SEAL Team 666

8

Walker stayed where he was told, but he was fuming over Holmes’s treatment. He could feel the tickling of his cheeks as they burned red with embarrassment. But now he heard something that took his mind off of his own plight. What was it they were going to do with the women? Take care of them? What did that mean?

Before he had a chance to get an answer to his question, Laws had the live Triad enforcer by the back of the neck. He tossed the man into one of the chairs. Yanking his arms behind his back, Laws took flex-cuffs from his utility pocket and ratcheted the man’s hands together.

The Triad enforcer’s hair was cut short on top and had been shaved on the sides, like a Ranger high-and-tight. Air and water dragon tattoos climbed from under his shirt up the sides of his neck.

Deep red blood soaked his white collared shirt where he bled from a shoulder wound. Laws prodded at it until the man screamed for him to stop. He tried to stand, but Laws shoved him back down.

“Bu zuo!”

The man’s eyes shot to Laws. Walker watched as understanding dawned on the Triad enforcer that this white guy could speak his language.

Laws grabbed one of the cigarettes still burning in the ashtray. He held it to the guy’s mouth and let him inhale. When he was done, he smiled amiably as he allowed the red-hot tip to hover teasingly next to the man’s wound before he replaced the cigarette in the ashtray.

“Ni jiao shemme mingzi?” Laws asked.

Fratty came in and joined them. He took another seat and snatched one of the cigarettes out of the ashtray. He took a puff, then coughed, tossing the cigarette to the floor. He pulled his pistol and shot the cigarette. “Shit tastes like ass.”

“Ni jiao shemme mingzi?” Laws asked again.

“Hong,” the man said.

“Says his name is Hong,” Laws said in a monotone. “But he’s lying. It could be a nickname, but that’s about it. Means ‘red.’ Like calling your kid ‘yellow’ or ‘green.’”

Holmes wore a deep frown. “Just find out what’s going on here.”

“Any more parts of the homunculus?” Laws asked.

“Saved the best for stew,” Fratty said.

Laws grinned. “Let me have it.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.”

Fratty moved to get up, but Walker stopped him. “I’ll get it.”

But before he could move, Holmes said, “Stay where you are, SEAL.”

“Sam,” Laws began, using the leader’s first name. “Maybe the kid could—”

“Stay out of it, Laws. He needs to learn not to act impulsive. Impulsive gets you killed and I’m tired of losing impulsive people.”

Walker ached to say something, but gritted his teeth instead. His hands hurt from where he was gripping his pistol. He decided to holster it and wait out the team leader. It was clear that they were going to have a conversation about this later, and he was more than ready for it.

Fratty sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll get it then.” He climbed to his feet. He was gone for a few moments. When he returned, he had most of the homunculus in his hand, minus an arm and a leg. Hoover followed him with a hungry look.

The Triad enforcer immediately stiffened. His eyes darted back and forth from the dog to the creature and back. He seemed to be afraid of both of them.

“Maybe Hoover wants to sit on his lap,” Fratty suggested, chuckling.

Walker had been watching the Chinaman’s eyes. They kept drifting to a door in the corner of the room beside the cot. Walker stared at the spot for a long moment, then made a decision. He pulled his 9mm from his holster, loaded a fresh mag, and cocked the trigger back.

“What are you doing, SEAL?” Holmes asked.

“Going to check out the room we never checked.”

Fratty shot to his feet. Holmes stared toward the corner.

“What is it?” Laws asked.

“Has to be a bathroom or an exit or both,” Walker said. “If we hadn’t been playing freeze tag I might have checked it sooner. Will you unfreeze me?” he asked Holmes.

Instead of answering, Holmes moved past Walker without a glance. He silently commanded Fratty to set up with his Super 90. Holmes posted himself beside what everyone could now see was an almost invisible line in the drywall. On the silent count of three, he shoved it open.

A fourth Triad enforcer stood with a pistol aimed toward where the door had just been.

Fratty opened fire, smacking the man with two 12-gauge rounds that threw him against the sink, shattering the mirror behind it. He fell to the ground amid broken glass, blood, and bits of pulverized bone.

“Clear,” Fratty said.

Holmes spun into the room. “Clear.” He checked the pulse of the enforcer, then walked back into the room. As he passed Walker he said, “Freeze tag.” Then he chuckled. “That’s funny.”

For the next thirty-five minutes, Laws interrogated the enforcer. He didn’t water board. He didn’t cause any pain. Several times he led the man to believe that he might get hurt. In fact, Laws kept two narratives running—one in English to explain to his team what was going on, the other in Chinese as he applied his techniques.

He’d wanted to use Hate of Comrades approach. “It’s best used when several people are captured together because you can play them off each other, but since Fratty made sure that absolutely no one survived, that option is not on the table.”

Fratty blew a kiss in response.

“But in the case of ‘Hong,’ here, I can talk about how incompetent he was and how his inadequacies caused him to get caught and the rest of the team to get killed. This we call Pride and Ego Down. If done right, it creates in our prisoner the need to defend his choices, behavior, and actions.”

It took a while for Laws to get the technique working. At first, the enforcer was pointedly trying not to pay attention. But soon, after considerable badgering and Laws openly laughing at him, the enforcer started to become angry. Eventually he began defending himself. Rather than ask him questions, Laws laughed at him. He told the team to laugh with him and they did, everyone laughing at the enforcer.

Walker had been so entranced with Laws’s dualspeak that he’d forgotten how angry he was with Holmes. But when they were all laughing, he’d glanced around at Fratty, Laws, and then Holmes, and the sight of the leader reminded him. He laughed, too, but it was hollow.

Then Laws performed a switch. He told the guy he wasn’t going to ask him anything else. After all, someone so incompetent couldn’t know anything important enough to interest a team of U.S. Navy SEALs.

But as he began to back away, Holmes jumped in as if it were choreographed. They argued for a few moments, with Holmes poking Laws in the chest. Finally it was Laws who returned to the enforcer.

He pulled up a chair and sat on it like a cowboy as he began to explain what he was about to do. But he kept his voice low, as if he was explaining something so miserable he didn’t even want to say it out loud.

“Now watch him,” Laws said. “Look how he’s going to begin shifting nervously, then he’s going to get visibly upset. It’s at that point, based on what I’ve been able to establish according to his baseline, that I expect him to tell me what he knows.”

Then Laws began speaking in Chinese. Low at first, it was as though he and the enforcer were old friends and he was forced to explain something he didn’t want to.

Walker watched with fascination as the enforcer displayed the exact behavior Laws had predicted. Then he glanced sharply at Holmes.

“I just told him what you said. Make sure you get this right, boss.”

Holmes rushed to Laws and grabbed him by the arm, lifting him out of the chair.

“You will fucking take him out into the busiest street in Chinatown and put a billboard over his head. I want the billboard to talk about how incompetent he is. I want it to tell everyone that he was so fucked up that he’s the reason everyone else got killed. Then I want it to say that the U.S. government thinks that he’s a hero because of all the help he provided.”

“But he didn’t provide any help.”

“Of course he didn’t, but only we know that.” He pushed Laws back toward the enforcer. “Now get back there and tell him what we’re going to do to thank him for being the only surviving member of his gang.”

Laws dramatically shook his head and sat roughly down. As he began to explain to the enforcer what Holmes said, the Chinaman sat forward and tried to explain himself. But Laws laid his hand on the enforcer and shook his head, pointing back at Holmes with a thumb.

This went on for a few more minutes; then Laws reached the point he’d been waiting for. The enforcer sagged in his char. Laws gave him a cigarette. As the enforcer puffed angrily, he told what he knew in order to prove he wasn’t as incompetent as Holmes thought he was. The last thing he wanted was to be a billboard dummy.

When he was done, Laws turned around. “Okay, here it is. The boy spilled his guts. There’s a limit to what he knows. He’s low-level. He’s not even an enforcer. He’s a soldier—a forty-niner—for Temple of Heaven Importers. Triad. So he only knows what he overheard.”

Holmes nodded. “Give.”

“I got some information about this place as well as something about a ship.”

“Where’s the threat?” Holmes asked.

“The ship, I think. This is nothing more than some hocus-pocus sweatshop, where they make special suits for Shan Zhu, or the Mountain Lord—Triadspeak for head of the gang. The women were brought over by the Shi Tou, Snakeheads, and were guarded by these men. Most likely the women were destined to be some random food server at one of the billion Chinese restaurants, but ended up here. Hoover’s little orange buddy here worked cleanup. The homunculus kind of freaked the men out, which is why they kept to themselves down here.”

“What’s up with the suits they’re making?”

“These are tattoos from dead folks. He says they get them from all over, but he doesn’t know what they’re used for. All he knows is that they are sewn onto silk, packed away, and shipped out.”

“Where?”

“He has no idea.”

“And they’re for the Mountain Lord?”

“Head honcho, yeah. But I think he’s just attributing it to the Shan Zhu. I don’t really think he knows. Kind of like us saying that we do it because the president wants us to.”

“But in our case that’s true,” Fratty pointed out.

Laws flashed a grin. “Still, he doesn’t know. I can tell.”

“Okay,” Holmes said, staring thoughtfully at the prisoner. “What about the ship?”

“All he knows is it’s something big. There’s been a buzz about it for months. Some guy reached out and offered them a shit-ton of money for one of these suits.”

“He said ‘shit-ton’?”

“In his own way. This mystery guy gave a demonstration to the head honcho, which impressed the hell out of him.”

“What was the demonstration?”

“No idea.”

“Where’s the ship?”

“Macau.”

“Any other information about this ship?”

“None.”

Holmes glanced around the room and nodded slowly. Finally he said, “Okay, SEALs. Let’s pack it up. Ruiz? Call in the cleanup.”