by Weston Ochse
Laws nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“Except the boss said it in English,” Fratty noted.
The harder Walker tried to see the thing, the more impossible it became. It was moving so quickly that it didn’t seem like it could be real.
It struck Ruiz first. He went down, cursing into his MBITR.
Walker spun in time to see Ruiz falling to the floor, his foot jerked out from under him by a creature that couldn’t have been more than two feet high. It glared at Walker with baleful red eyes set deep in its flat face, then dashed around the corner of a table.
Walker brought his pistol up to fire, but there was nothing to shoot at. He locked eyes with the woman chained to the chair in front of the table the homunculus had disappeared under. She was so terrified that she quivered. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long. She quickly returned to sewing with the clack-clack-clack of the needle.
He found himself entranced by the way the needle pierced the gray material. It was made from something thick and pliable. The way she held the edge with her other hand made it look stiff as well. Almost as if it were …
“Skin!” he muttered.
Ruiz got back to his feet a second before Fratty went down. His finger must have been on the trigger, because as his back hit the floor, he let loose a 12-gauge shotgun round that chewed an angry hole through the ceiling.
Everyone on the team automatically turned toward the shot, which meant that they weren’t looking down.
Walker felt his feet ripped out from under him.
Holmes went down hard beside him; then the homunculus leaped atop him and hammered him three times to his face. The leader brought his MP5 around to brush the creature off, but it caught the weapon as it came around and stopped the movement of Holmes’s arms.
Walker brought his 9mm around in a wild sweeping arc and caught the homunculus in the back of the head. It flew hard against the wall and sank into a pile of offal, its long arms trailing like the tails of a dying kite.
He and Holmes got to their feet the same time that Laws opened fire with his MP5. A pair of tight three-round bursts were followed by shots from a larger-caliber weapon, somewhere deeper in the room.
“Triad. Saw them for a second down a set of stairs at the end of the room firing upwards. We’ve got the higher ground and are in defilade but stay low.”
Pistol fire returned. Nine-mil and .45 rounds struck the wall and ceiling above them. Walker kept his head down and helped Holmes to his feet. He glanced at the offal and realized that the homunculus had disappeared.
“San hong ji,” Laws said in Chinese. “Three Triad enforcers.” He took a step forward, fired another short burst, then stepped back. This one was rewarded by a shout. “Down one flight. We’re safe on defilade.”
Fratty suddenly moaned and sank to his knees. A hand went to his crotch. “Uggh. I hate those things.” Then he pitched forward onto his face. “Will someone”—his head slammed against the floor—“please kill”—his head slammed down again—“this thing!”
Walker finally saw the long orange arms of the homunculus as they held Fratty’s MBITR with both hands, using it to slam the SEAL’s head into the ground. Walker snapped his 9mm up and took a shot, catching the homunculus in the shoulder and sending it tumbling.
Hoover skidded over and tried to grab it, but just missed as the homunculus used its arm to pole-vault over the downed SEAL. It scurried beneath the chairs and tables in the sweatshop. Women whimpered as it passed, unable to scream through their stitched mouths.
Walker noted that these were the first sounds he’d heard them make and it made him realize how terrible their existence must truly be. Suddenly he felt anger pour through him. He’d felt helpless once and had vowed never to be in such a position ever again. An orphan at nine, he’d been placed in a series of orphanages, starting with St. Francis’s School for Boys in Manila. They tried to insist he speak Tagalog, withholding anything other than old rice and water for weeks until he was able to learn enough rudimentary words to please the Filipino monks who ran the place. He could still picture himself hammering his little fists against the stout wooden door of his closet-sized room, begging for food, milk, his brother, television, comic books … anything to sustain him and keep him from facing the reality that his parents were dead and his life was irrevocably changed.
Yeah, he hated helplessness and he hated whoever it was that had chained these women to their machines.
Hoover upended a woman in her chair as she scrambled to follow the two-foot-tall orange humanoid. The homunculus was fast like a cat on speed, where the Malinois was the canine equivalent of a linebacker.
Gunfire continued from forward of their position, both from the Triad members and Laws.
The homunculus launched itself into the air and began to transit the threads that crisscrossed near the ceiling. Like an Escher tightrope maze, as the creature pulled one thread, another tightened. Along the walls, the chests and stomachs of the eviscerated animals opened and closed with each tug and pull, making it seem as if they were coming to life.
Walker had been tracking the creature with his 9mm and got a clear shot. He fired and struck the thing through its leg. The momentum of the bullet sheared the limb free from the homunculus. As the leg went flying, the creature fell heavily to the floor.
But it wouldn’t be stopped.
Like a punch-drunk fighter, it pulled itself to one foot and locked its gaze on Walker. A tiny mouth with dozens of piranha-like teeth hissed at him. It staggered forward with outstretched arms, recognizing Walker as its tormentor. Then Hoover came flying through the air, grabbing it by the back of its neck. The dog shook the homunculus until it stopped moving.
Meanwhile, Holmes edged forward and joined Laws. They stacked on either side of a doorway, descending to what had to be a basement. Ruiz helped Fratty to his feet, while Walker crept forward.
Holmes fired.
Another cry went up from one of the Triad members.
Walker charged down the stairs. One large Triad member stood, reloading his 9mm. He looked up at the same time Walker put two in his chest and one in his head.
Walker paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced left and right. A single room with a couch, a table and some chairs, several cots with wadded blankets, and a television with slippery vertical hold. Three cigarettes still burned in an ashtray. Beside these sat Styrofoam cups filled with warm tea. Box lunches lay decimated at one end of the table.
If this was a place for the enforcers to wait, then there had to be two more things that he wasn’t seeing. One was a bathroom, and the other was a method of communicating with the outside. There could also be another exit. He took a step forward, then was roughly grabbed from behind.
“What the hell are you doing, SEAL?” Holmes wasn’t asking a question. “You wanna be a cowboy, go buy a horse. You wanna be a SEAL, follow my lead.”
Walker jerked his arm free. “He was reloading. I saw it and made my move.”
“You don’t have the right to make a move. We operate as a team. No individuals here.” Holmes glanced around. “Stay right here. Ruiz, you got our six?”
“Got it. Hoover took a bite out of the homunculus. I set wires across the stairs.”
“Good. Keep the dog away from the creature, please. Last time she ate one, she shit orange for a week.”
“Skipper? What about the women?” Fratty asked.
“What about them?”
Laws bent down to check the two Triad enforcers without holes in their heads. “We got a live one.”
“Fratty, leave the women for now. We’ll make sure a cleanup team comes and takes care of them.”
8
CHINESE SWEATSHOP.
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 car
e 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.
