by Weston Ochse
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For our Wounded Warriors
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people helped to make the book you’re holding (or viewing or listening to) and I owe them all a sincere thanks. Thanks first to Brendan Deneen for his trust; and to think I almost passed up the email because I thought it was another Bin Laden gag photo. Thanks also to Peter Joseph, Margaret Smith, Nicole Sohl and the rest of the Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s Press Team, including Tweetmaster Paul. Thanks to Thirdy Lopez for your invaluable Tagalog language help and to Chris Fulbright for the hookup. Thanks to Ma Tai Tai for teaching me Chinese. Some of it stuck. Thanks to Dick Couch and Mir Bahmanyar, whose work I relied on for my initial research, as well as all my friends on the teams. You know who you are, especially Brian and Tommy. My gratitude includes Drew Williams for early reading, Dave Lake for a solid heart, Brian Wallenius for a solid ear, and Eunice and Greg Magill for your invaluable reconnaissance. Thanks of course to my agent, Robert Fleck. Shout-out to the bands Justice, Creed, the Eagles of Death Metal, Guns and Roses, and QOTSA for rocking me through the writing process. And thanks most of all to Yvonne, without whose support, wisdom, and love none of this would be possible.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
EARLY MORNING. PAKISTAN. MAY 2, 2011.
DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME was stenciled on the side of the first of two Blackhawk helicopters assigned to the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, aka Night Stalkers. They were en route from Jalalabad Air Base in Afghanistan to the sleepy residential section of Abbottabad, Pakistan, where a million-dollar compound rested a mere eight hundred meters from Kakul military academy, one of Pakistan’s premiere army officer training schools.
SEAL Team 666 rode in the first helicopter. Comprising only five men and a dog, they were different in form and function from all other special-operations units. They wore black camouflage fatigues with dark gray Rhodesian combat vests. On their heads were Protec skate helmets modified for multiband inter/intra team radio (MBITR) headsets and microphones. Atop each helmet was a mount that held a pair of night-vision goggles (NVG). All but one of the SEALs wore gray ballistic face masks. Designed to protect the wearer from 9mm and shotgun hits, the masks produced a likeness similar to a hockey goalie’s.
On board the second helicopter, eleven members of SEAL Team 6 were ready to provide backup if necessary. Dressed similarly to the SEAL team in the first helicopter, none of them wore face masks and they did not have a dog.
“Five minutes,” the pilot announced over the radio system. The crew chief and his gunner prepared the doors and checked the M60 machine guns they could employ if necessary.
SEAL Team 666 heard the announcement through the MBITR and performed a last-minute weapons check. All five SEALs carried SIG Sauer 9mm automatic pistols. In addition to the 9s, two SEALs carried Heckler & Koch (HK) MP5s, two SEALs carried M4 Super 90 semiautomatic 12-gauge shotguns, and the fifth SEAL carried a Stoner SR-25 sniper rifle.
The dog was a Belgian Malinois and lay panting at the feet of the sniper, her mouth open in what could be considered the canine equivalent of an anticipatory grin. She wore a canine tactical assault vest. Spare ammo clips were tucked into compartments, as was a first-aid kit. The word HOOVER was stitched across the back of the vest.
SEALs lowered the NVGs into place, turned them on, and watched the world transform into a realm of phantom green. They postured, ready to deploy through the side doors. The dog stood, prepared to leave last.
The Blackhawk’s doors opened, letting in the cool Pakistani mountain air. The triangular compound came into sight in the SEALs’ green-tinged vision. The Blackhawk was coming in fast, just beginning to flare. But as the helicopter passed over and started to land, the green vision flashed white and all systems blacked out.
“Hold on,” shouted the pilot. “We’re going down.”
“Force field,” grunted one of the SEALs. “Does it every time.”
The SEALs held on to the static bars affixed to the ceiling and ripped their NVGs free, now useless since the force field had fried the electronics.
The pilot managed to autorotate the Blackhawk to a clear piece of ground outside the twelve-foot wall skirting the compound. The other helicopter landed nearby, steering clear of what took down the lead chopper.
One member of SEAL Team 666 vaulted out of the Blackhawk and placed a shape charge on the wall. He stepped aside while a man-sized hole blew through it with a dull whump. Then the two SEALs with the HKs deployed into the breach, weapons sunk deep into their shoulders, barrels leading the way. The SEALs with the shotguns came next, followed by the sniper and the dog.
The sniper set up in a corner of the yard where he had a field of fire that included the main entrance to the compound, the front door, and windows on all three floors. Outside the wall, SEAL Team 6 would ensure that no one got in, especially if anyone was planning on coming to the rescue of those they were about to kill. Ultimately, it was up to the sniper to ensure that no one got out. Hoover waited with him until the others gave the all-clear.
The other four slammed through the front door, pouring through in a routine that had been drilled into them so many times it had become second nature. Every corner of the entry room was controlled by the four SEALs and their weapons. When a bleary-eyed guard stepped into the room from a hallway, a 12-gauge slug disintegrated his face. The sound of the explosion in the tight quarters was stunning, but a thousand hours of close-quarters battle (CQB) training enabled the SEALs to ignore it.
With the communications gear fried as well, they had to resort to hand
signals. The fact that the gear no longer worked meant two things, however. One, it meant that the monitoring from the White House Situation Room, Coronado, Dam Neck, and a dozen other places could no longer be conducted, meaning any chance of a flag officer or politician trying to use a ten-thousand-mile screwdriver to fix something they didn’t like was impossible. And two, it meant that their target was most likely here, unless someone else had the capability of constructing a force field large enough to make a platoon’s worth of twenty-first-century electronics worthless.
One of the SEALs made a hand motion to the sniper and Hoover. The sniper returned the gesture and spoke a few words. The dog shot across the ground until she was inside and with the SEALs.
They cleared the first floor, shot three more guards, and cut the power and telephone lines.
The two SEALs with the MP5s stacked up the stairs. They paused at the landing between the first and second floors. A hand signal to the others indicated there was a door at the top. After ensuring the stairs weren’t booby-trapped, the lead SEAL gestured for Hoover to check out the door. The dog padded silently up the stairs and sniffed at the space between the bottom of the door and the floor. It didn’t take long for the dog to turn rigid, then glance worriedly at the SEAL beside her.
The SEAL gave a hand signal to the others. The other SEALs responded immediately, pressing themselves against the walls as they waited for the door to open. Then the SEAL gave another signal to the dog. They were now hair-trigger ready.
The SEAL posted nearest the door pointed his Super 90 toward the spot where the locking mechanism met the doorframe, then pulled the trigger three times. Amid the explosion of sound, light, and wooden splinters, he shoved the door open and flattened himself against the stairs.
The door opened into a hallway, where three men and something dark had been waiting. The men hesitated, still stunned by the explosion. The lead SEAL double-tapped all three, putting two in each chest. They didn’t have a chance, and as they sank to the floor, he could almost see the disappointment in their eyes.
But the thing behind them showed no sign of being stunned. It stepped forward. Glowing eyes. Taloned hands. Dark skin stretched tightly over elongated bones.
Demon.
The next SEAL in line emptied his MP5 into the creature. But it wasn’t enough. The demon roared as it advanced. Pieces of its face had been blown away, revealing old black and brown pitted bone. An eye had disappeared in a burst of dust along with a batlike pointed ear. But even as the lead SEAL watched, the face began to re-form. First the cheek, then the eye, and soon the rest would be as it had been.
The SEAL who’d breached the door dropped to his knees and emptied his shotgun in the direction of the creature’s legs.
The other two SEALs ran forward. The other MP5 opened up, sending fifteen 9mm rounds into the thing’s face. The Super 90 unleashed seven 12-gauge shotgun slugs toward its knees. This combination was immediately duplicated by the first two SEALs, who’d had a moment to reload.
Under the combined damage of fourteen shotgun slugs and thirty 9mm rounds, the demon had no choice but to fall to its back as its soulless body fought to re-form.
Hoover knew what to do. She launched forward, landing on the demon’s chest. Digging herself in place with the claws of her back feet, she opened her mouth wide, then snapped it shut on the demon’s throat.
Behind her, the lead SEAL let his MP5 drop on its sling and pulled his MK3 knife free from the sheath on the side of his right thigh. He knelt on the demon’s outstretched right arm and began to saw madly at the wrist. The hand came away just as Hoover jerked the jugular free like a dirt-encrusted vine. While one of the SEALs opened a canteen filled with holy water and poured it in the empty space in the demon’s neck, another pulled out a flare and jammed it in the center of the unholy beast’s chest. A platoon of Vatican exorcists couldn’t have done a better job.
As the SEALs and the dog worked their way back down the hall, the demon burst into flame and was soon consumed, turning to an ashy reminiscence of its former shape before dissolving into nothing.
They cleared the rest of the second floor with no further interaction.
Outside, they could hear reports of gunshots from SEAL Team 6, as well as those of their sniper, but they couldn’t concern themselves with that at the moment. Whatever was happening outside would be taken care of by those assigned to that mission. For now, all they had to worry about was their target on the third floor, someone the entire world had been searching for over the past ten years.
They repeated the same method for breaching the third-floor door as the second, but the door swung open to an empty, dark hallway. They stepped carefully into the hall, hugging the walls and wishing their NVGs were still working. Only two doors exited off the hallway. From the week of practice they had in the mock-up, constructed based on intelligence from the interrogation of an informant at Bagram Air Force Base Detention Facility, they knew the one on the right was a storage room. Their target was through the door on the left. Still, the storage room had to be cleared. Two of the SEALs did so, while the remaining SEALs and the dog made the left-hand door their universe.
Once the storage room was cleared, SEAL Team 666 converged on the last door.
The lead SEAL checked. It was unlocked.
They exchanged glances; then the SEAL turned the knob and pushed the door, which opened into a bedroom suite. The only light in the room came from a fire burning in a brazier on a central table. Behind this sat the man they’d come to kill. But instead of concerned, he appeared unfazed, drinking from a silver goblet.
“Down on the floor!” the SEALs shouted, first in English and then in Arabic.
The man made no move to comply.
Two SEALs moved into the room and searched the corners. They each raised a hand signal that meant clear.
Hoover stalked forward, growling, one stiff leg at time.
The lead SEAL kept his MP5 trained on the man. “If you won’t get down, then stand the fuck up.”
The man placed the goblet on the table and slowly got to his feet. He was very tall, with a graying beard that flowed to the center of his white-robed chest. His face had an almost cherubic quality that could have inspired a smile had it not been universally known that he was the mastermind of thousands of innocent deaths.
A shriek erupted as a woman charged from the inside of a wardrobe. She struck one of the SEALs in the back with the blade of a knife, but it snapped against his Kevlar body armor. The SEAL spun and caught her on the side of the head with the barrel of his Super 90. She fell to the ground, unconscious.
Another shriek erupted, this time from the other side of the room. Another woman leaped free of a wardrobe. This one took two bullets in the leg. The SEAL who shot her then kicked the knife free from her grip. It skidded across the floor and stopped beneath the bed.
The tall man started to change after the failed attack from the women. His face contorted. His features shifted and reshifted, changing the architecture of the human face into something else entirely.
The lead SEAL opened fire, but the bullets had even less effect on this figure than they’d had on the demon one floor below.
The other SEALs opened fire as well, unloading every slug and round they had into the creature. The MP5s ran out of ammo first. The SEALs let them fall on their slings. They opened metal canisters filled with holy water and doused the newly formed creature.
Where the water hit, smoke rose. A multi-octave scream filled the room, the sound of hundreds in agony coming from the mouth of one.
The lead SEAL knelt and withdrew an ancient blade from where it was secured in Hoover’s tactical harness. The blade was black with age. Etchings from a dead language adorned the surface. The shape was a like a tongue of flame, and as he held it toward the creature, the creature recognized the blade and showed fear for the first time.
The SEAL and the beast clashed in a mad jumble of punches, blocks, and kicks. One was fueled by the rig
hteousness of his mission and thousands of hours of practice, and the other was fueled by the infinite darkness that had filled its soul.
The remaining SEALs stood aside as their leader fought. Their hands flexed, each teetering on the balls of his feet, eager and ready. Even Hoover waited, her only dissent a constant growl of frustration for not being allowed to join in.
Somewhere outside, they heard a cry for help, then a gurgling scream. Whatever it was, there was nothing that could be done. Their mission was in this room, and until the beast was down, none of them would leave.
The combatants fell to the ground, but their new position did nothing to halt the frequency of their blows. Then suddenly the fighting stopped. The lead SEAL shot rigid, a taloned hand gripping his neck, his tongue jammed out from blue lips. One of the SEAL’s hands came up to pry away the hold on his neck, slipping down to the creature’s wrist to try and wrench it free. But the hold was too tight.
The creature climbed stiffly to a standing position, dragging the SEAL with it. As they stood, the SEAL brought his other hand upward, embedding the blade so deeply through the bottom of the creature’s chin that the point erupted from the top of its head. It stood for one long, mad minute, choking the life out of the SEAL as tightly as it could, then toppled. As the creature fell, it pulled the lead SEAL with it.
The other SEALs worked to lever open the thing’s hand from their team member’s neck. It took great effort, but they finally managed, and as they did, the SEAL took in a lungful of air.
“Mother of God,” he rasped.
They grabbed a blanket from the bed and rolled the creature into it, then rushed it downstairs and out the door. Bodies littered the yard. By the looks of them, they were reinforcements who’d been trying to assist the creature SEAL Team 666 now carried. The team’s sniper lay in the corner. Half of his face had been torn away. His single remaining eye stared into the Pakistani night. Something terrible had happened here and it had happened to one of their own.
But there was no time to mourn. They took him, exiting through the hole in the wall, and crowded aboard the second helicopter. They placed the demon on the floor of the aircraft and strapped their deceased sniper into a harness as the doors snapped shut. One by one, they removed their masks, sweat and grime coating their faces. The members of SEAL Team 6 were eager to assist where they could. With their target achieved, the SEALs rose into the air, leaving the first chopper behind. A hundred meters up and the first chopper exploded, denying it to the enemy. Once SEAL Team 666 returned to Bagram, a joint FBI-CIA forensics team videotaped the creature from all angles and took DNA samples. Afterward, SEAL Team 666 escorted the body to the USS Carl Vinson in the Arabian Sea, where they disposed of the demon in a private ceremony.
