Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 18

Navy Senior Chief Genaro “The Genie” Stewart escorted SEAL Team 666’s go bags, additional weapons, and the Belgian Malinois, Hoover, in the MH-53J special operations variant Pave Low helicopter. Built like a defensive end, he passed out the gear with a no-nonsense attitude. YaYa knew him from previous missions before he’d joined Triple Six. A SEAL from Team 7, Genie wasn’t read on to Triple Six’s mission, but at Holmes’s request through NAVSPECWAR for sniper support, Genie was coming along. He’d already suited up in black fatigues and body armor and stood by while the others got into theirs.

One by one, the SEALs from Triple Six introduced themselves. Not that they had to. They were from a special brotherhood. But knowing the man next to you enhanced the connection. When it was YaYa’s turn, Genie gave him a hug. “Been what… since the P.I.?”

YaYa grinned and shook his head. “Three years. Has it been that long?”

Genie pointed. “Heard about the arm.”

Although he’d left the rest unsaid, YaYa had experienced it enough to know how to answer the unanswered questions. “It’s strong. The boys and girls at DARPA really know their business.”

“With all the casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan, they’ve had plenty of practice.”

The sobering statement cut short any further conversation.

Finally, everyone was up-armored, wore MBITRs, had sound-suppressed 9s strapped to their right thighs, knives strapped to their left thighs, and checked their sound-suppressed HK416s. Outside their armor, they wore black Rhodesian military vests because of the multiple pockets for storing extra ammunition and other useful items. Pro-Tec skate helmets painted black did little to protect their heads but allowed for the mounting of a curiously alien-looking set of night-vision goggles with four lenses. Called QUADEYE, four 16mm lenses reduced the need to pan left and right by re-creating peripheral vision and incorporating the multiple feeds into a Heads-Up Display (HUD) similar to those used by combat helicopter pilots.

The team’s only odd uniform concession had been to wear ballistic masks that looked like hockey masks, covering their faces but leaving holes for the eyes and slits for their mouths and noses. Not only did the masks keep their faces from being recorded; they also gave the team the appearance of a Jason Voorhees look-alike contest.

Holmes’s mask was black with a white slash across it.

Laws wore a mask with a green camouflage pattern.

YaYa wore a solid white mask in honor of Fratolilio, the SEAL he’d replaced who’d been killed by the chimera in Macau.

And Yank’s mask, from the tried-and-true tradition to fuck with the new guy, was so pink that it was fuchsia.

Genie, not being a member of Triple Six, didn’t have a mask but was given a plain gray ballistic mask to wear in the event he was needed inside.

Their CQB stack included Hoover, who was in the fifth-man position. She wore tactical body armor that protected her sides and chest. Her eyes were protected by specially designed canine ballistic goggles.

After a short drive, they left the vehicle and traveled the last mile through a stretch of wood.

Genie set up in a tree on the side of the house with the most windows. He carried the SEAL-issue SR-25 Stoner sniper rifle with a Leupold Mark 4 scope. He had a view of the front and back entrances and, after Yank secreted a camera on the far side of the house, also had a view of the area he couldn’t physically see.

The choice had been either to walk up and knock on the door, then force their way inside, or to break the door down and clear rooms until they found their quarry.

When Genie notified them that their quarry was in the first-floor drawing room, their decision was made for them. The sniper had a clear shot and was ordered to take it if things went south.

They removed their night-vision devices and cached them at the base of Genie’s tree. Yank and Laws were ordered to take the rear entrance, while Holmes, YaYa, and Hoover took the front door.

With their HKs sunk into the meat of their shoulders and the weapons at low ready, Holmes depressed the doorbell.

“Target not moving,” came Genie’s voice.

They waited about ten seconds and Holmes depressed the doorbell again.

YaYa felt exposed beneath the light on the front stoop. He’d have much rather they’d turned off the power and CQBd inside, instead of this awkward Jehovah’s Witness waiting on the front stoop nonsense.

They heard the sound of footsteps on hardwood, then the sound of several locks disengaging.

The door opened and the same woman from earlier stood there. But instead of screaming or showing fear, she looked nonplussed at the three scary men with weapons. “I’m sorry, it’s too late to call on Mr. Van Dyke.”

“Back door. Move,” said Holmes into his MBITR.

He pushed past her into the home. YaYa grabbed her by the arm and pushed her against a wall, knocking a picture to the ground. Quickly and efficiently he frisked her. Seeing Laws and Yank come in from the kitchen, he pointed upstairs. They hurried up and began to clear rooms.

YaYa put zip ties around the woman’s hands, then lowered her to the floor. “Sit here. Don’t move.” Then he joined Holmes and Hoover in the drawing room.

Van Dyke was sitting in his chair staring straight ahead. He didn’t appear to be moving. He didn’t even appear to be alive. Whatever his condition, it wasn’t anything Hoover appreciated. The dog stood ready to attack, a low growl coming from deep in her throat.

Holmes finished scanning the room, then grabbed a picture from the wall. He held it at an angle, which provided a perfect reflection of the man. Holmes set the picture aside, then checked for a pulse. He waved his hand before the man’s eyes, then prodded him in the chest. No response.

“No sign of smudging. Laws, report.”

The second in command came loud and clear over the MBITR. “Second floor clear. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Check the basement. We’ll stand by.” To YaYa he said, “You and Hoover clear the rest of this level.”

YaYa turned and motioned for Hoover to follow. Then, with his rifle at low ready, he pushed into the dining room, then to a library, then back around to the kitchen. He peeked into the sole bathroom on this level and opened the closets. All the while, he was aware of the nature spirit somewhere in the home. He didn’t know how he knew it, but it felt like a line of fear tickling his spine. He had to gulp several times as it felt as if it came closer. He wasn’t used to the fear. But then again, he also had never been possessed before. What the obour had done to him, at least what he could remember, had been so terrible it haunted most of his waking and sleeping moments more than any number of deaths or visions of dead bodies.

As he was moving back to the front of the house, Genie spoke breathlessly. “There’s something moving outside.”

“Define ‘something,’” Holmes said.

“Small tree with legs. Hell. Walking. Fuck me.”

“Easy, SEAL. Give us location.”

“Right outside your fucking window.”

YaYa entered the room in time to see Holmes run to the window to look outside. Then he raised his rifle as if to fire.

“Careful,” whispered Genie. “What the hell? It just fell to pieces.”

Then YaYa watched as the man in the chair turned to him and smiled. Then he stood and turned to Holmes, who was at the window three feet from him.

“Behind you!” YaYa fired a single round into the man’s lower leg.

Holmes spun, in time to catch the man as he fell forward. He held Van Dyke by the collar of his shirt and lowered him to the ground.

Laws and Yank burst into the room.

Holmes pulled Van Dyke into the middle of the room and laid him on his back. He was conscious and evinced both anger and pain.

Holmes pulled his mask free. “Ask the woman if there’s a medkit.”

“What woman?” Laws said. “She’s gone.”

“Genie?”

“Nothing here.”

“Fuck.” Holmes turned to Laws. “Find her. Take Hoover.” To YaYa he said, “Watch my six.”

Holmes removed the man’s shoes, then the blood-soaked sock on the left leg. Then he ripped the pants, exposing the lower leg. He had Van Dyke raise his knee, to allow for the bend to compress the vessels delivering blood to the affected areas. He glanced around, then grabbed the man’s shirt and ripped it, revealing a pale and white-haired torso. He balled a doily he found on a nearby table, pressed it into the wound, then wrapped it.

“What were you thinking?” he said to the man.

Van Dyke replied with gritted teeth, “That I wouldn’t be shot in my own home.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you in the head,” YaYa said. He could feel the thing inside the man. “It’s back in him, Boss. Whatever the fuck it is feels like greasy nightmare shit.”

“Be easy, SEAL, and plug him if he moves.” Holmes finished tying the field bandage. “What the fuck was that out there?” Then he saw the tattoo over the man’s left breast. Holmes pointed to it. “Triple goddess. Tuatha Dé Dannan.”

YaYa noticed the surprise in the man’s eyes. He leaned in and saw the tattoo. It was three crescent moons, interlocked. And whatever it was lived inside of it. As he watched, the tattoo seemed to pulse and grow larger. He felt its pull and took one uncontrolled step toward it.

“Fu-fuck.” He fought the urge to move forward with every part of his being. “Lives in the tattoo. Don’t—don’t touch.”

Van Dyke leaned his head up and met YaYa’s gaze. The man spoke in a strange language and YaYa felt himself fall. The last thing he saw was the superimposed image of a man made of sticks and leaves and an unholy glow where his eyes should have been.

Then he heard gunfire.

Then nothing.