SEAL Team 666: A Novel

by Weston Ochse

  “That is not right,” Laws murmured.

  Fratty couldn’t get past the fact that the man’s blood seemed to be alive.

  “Fratty, check the body,” Holmes commanded.

  A cold sweat broke out beneath Fratty’s shirt. “But it said my name!”

  “I don’t care if it sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Check the corpse,” Holmes commanded in an even yet firm voice.

  They all heard Hoover bark at the same time. It wasn’t over the MBITR. It was close. Too close.

  They all turned toward the stairs and stared out the hatch in time to see Walker, who wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near there, spin to face someone.

  22

  MACAU. CARGO DECK.

  Hoover saved his ass. Walker spun toward the movement behind him. Three Chinese soldiers had managed to sneak up on him. Two wore the green uniforms of regular forces, while the third was dressed in slick blue camouflage. Walker wasn’t up on his foreign uniform recognition, but it was probably Chinese navy or marines. They’d had to have come out of the crew compartment at the base of the wheelhouse—must have broken through the flexi-cuffs. Walker knew that if he’d been in his original position, he would have seen them and been able to remove them before they became a threat.

  All this went through Walker’s mind in an instant; then he was engaged with the first soldier, who grabbed for his collar. Walker was forced to drop his Stoner, which clattered roughly down the stairs and into the hold. He let his opponent pull him from his perch on the air vent, then became a dead weight and fell into him. His opponent took several steps back as he tried to find his balance, during which Walker reached into the holster at the man’s waist, pulled out the Chinese Type 59 pistol, and shoved it over his opponent’s heart. Walker put four rounds into him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoover mangling the other soldier’s hand, teeth on pressure points, shaking it like a rabbit that needed to be dead. The only problem was that the hand was still attached to the man’s arm and the guy was now screaming. The man tried to punch at the dog with his free hand, but Hoover kept pulling and twisting to avoid it.

  Which left the blue-cammied man.

  As his opponent fell, Walker brought the pistol up, but the other man was too fast. He whipped around and cracked it out of Walker’s hand with a reverse hook kick. Walker’s hand went numb as the pistol flew into the sea.

  Then they were up close and personal.

  The man’s long, thin face bore a three-inch scar that went from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth. His eyes didn’t show fear, but projected the concentration one would expect from an expert fighter. He punched Walker twice in the chest, backing him up against the air-vent cowling, then front-kicked.

  The first punch tore the wind from Walker, but he rolled with the second. He saw the kick coming and dodged it so that it intersected the cowling. Then he turned and dropped an elbow on the knee. He tried to sweep his opponent’s base leg out from under him, but the man limped free.

  They each took a moment to appraise the other. This man wasn’t a simple People’s Liberation Army soldier. He had to be something more, one of their Special Forces or quick-reaction forces.

  Walker took the initiative. He fired two punches at the man’s left shoulder, knowing that they’d be blocked, then slammed the elbow of the hand that had worked its way into his opponent’s guard into his chin.

  The man reached out to grab his arm, but Walker was ready for that. His feet moved to enable his hips to pivot into a coiled spring. Walker leaned and turned, allowing the man to come even closer. Then he whipped his body around thanks to his savage pivot and caught the man in the jaw with his other elbow.

  The man stumbled backwards, but Walker wouldn’t let him recover. He stayed in close so he could reach down to his left thigh. He pulled his knife free from its sheath and slashed it across his opponent’s throat, so deeply that he could hear the man’s last breath sluicing through the slit.

  Walker put a hand on the man’s forehead and pushed him over.

  He fell, his fingers probing pathetically at the wound.

  Walker glanced over and saw that Hoover had subdued his man, now on his knees, his head down. The dog had the soldier’s hand in his mouth, teeth clamped down hard. Every time the man twitched or moved, Hoover would bite harder and pull back. She’d probably broken all twenty-seven bones in the man’s hand and was scraping them together.

  Moving quickly, Walker slit the man’s throat; then he stood and wiped the blade on the man’s uniform.

  As he was resheathing his knife, Holmes rounded the air vent. “What the hell are you doing out of place?” Holmes barely glanced at the dead men.

  Walker realized his mistake. If it was up to him he’d never do it again. Still, he hated being called out a second time. “I wanted to get a better view.”

  “This isn’t television. You don’t get a better view.”

  “But I—”

  “Shut the fuck up. We’ll talk about this later. Thanks to those gunshots, we’ll probably have the entire People’s Liberation Army on our ass in no time and we haven’t even found out what’s so special about this tug.”

  “Boss?” Fratty said, over the MBITR. “There’s something down here.”

  Holmes’s eyes flared. “Hoover, come. Walker, come.” Then he turned on his heel.

  Walker followed, just like the dog.

  The hold was pretty much as he’d expected. The only difference was the body atop the crate. It was hard to believe that just moments before, the man had been alive. His entire being had been drained of blood.

  Ruiz and Laws stood to one side. Fratty was closest to the box, but his stance made it obvious that he wanted to get away from it.

  “What’s going on?” Holmes asked.

  “Inside the box,” Ruiz said, failing to suppress a shudder.

  “In that one?” Holmes looked back and forth at his men. “Fratty, I thought I told you to search that fuckwad.”

  Fratty gave the box a long look, then asked, “Can I shoot it first?”

  “What? The box?”

  “Yeah.”

  Then they heard the scratching, like from the claws of a large animal. The box shuddered. Once. Twice.

  “Yeah. Go ahead and shoot the box,” Holmes said, narrowing his eyes and frowning.

  Fratty raised his Super 90 at about the same time the crate’s side exploded in a hail of splintered wood. A monster now crouched in the opening.

  The size of a pony, the beast had six legs, a thick, muscular body, and the head of a prehistoric saber-toothed cat. Spikes jutted from its body and head as if it were a dinosaur. Except it wasn’t a dinosaur, it was something that should never have existed.

  The creature didn’t pause to be admired. It reached out with a talon-tipped paw and swiped at the nearest moving object—Fratty. The swipe took off the left side of his face, sending ribbons of blood arcing across the hold. The SEAL fell on top of his weapon, blood pulsing out of his ruined face.

  Laws opened fire first. Nine-millimeter rounds slammed into the creature with little effect.

  Holmes joined in, as did Ruiz and Walker, all firing virtually point-blank at the fell beast. Its body shuddered with the impacts of the rounds, but otherwise it ignored them. It turned baleful eyes at them and swiped again.

  The SEALs kept out of the way.

  Laws’s magazine emptied first. He ejected it and slid another in place without breaking rhythm.

  Holmes did the same.

  The noise inside the hold was deafening. Cordite and dust filled the air. At first, the rounds didn’t seem to have any effect, but bits and pieces of the creature began to fly off with the multiple impacts.

  When Ruiz ran out of ammo for the 12-gauge, he dropped it, pulled out his SIG Sauer P226, and fired at the beast’s head.

  Walker, Laws, and Holmes reloaded and continued firing. Damage to the beast was evidenced by larger and larger pieces of it fal
ling away.

  Finally the beast fell to its knees, snarling. It tried to get its legs back under it, but it couldn’t seem to manage.

  Everyone took a step forward.

  Laws was the first to run out of ammunition. He dropped his weapon and let it hang. He snatched up a length of wood and began to beat the creature on the back.

  Walker ran out next, but managed to pull Fratty’s weapon free from beneath him. He fired as he drew it level, then kept firing.

  Finally Holmes inched up to it, shoved the barrel of the MP5 into the beast’s mouth, and let loose his last magazine, screaming at the top of his lungs as he did it.

  The beast lurched to the ground, held up only by the spikes jutting from its side and head.

  The silence was shocking after the violent assault.

  The thing lay still. Whatever it was, it was no longer a threat.

  Holmes ran and knelt beside the downed SEAL and turned him over. Fratty’s face looked like raw meat. His eyes were fixed.

  “Ah, hell! Ruiz, give me a hand. You two, Laws and Walker, get this ship under way. All this shooting couldn’t have gone unnoticed. We still need to do a search and the army’s going to be down on us any fucking second. Got it?”

  Both men nodded numbly.

  “Wait? Where’s Hoover?” Holmes asked.

  They spied her under the stairs, tail between her legs, terror in her eyes as she stared at the dead beast.

  They coaxed the dog out and let her smell the corpse. When Laws and Walker left the hold, Hoover gladly followed them.

  23

  SOUTH CHINA SEA.

  It took both of them a good ten minutes to remove the anchor lines. On the bridge, Laws was only able to start one engine. He got the ship moving away from the dock just in time. They could see police cars speeding in their direction, lights flashing. Laws pulled a walkie-talkie out of his cargo pocket, but it was silent. Whatever frequency the police were using, it wasn’t the same one the guards had tuned in to.

  After checking to ensure there were no recording devices, they removed their masks, slipping them around so they rested on the backs of their heads.

  “We got about twenty minutes before they get their shit together and get a boat in the water or a bird in the air to come after us. We need to do forensics on the computer,” Laws said, “but Fratty isn’t going to be able to help us any time soon.”

  “He’s not going to be able to help us at all,” Holmes said, coming onto the bridge with the dead SEAL hanging over a shoulder. He laid Fratty down gently, then removed his own mask.

  Hoover went to Fratty and whined. She lay down and rested her head on his chest.

  Ruiz came in behind him. He took off his mask, revealing a dour expression. “I checked another crate. It had another of those creatures but it was made of stone.”

  “Chinese tomb guardian. I recognized it from a description in the mission log,” Laws said.

  “Why’d it look like that … all pieced together from other animals,” Walker asked.

  “It’s a chimera. They’re not natural. Like a golem, they’re the creation of magic.”

  “Enough of the zoology lesson,” Holmes said to Laws. “How far are we away from getting off ship?” Turning to Ruiz, he asked, “Are the charges set?”

  Ruiz nodded. “Just waiting for input.”

  “It was the blood that brought it to life,” Laws murmured. He walked over to Fratty and knelt down. “Damn it. He was a good SEAL and friend.”

  “Had to be the blood,” Ruiz said. “That thing down there drank it or something.”

  “More like a sacrifice,” Laws pointed out. “I think it was more than the blood. It was probably the spirit too.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Walker asked.

  “I can’t. It just makes sense to me.”

  Walker stared at the body. He’d barely known Fratty, Anthony Fratolilio, and now he never would.

  Holmes pointed at a workstation. “There. Walker, turn that on.”

  Walker did as he was told. It was a regular desktop computer from a popular brand. But when it booted up, it was all Chinese. “Uh, Laws?”

  Laws came over and went through the boot-up. “This is just a cargo ship. It’s not a military or an intelligence vessel, so I’m not anticipating any serious software. How goes it outside, Ruiz?”

  Ruiz had moved to the window. “Right now, a bunch of police are standing on the wharf scratching their heads. You dispose of the bodies, Walker?”

  “Yes.”

  Holmes shook his head. “At least you did something right.”

  Before Walker could respond, Laws interrupted. “Damn. Some sort of firewall. I can’t do anything else. I speak Chinese, not computer.”

  Holmes checked Fratty’s side pocket and came out with a box that had several cables connected to it. “If he were alive, he’d be using this right now.”

  “What is it?” Walker asked.

  “It allows someone to break into a system by establishing an uplink to NSA. They have several geeks on standby who know exactly what to do.”

  “Can’t we do it?” Walker asked. “I mean, if it’s that easy, we could hook it up, right?”

  Holmes held the device in the air. Eight different wires hung from it. It had several buttons and one knob. Might as well have been a warp drive for a starship. “Let me see if I can get help.” As mission commander, Holmes carried the satellite uplink. They hadn’t wanted to use it, but now it seemed like they’d have to if they wanted any chance of success … any chance to give meaning to Fratty’s death. After a good minute, Holmes connected to an NSA switch, but couldn’t get any further. Although the others heard the exchange over their own headsets, Holmes told them, “NSA is currently supporting operations in Afghanistan. There’s a big push for HVTs right now,” he said, meaning high-value targets. “I’m told they’re unavailable.”

  “They wouldn’t be able to make any push if we hadn’t got Geronimo. Can’t they show us any love?”

  “Wait a minute,” Walker said, his eyes opening in wonder. “You got Geronimo. I thought—”

  Holmes waved off the question. “All of their ears are on the mountains in South Waziristan. They don’t have the ability to spare anyone. So they say.”

  “So they say,” repeated Ruiz.

  “Sounds like they lack the will.” Laws shook his head in frustration. “Is this how we end the mission? Did Fratty die for nothing?”

  Walker angled his head. He had an idea. “What if we get some help from someone else?”

  “Like 1-800-Free-Hacker?” Laws muttered.

  “No. More like CIA SPG.”

  “SPG is a good choice.” Holmes nodded. “Go ahead and call your girl. I’ll report to Billings while you see if you can get hold of SPG. Ruiz?”

  “Sir.”

  “See if you can contact our recovery vehicle. We might need it in a hurry.”

  “Wilco.”

  Everyone switched their MBITRs to private mode, so they could each establish private networks. Remembering his classes at the beginning of Phase III training, Walker went through the protocols, finally connecting to the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) operations center. He’d actually been to the command at Fort Bragg on one of their field trips and had met several of the operations officers, so when he heard the voice on the other end, he knew exactly who it was.

  “JSOC C and C.”

  “This is…” He covered his mouthpiece. “Who are we?” he asked the room.

  Laws raised an eyebrow. “We’re Ghost. You’re Ghost Four.”

  “This is Ghost Four, requesting connect to SPG Coronado.”

  There was a pause. Then, “Ghost Four, we don’t have you on mission. What’s your five?”

  Laws, who’d tuned in to the conversation on his own MBITR, shook his head.

  “We’re on mission. No location. I need the connect ASAP.”

  Another pause. “C and C requires your five for plotting.”

>   Laws was about to jump in but Walker held up his hand. “Burt, how many energy drinks have you had today?”

  “Ghost Four, do I know you?”

  “Two words. Pure Titanium.”

  This pause was much shorter than the others. “Connecting SPG, out.”

  Since SPG didn’t have a secure communications system tied into JSOC, Walker was routed to a landline. As it rang, he saw Laws mouth the words Pure Titanium?

  “It’s a strip club on Bragg Boulevard.”

  “I know what it is. What’s it have to do with old Burt and the energy drinks?”

  “Burt had so many energy drinks, he couldn’t get his pecker to wake up. He had three free lap dances and an invitation to a private room for his birthday and all it did was sleep. The girls started calling him Floppy.”

  “Ahh. That would do it.”

  A tinny voice answered on the other end. Walker asked for Jennifer Costello. After another wait, he heard her voice.

  “This is Jen.”

  “Hi Jen, this is Ghost Four.”

  “Jack? Wait—where are you calling from?”

  “No names,” Laws interrupted. “This is Ghost on mission, we need SPG assist. Can you go secure on your end?”

  “Give me a moment,” Jen said, efficient and official. A high-pitched whine shot across the miles, then dissipated. When she came back on the line she asked, “Is everyone safe?”

  “I’m safe,” Walker said. “Jen, we need an assist.” He looked meaningfully at Laws.

  “This is Ghost Two. We’re a man down and need to get access to a local computer. Can you help?”

  There was silence for a moment before she answered. “Glad you’re okay, Ghost Two. Good question. What do you have in the way of equipment?”

  Walker held up the device that Fratty had been carrying. There were no labels or markings. “A rectangular box with different cables connected to it. Our man would have used it, but…”

  There was a moment of silence. “So sorry, Ghost Team. Listen, is there a USB and a coaxial cable?” she asked.