SEAL Team 666

11

They piled into a white twelve-passenger van with smoked windows and the letters CPC on either side. They ran through the naval complex, finally stopping at a hangar that had a sign out front declaring it to be CORONADO PEST CONTROL.

They ditched their equipment in the front room and entered a conference room, where Holmes went over the mission step by step, laying out lessons learned and establishing their methodology. He stood at the head of the table, a line drawing of the sweatshop basement projected on the wall.

“At this point, we have more questions than we had when we entered. We have a nebulous threat to the U.S. We have a sweatshop that was creating tattoo bodysuits, at least according to the cleanup crew.” He turned to Walker and looked at him for the first time. “Just so you know, we have backup teams when needed. This one was filled with reserve intelligence officers using a hazardous-materials team as cover. They’ve assembled all the items in a warehouse we have near the Salton Sea so that they can be studied. Also recovered was almost ten meters of skin and several finished full bodysuits. The women were also removed and will be debriefed and treated by doctors at the same compound. Hopefully we’ll get more intelligence we can act on. But that’s for another mission.” He turned back to the team. “Anything else?”

When no one said anything, he sat at the head of the table and folded his hands. He looked at them for a moment. They were big hands, tanned by years of outdoor exposure. “Before we go any further,” he said, “let’s talk about that thing that happened on the op.”

Walker watched as the other SEALs all stared at him.

“Do you mean when I shot the beegee?” Fratty asked, trying to ameliorate the moment.

“Fuck that. I meant the other thing.”

Walker stared at his own hands, unwilling to look up.

“He means when you did the kickin’ chicken,” Ruiz said.

“I know what he means,” Walker said. He said the next words carefully. “I just don’t know where it’s any of your business.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laws lean back and glance at the others for a reaction. There wasn’t any. Just silence that dragged on for several minutes.

Finally Walker said, “Why do I have to tell you guys? This is private.”

Fratty shook his head. “Nice try, but that doesn’t fly. We’re a team and don’t have secrets if those secrets affect the mission.”

“And yours affected the mission,” Ruiz said. “Don’t get me wrong, it was in a good way. But that was this time. What about next time?”

“No offense, Twitchy, but I don’t want you on the Stoner doing overwatch and have you shake, rattle, and roll when I need fire.” Laws frowned and clearly wasn’t happy with having to say it out loud.

“There probably won’t be a next time,” Walker said softly. Then he added, “And don’t call me Twitchy.”

Walker waited for someone to speak, but they were all staring at him. Finally he acquiesced. “Fine. Okay. Here’s what I know: Nothing. It never happened before. It was … fucking terrifying for a moment there. When I opened my eyes and saw you guys there, I was so damn happy.”

“Billings believes that it’s the proximity to supernatural or evil that causes it to happen,” Holmes said. “What she was hoping for, what would be helpful, is if you can figure out a way to control it. It might happen again.”

At it might happen again, Walker looked up. The very idea was a terrible one, not to mention it happening enough times that he’d actually learn to get used to it.

“Where’d it come from?” Ruiz asked.

“Ahh, that…” Walker rubbed his face, got up, and filled a glass with water. He drank it and refilled it again. This one he brought to the table and placed it in front of him. He stared at it as he told his story.

“My father sold Navy supplies on the black market when he was stationed at Subic Bay. He pissed someone off. That someone turned out to be some sort of witch doctor.” He laughed hollowly. “Evidently the witch doctor was so pissed off at my father that he summoned a demon and sent it into me. Anyway, that’s what they told me because a lot of it is a blank spot in my memory. I remember some of it, but a lot more came back to me on the op.”

Walker held his breath as he waited for their laughter, but there was only silence.

Finally Holmes said, “Go on.”

“Six months later, I woke up. I was told about some things. Memories pop up and I don’t know if they’re real or not. Most of the time they scare the shit out of me.”

“You were possessed?” Ruiz asked.

“Like Linda Blair but without the split-pea soup.”

Fratty nodded and grinned. “That’s kind of cool.”

Walker gave him an unbelieving look.

“Ever tried to use that as a pickup line?” Fratty asked.

Walker smiled weakly and shook his head. “Think it would work?”

“Most definitely.” Fratty stood and mimicked picking up a girl, using Ruiz as the girl. “My name is Jack Walker. I’m a Virgo and a U.S. Navy SEAL. I like long walks on the beach, poetry by Keach, and, oh by the way, I was possessed when I was a kid.”

“Can I have your baby?” Ruiz joked.

They all laughed, and as they did, Walker began to feel better about it all. He wasn’t going to be called on the carpet for his actions, and it seemed he might even be accepted into the group.

“It’s Keats, by the way,” Laws pointed out.

“What?” Fratty didn’t get it.

“Keach was the actor. Keats was the poet. ‘Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream?’”

Walker stared in wonder. Was there anything that Laws didn’t know? It seemed like he had an answer for everything.

Laws saw Walker’s expression and waved it off. “I have an audiographic memory. Whatever I hear, I remember.” He paused, then added, “It’s a curse.”