SEAL Team Six: Hunt the Fox by Don Mann, Ralph Pezzullo Page A

to our savior Jesus Christ.”
    “You still believe in the virgin birth?” Akil asked.
    “You still a Muslim who chases anything with a pair of tits?” Suarez asked back.
    “Hoo-ah.”
    They banged knuckles and bumped chests.
    Inside the envelope was a wallet-sized photo of his daughter, Jenny, and an invitation to her graduation. A reminder that, one, his daughter (from his first marriage) was graduating from high school, and, two, that the ceremony was being held in a week. Crocker didn’t want to miss it. He noticed that there was no accompanying message from Holly.
    “You guys staying in one room or two?” Akil asked, referring to Mancini, Suarez, and Davis.
    Suarez glanced at Mancini and answered, “Two. He snores and farts so much we gave him his own gas chamber.”
    Akil laughed. “Talks to himself, too. Weird shit about making love to computers and robots.”
    “You fucking sissies are lucky to associate with me,” Mancini shot back. “Maybe if you listen, some of my knowledge and erudition will wear off on you.”
    “What the hell is erudition?”
    “Maybe not.” Then, to Crocker, “What’s up, boss?”
    “Looks like we might be going into Syria to recover some WMDs.”
    “I figured Syria might be on the agenda. You got details?”
    “Hopefully we’ll get them later tonight.”
    Mancini slapped his hands together. “I’m ready to get it on!” Then, nodding toward the others, “Not sure about these jerk-offs.”
    “Bring everything you’ve got, I’ll bring it ten times stronger,” said Akil.
    “Really, Akil? Really? What are you bench-pressing these days? You up to a buck-fifty?”
    “You know what they call muscle-bound guys in tight shorts who like to hang in the gym together?”
    Mancini got in his face. “What? You really think you’re ready?”
    Suarez: “Get a room, guys. Work it out.”
    Akil tossed a pillow at Suarez that missed his head and knocked over a lamp on the desk where Crocker was sitting, studying some of the reports Janice had given him.
    Crocker barked, “Come on, Akil. What are you, five years old?”
    “It’s Manny’s fault.” To Mancini: “Don’t you know that all the self-improvement shit isn’t good for you? You need some primal rage.”
    “Believe me, brother, I got plenty of that.” Then, to Davis: “You might want to buy some Clairol and die your hair black. They eat blonds like you for dinner in this part of the world. Which reminds me.…This is a great restaurant city, and I’m famished. Anybody up for dinner?”
    “First intelligent thing you’ve said,” Akil responded.
      
    The first time he’d seen Holly, almost fifteen years ago, he was struck by her poise and physical beauty. He remembered thinking she seemed like a perfect partner—smart, friendly, attractive, and fit. It had happened at an ST-6 picnic at a teammate’s house. She stood next to a teammate’s wife, holding a glass of wine. The sun glanced off her cheekbones and highlighted the waves in her long, auburn hair. Though he later heard that her marriage to her first husband (also a member of ST-6) was on the rocks, she looked completely in control of herself and happy.
    He had lost sight of her for a few minutes in the smoke from the barbecue, then she was miraculously by his side, smiling at two-year-old Jenny. Almost too close for comfort. In proximity, her effect on him was even more powerful. Big blue eyes that were both intelligent and kind, a fit, womanly body stylishly adorned in a tight light-blue T-shirt and matching checkered shorts.
    “Sweet girl,” she said, referring to Jenny. “How old?”
    “I’ll let her tell you.”
    Jenny held up two fingers. “Two and a half.”
    “Really? What’s your name?”
    “Jen-ny.”
    “Pretty name.”
    Later he’d seen Holly around the neighborhood and at other ST-6 functions. Heard she was a good mother and a decent athlete, including serving as captain on a women’s championship rowing team.
    Six years after