Don Mann, Ralph Pezzullo
Hunt the Jackal
The fourth book in the SEAL Team Six series, 2014
“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche
To all the brave men and women who courageously defend and nurture freedom and justice
Chapter One
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
– Philip K. Dick
Forty-two-year-old Lisa Clark sat in the pearl-white Jacuzzi spa bath with the red monoliths of Sedona shining through the floor-to-ceiling window, reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Sandalwood candles burned on the rough slate border as she reached for the glass of La Crema Russian River Valley Chardonnay. A senator’s wife and mother of two children who worked hard to maintain her long dancer’s body, she was indulging in a rare moment of relaxation and guilty pleasure. Usually she wore her hair pulled back or tied in a French braid, but now she wore it loose to her shoulders.
As she read, real guilt started to spread through her body. The relationship between college student Ana and überbusinessman Christian Grey brought back memories of her own one-year affair with a worldly restaurant owner she met while working as a waitress in Washington, D.C.
Twenty-four years ago she was a tall, blond, fresh-faced eighteen-year-old girl from the little town of Boykins, Virginia, perky in every way, taking courses at American U when she met Henri Gaudier. The world-famous chef-restaurateur represented everything she thought she wanted-worldliness, sophistication, and high-society status among a network of rich and powerful friends. Her sole claim to fame at the time was having placed as runner-up in the Miss Southampton High beauty pageant. Unlike the character of Ana in the book, Lisa wasn’t a virgin when they met-but at least she was uninitiated to hard drugs, S &M, and group sex.
Henri quickly changed that. He also introduced her to senators, generals, cabinet members, sports stars, mobsters, movie stars, and other celebrities. Along the way she learned that sex and drugs formed a dark, illicit river that many famous and highly esteemed people in Washington waded into when they thought they were safe.
For the past twenty-three years, since the night she met Jesse Abrams Clark at a Bastille Day party at the French embassy in Washington, she had tried her best to erase the interlude with Henri from her memory. Clark was a young navy lieutenant working as an aide at the White House then. Now he was the senior Republican senator from Virginia, but still straightlaced, aggressive, self-confident, and solidly Christian.
She’d never told him about the wild, sexually adventurous year she’d spent with Henri, or her cocaine habit, or the night it ended. She had never fessed up to anyone, including herself, how her time with Henri had affected her and made her wary of losing control.
She considered that now as warm sandalwood-scented water churned around her, softening her skin and relaxing her muscles. The past was a burden, and being a senator’s wife wasn’t easy, despite its many rewards. Maybe that explained the weariness and ennui she’d been experiencing lately. In addition to the several weekly appearances she was required to make with her husband on the Washington social circuit, she had to attend political and charity events and run two households-one in Chevy Chase, Maryland, and one a farm outside Charlottesville, Virginia. She also served as her husband’s cheerleader and political advisor.
Together they had two children, whose upbringing was primarily her responsibility. Fifteen-year-old Jesse Abrams Clark, Jr., was the apple of Lisa’s eye. Jesse Jr. was not only handsome and athletic, with a magical smile, but he and she had had a natural rapport from the day he was born.
Seventeen-year-old Olivia was more like her father-strong-willed and reserved. She was tall and blond and had her father’s strong jaw and steady blue eyes. Olivia was always respectful to her mother, but Lisa hadn’t felt close to her since Olivia entered puberty and started directing most of her attention to horseback riding and the Presbyterian Church.
Lisa had planned this trip to Sedona, Arizona, as an opportunity for the two of them to spend time together before Olivia entered Duke University in the fall.
Now her daughter sat in the adjoining bedroom of the Enchantment Resort casita ostensibly studying the Bible, but really posting pictures on Facebook of herself and her mom standing outside the casita in their climbing apparel.
As Lisa read further, lascivious memories rose to the surface of her consciousness and burst like bubbles. One of them involved a cocaine-fueled night with Henri and an NFL star in Henri’s suite at the Watergate Hotel. One moment they were laughing and drinking champagne with dinner, the next she was naked on Henri’s king-sized bed with her ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts.
She quickly stopped and put down the book. Almost simultaneously, the chimes rang at the front door of the casita. Craning her long neck toward the iPhone on the counter, Lisa saw that it was 6:13 p.m. One of the maids had probably come to turn down the beds, or maybe Olivia had requested something from room service.
She thought about the dinner reservation she had made for seven thirty and what she wanted to wear. In the background she heard footsteps and muffled voices.
“Olivia,” she called, her voice bouncing off the tile floor. “Darling.”
Deciding to call the concierge to ask him to send someone to wash and blow out her hair, she stood and started to reach for the courtesy phone on the wall.
Just then the door opened and a young Hispanic woman appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed in black pants and a white polo and wore a silver crucifix around her neck. “Good evening, Señora,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa answered, covering her breasts with her left arm. “Did my daughter call you?”
“No, Señora,” the girl responded, moving her right arm in front of her; it held a dark pistol equipped with a silencer. “But if you step out of there and come with me, there won’t be a problem.”
Coldness spread through Lisa’s body. She couldn’t imagine this was anything more than a routine robbery, or that the girl, who seemed to be no more than sixteen, was capable of real violence. She turned and started to reach again for the phone.
The girl stepped forward quickly, slapped Lisa’s hand away, and aimed the pistol at her head. “You make one sound and I’ll shoot you!”
Lisa nodded and swallowed hard. Blood burned her temples, and her knees shook. She remembered Olivia in the next room and hoped she’d run or called for help.
Two young men stepped inside the bathroom dressed in matching white polo shirts and black pants. They also looked like teenagers-smart and alert and with silver crucifixes around their necks.
One of them-a boy with black hair and a scar across his lip-held something over Lisa’s nose and mouth. She inhaled the smell of chloroform as she heard the boy say, “We’re here, Señora, in the name of La Santísima Muerte. She wants you to come with us.”
Her legs started to melt. The two men held her naked body and lifted her out of the water. She felt a tingle between her legs, then lost consciousness.
SEAL Team Six (a.k.a. DEVGRU) Chief Warrant Officer Tom Crocker held on to the overhead bar that stretched between the twin side doors of the Black Hawk as the helicopter banked right over parched terrain in northwest Syria. The helo was hit by a headwind, which jerked it sharply right and kicked up a big cloud of dust.