, and he told you not to?”
“He said it wasn’t necessary. I think he’s wrong, and it’s too important to ignore. Let’s go.”
Crocker picked up the information packet Volman had given him and handed it to Akil, who read it out loud. The Tajoura Nuclear Research Center consisted of a ten-megawatt pool-type reactor, a neutron generator complex, and radiochemical laboratories containing gas centrifuges for the production of isotopes for use in agriculture, medicine, biology, and industry. The center also included a research laboratory, machine shop, and computer center.
The main reactor had been built by the Soviets in 1979. At one time the center was staffed by as many as 750 Libyan scientists and technicians. Now the only thing in operation was a German-built reverse-osmosis desalination plant that produced over ten thousand gallons of potable water a day.