Hunt the Dragon (23 page)

Despite his loss of blood, the encounter seemed to fill him with determination. When the sun came up, the four men consumed the last of the rice, rested twenty minutes, and continued past farms and around hills, avoiding roads and any kind of structure, Akil and Crocker carrying the tarp containing Sam, and Dawkins following.

Crocker urged them on. “Faster. As fast as you can.” A grim, resolute aspect had come over his face, and his eyes seemed focused on a single objective. The rain proved equally relentless, resulting in slick paths and difficult mud.

Dawkins had no idea how Crocker was able to continue, carrying Sam with his injured right arm and shoulder, but somehow he did. When they stopped, which they did every two hours, he noticed that Crocker had difficulty raising either of his arms above his waist.

They had ample water but no food. Akil suggested that they wait in a forest stretching up a hill while he circled around it and recced.

Crocker refused. “No, no,” he said. “We can't stop!”

“Why?”

He offered no reason. He seemed pushed by a relentless will to get to the border and safety, and to report on what he'd seen.

Sometimes he couldn't remember if he was awake or asleep, especially when the sky turned dark and the rain fell in a steady whisper.

In a state of semiconsciousness, he heard Akil call, “Boss! Boss!”

“What now?”

When he opened his eyes and focused, he wondered how much time had passed, because Akil and Dawkins looked older and thinner, and both men's faces were covered with beards.

“Boss, look.”

It hurt to even turn his head.

“Where?”

He saw headlights approaching through mist and rain, and was mindful enough to know that this wasn't good. They were in a field with nowhere to hide. Instinctively, he felt for the grenades in his pocket and the pistol in his belt.

Fifty feet ahead was a little brook with a bridge over it. He lifted the tarp and continued walking.

“Boss!”

“Let's go!” Somehow his legs responded and he broke into a sprint. In his right periphery, the headlights rounded the bend and reached the straightaway. The vehicle or vehicles were maybe sixty feet away and closing quickly.

Realizing that if the people in them were paying attention, they could be spotted, he lunged for the embankment and felt his feet slip out from under him. His legs hit water and the tarp holding Sam crashed into his right shoulder. He bit down hard on the urge to scream. In the background he heard an engine idling and music: “Like a Virgin” by Madonna, sung in Korean. When he opened his mouth to comment, Akil slapped a hand over it.

Next thing he remembered, he was on his feet again, walking up an incline. He saw a glowing yellow line in the distance. Wasn't sure whether it was a mirage or not.

“What's that?” It hurt to move his mouth.

“A fence, I think,” Akil answered. “Maybe it's the border.”

“South Korea?”

“Fucking better be, or…”

“What?”

They left Dawkins and Sam in the bushes behind them and crossed the mist-covered field where rabbits scattered. Helped each other over a patch of gravel and railroad tracks, and stood before a twenty-foot-high fence. Crocker touched it to make sure it was real.

“Nicest thing I've seen in months,” Crocker said, emotion building in his chest.

They had no wire shears to cut through the links, only one eight-foot-long thin metal blade that Akil found in the PRS kit and started using.

Crocker asked, “You're kidding, right?”

“You got something better?”

Crocker felt strangely giddy as he looked up at the fencing covered with curls of razor wire. Given his weakened condition, it seemed as challenging as summiting Mount Everest. But somehow he knew there had to be a way to reach the other side and the lighted two-lane strip of concrete road in South Korea.

“Get the tarp and blankets,” he said weakly.

He blinked and found himself halfway up the fence, holding on and reaching down for the covers, then tossing them over the razor wire one at a time. Next thing he knew, he was pushing the tarps and blankets down and watching Akil climb over like it was a dream.

But it wasn't. Because when Akil was halfway down the opposite side of the fence and asked, “Now what?” he saw that his smart suit was a shredded rag.

“Wait there,” Crocker said.

He hobbled back with Dawkins, who muttered to himself as Crocker and Akil held down the razor wire as best they could and he clambered up and crossed over.

Despite minor cuts to his right thigh and arm, Dawkins didn't complain. He just looked back at Crocker through the fence with tears in his eyes and asked, “Am I really standing in South Korea? Are you sure about that?”

“Sure as I'm standing here,” Akil remarked. “You're a free man now.”

Crocker tried climbing the fence with Sam on his back, but when he reached the top, the pain in his shoulder was so intense his arms started giving out. They weren't high enough for Akil to reach over.

Seconds after Crocker and Sam returned to the ground, sirens started to wail on their left and right.

“Let me try!” Akil shouted over the sirens, starting up the South Korean side of the fence.

“Fuck that,” Crocker replied. “Sam, get on top of my shoulders and we'll pull up together.”

“We tried that already…You can't.”

“Don't tell me what I can't do!”

Crocker took a deep breath and reminded himself of one of his favorite SEAL mottos: Pain was weakness leaving the body. He didn't care if his body completely gave out. He was going to get Sam over the fence whatever it took, inch by excruciating inch.

All he felt was pain—not his hands on the metal fence, or his legs moving, or Sam atop his shoulders. The only way he could tell he was making progress were the encouraging words from Akil and Dawkins. The siren grew louder, until it sounded like mocking laughter.

“You're getting there!”

“More, boss! Another four feet!”

He felt himself losing consciousness. Pain hammering his head, he willed himself a few links higher. It was just enough for Akil to grab hold of Sam, and help him down.

Still clinging to the fence, Crocker smiled at them on the other side. When he tried to move his arms and legs, however, they wouldn't respond.

“Wait there, boss!” Akil shouted. “I'm coming to get you!”

Crocker knew he couldn't last much longer. Out of his right periphery he saw a vehicle approaching behind him. Swinging his right arm over, he felt a strand of razor wire slice into his forearm. The new pain seemed to cancel out the old. He pushed off on his left leg.

With a reserve of energy he didn't think he had, he swung his weight over and let go, scraping his face along the fence and hitting Akil, who helped break his fall.

Their eyes met and they smiled for a second—a moment he knew he'd never forget.

“We did it, boss,” Akil muttered.

“Fuck, yeah.”

Warm blood dripping down his wrist and thigh, he stumbled with Akil, Sam, and Dawkins across the road, up an embankment and into a cover of sweet-smelling eucalyptus.

He felt hands reaching under him and sliding his body onto a stretcher. He sat up and reached for the pistol. It wasn't in his belt.

“Hey!”

“Easy. Easy, big guy.” A wide grin beamed down at him from the face of an Asian man in military garb. “You can relax now, sir. You're in South Korea.”

He wasn't sure whether he was seeing reality or dreaming. “Where's Akil?”

“Sir, my name is Sergeant Minjoon Kim.”

“Sergeant Kim, where are my men?”

“Two have already been taken away in the first ambulance. The other is waiting for you.”

“Where?”

“Close by. You'll see him soon.”

When they slid the stretcher into the ambulance, he saw Akil's heavily bearded face ahead and thought he looked like a terrorist. Didn't realize that he resembled one too, until he saw his reflection in the stainless-steel strip along the side panel.

“We look like shit,” he groaned.

“Where are the dancing girls to greet us?”

It hurt to laugh, but he knew exactly how Akil felt.

He still had a duty. He said, “Sergeant Kim, you said my men are okay. I need visual confirmation.”

“Sir, you'll see them soon. You can relax now. You're in safe hands.”

F
our days
later the smile on James Dawkins's face seemed to permeate his entire being as he walked hand in hand with Nan and Karen down Waikiki Beach in Honolulu, from the Ala Wai Canal to Diamond Head. He didn't want the moment to end. So when they neared the zoo and Nan offered to hail a cab to take them back to the hotel, James declined.

“I think I'd rather walk together.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, whatever you want, Daddy,” smiling Karen echoed.

“You sure you're not tired?” Nan asked.

He shook his head. “I'm fine.”

As they passed the Marriott, Dawkins started to hum the lullaby Sung had taught him.

“What's that?” Nan asked, squinting into the sun.

“When I was on the island, in my deepest despair, the Korean woman who looked after me and made me breakfast sang this song to me. It's about a mother who has to leave her infant alone in their hut so she can go out and search for food.”

“It's lovely,” Nan said. “Will you teach it to me?”

“Of course. Her name is Sung. She's the one who smuggled out the message to you. I never got a chance to thank her. I hope she's okay.”

“Me, too, darling. If there's a way, I think we should try to help her.”

“We should try to do that. Yes.”

Dawkins didn't know that a week before his escape from Ung-do, Sung had been dismissed from her job and sent back to her family. She was with them now in the farming cooperative of Genjo near the Chinese border. She, too, was happy to be back with her family, her husband and two young sons, but she was apprehensive. Any day State Security Department officers could arrive to take them to one of the country's prison camps. She'd heard rumors about a fire near Munchon but nothing about the attack. Neighbors whispered about large-scale shakeups in the government and arrests.

Now, as Sung sat in the primitive kitchen of their three-room house, she debated whether or not to try to pass a message to her nephew, who had a friend in the North Korean Strategy Center who might be able to smuggle her and her family across the Chinese border. She knew it was a huge risk to take.

The same night Sung was considering her choice, Crocker stepped off the American Airlines flight from Los Angeles. He'd spent so much time in close proximity with Dawkins and his teammates that it felt strange to walk alone from the gate to the baggage area. He carried the few things he'd packed in his duffel—mainly presents for Jenny, Cyndi, and his nieces and nephews. Sam continued to recuperate at U.S. Naval Hospital in Okinawa, and Akil had gone to visit his family in Detroit.

As Crocker approached the terminal exit, he realized that he'd parked his pickup at ST-6 headquarters and would have to hire a cab to take him to his apartment. He walked with a slight limp from the frostbite and a hunched left shoulder that was still bandaged and would take weeks to heal. None of the people around him seemed to notice him, the bandages on his forearm and shoulder, or the scabs on his neck.

Crossing to the automatic doors that led outside, Crocker realized that he hadn't given a thought about what he would do during his month of medical leave. All he could think about was the pleasure of sleeping in his own bed.

After the door slid open, he heard someone call his name. Turning left, he saw a young woman's smiling face and a bouquet of yellow flowers.

He didn't realize they were for him until Jenny threw her hands around his neck and hugged him. “Welcome home, Dad!”

The unexpected greeting brought tears to his eyes. He squeezed her back and remembered how lucky he was to be alive. “Thank you, sweetheart. It's so wonderful to see you. How did you know I was on this flight?”

“Dad, I have ways. I'm your daughter.”

“I'm glad.”

Standing behind her was another beautiful woman who it took him a few seconds to recognize.

“Cyndi! Wow. I never expected this.” He opened his right arm to include her in the embrace and found her lips.

She whispered, “I've been waiting a long time for this, Crocker. We never got to finish our date.”

He smiled and said, “Tonight. I promise. I've been waiting a long time, too.”

The following afternoon, a Thursday, ten days after he crossed the border to South Korea, Crocker exited the navy clinic with a bounce in his step. A navy doctor had just cleared him to drive up to Fairfax with Cyndi and Jenny to visit his ailing father. As he entered the parking lot, his cell phone rang.

“Where are you, Crocker?” Captain Sutter asked.

He had a shitload of things to take care of—bills to pay, e-mails to answer, people to call, things to take care of around the apartment. But all that could wait. Cyndi had until Saturday before she had to get back to Vegas, which meant two more glorious days and nights together.

“Leaving the clinic and about to get in my truck and head north,” he answered.

“You sure you're up to it?”

“Absolutely, sir. A couple of pains and bruises, but I've been through worse.” No way he was going to lie in bed recuperating when he could be out hanging with Jenny and Cyndi.

“If you say so, Tarzan. If you're ambulatory, how about you stop by HQ for a minute?”

“Happy to, sir, on Tuesday, when I return.”

“It's important, Crocker. You'll find out why when you get here. All it'll take is fifteen minutes tops.”

He put the truck in reverse, backed out of the parking spot, and drove a short distance to the ST-6 compound. A couple of SEAL colleagues spotted him in the hallway and welcomed him back. Life was strange. Two weeks ago he was sleeping on the ground, curled up next to a group of foul-smelling men. Last night he'd fallen asleep in the arms of a beautiful woman. The rescue of Dawkins and the escape from North Korea had restored some of his faith. Good did triumph over evil when applied with confidence and intelligence.

Captain Sutter stood to greet him with a big smile on his face. “Damn, Crocker, you look better then I imagined. I hear you really pushed the envelope this time.”

Sutter seemed thinner than before. “I did what I had to, sir. Couldn't be avoided.”

He'd already heard the sad news that Naylor, Hutchins, and Suarez hadn't made it—which cast a pall over an otherwise successful mission and hostage rescue. Dawkins had invited him over to dinner Sunday night so he could meet his wife and daughter. Sometime after that, he'd stop by Suarez's house in Virginia Beach and visit with his widow and family.

He wasn't looking forward to it, nor had it really sunk in that he'd lost another teammate. For the next couple of days he wanted to focus on the good, including the news that Davis wasn't facing a court-martial for assaulting Vice Admiral Greene. Crocker got a kick out of that, and would thank Davis when he had a chance.

“Sit down, Crocker,” Sutter said. “Someone important wants to thank you.”

At some point he'd call his brother and sister and try to explain where he'd been.

“Who's that?” he asked.

He recognized the president's warm, deep voice as soon as it came through the speakerphone but thought that maybe it was a prank.

“Chief Warrant Crocker, I can't tell you how proud I am of you and your men, and humbled by the courage you showed in North Korea and the sacrifices you made for your country. I just got off the phone with James Dawkins, and I can tell you that he and his family are extremely grateful, too.”

He sure sounded like the real thing. “Thank you, Mr. President.” Crocker flashed back to the teenagers in rags dragging dead bodies.

“I hear from your commander that you're not a man who goes in much for fanfare or awards, and I respect the need to protect your identity from the public. But I don't feel that thanking you this way does you justice. So I'm wondering if you would accept an invitation to visit me at the White House tomorrow morning shortly after eleven so I can thank you in person.”

“I'd be honored, sir. I want to tell you about some of the things I saw there. But there's a problem. I won't be able to make it until after one, because I want to spend some time with my father first. He's recovering from open-heart surgery. ”

“Oh. How's he progressing?” the president asked.

“Very well, sir, from what I hear. Thank you for asking.”

“Please send him my regards and let me know if there's anything I can do for him.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. President. I will, sir.”

“So I'll see you tomorrow, sometime after one p.m., here at the White House?”

“You will, Mr. President. Thank you for the invitation, and I look forward to meeting you.”

“Me too, Chief Warrant Crocker. And if your family is with you, feel free to bring them, too.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

The president hung up, and Crocker turned to Captain Sutter, who was standing and looking at him with a wry smile on his face.

“Did I just hear you tell the president, who is arguably the most powerful man on the planet, that you had to postpone your visit with him because you're going to see your father first?” Sutter asked.

“I suppose you did, sir.”

“Jesus, Crocker, you're something else.”