SEAL Team 666: A Novel (11 page)

They’d flattened out so that they were no longer falling on top of each other, but side by side. Holmes counted down to zero and as a unit they deployed their chutes, each jerking upward as their velocity went to almost nothing. Walker managed to retain his grip on his weapon. He lowered it on the line, then reached up and adjusted his risers until he was following the others, five SEALs moving silently through the Chinese night sky toward their target, nineteen miles away.

15

MACAU. THE WITCHING HOUR.

They’d soared to within a hundred yards of a cruise ship glittering beneath them, laughter and music drifting from it at 0130 hours. The passengers would be witness to the events that were about to unfold if they were sober enough to grab a telescope or high-powered binoculars.

The approach was the trickiest part of the operation. They weren’t prepared for a water landing. A two-hundred-meter length of the second wharf had been designated as their landing zone. A building and rack of storage containers would screen them from the target if they played it right.

Overhead imagery had identified six roving guards and several static cameras, all easily overcome or ignored.

They landed one after the other, coming in low and flaring at the last moment, their black chutes and body armor blending in with the sky, then the close shadows of the night-drenched wharf.

Holmes took out a guard who was lighting a cigarette as they landed. With sound suppressors affixed to all the weapons, his two shots to the man’s chest sounded like loud coughs.

The team wrapped their chutes, harnesses, and oxygen tanks, then dropped them over the edge of the wharf into the South China Sea. After a weapons and commo check, they began to move.

The cargo ship was docked at the end of the wharf. A single guard stood beneath a light at the gangway. Like the other one, he wore the green uniform of the Chinese army. A billed Mao hat rested on his head. He carried an AK-47 at his shoulder. The thing about guards was that they spent their entire lives preparing for a single moment when they had to be ready. It was a minuscule number of guards who didn’t eventually succumb to the boredom inherent in such a task. This man was no exception. He’d found a place to lean, and by the rocking of his head, he was back and forth between the waking world and his place on Mao’s Long March.

Walker had the Stoner out of its case, the optics installed and ready. He helped the guard along his way with a 7.62mm nudge through the head. The guard’s hat popped off as his torso rocked back; then he slumped to the ground.

Another guard ran down the gangway. He’d been obscured by the railing. He was fumbling with a walkie-talkie on his hip when the Stoner coughed again. The QD sound suppressor was about a foot long and extended the barrel length of the Stoner by about six inches. The extra weight was a surprise to negotiate, Walker realized. The first round took the guard in the hip, shattering it and spinning him around. The second round took him in the upper back, exploding a fist-sized hole out of his chest.

That left three more guards somewhere aboard the ship.

Holmes ordered Walker to find a high point, then took the other SEALs and quickly made their way along the dock to the gangway.

Walker already knew where he was going to go. He’d spied a place atop one of the cargo containers that was hidden from view on both sides. Hoover had been ordered to stay with him, so the dog could watch his six.

It was a quick climb to the top and Walker lay prone as he aimed through his sight. If anyone showed up, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

16

MACAU WHARF.

Fratty loved his Super 90 more than he’d loved any other weapon. He slept with it. He’d filed down the trigger to make it as sweet, quick, and easy as gunfighter’s pistol. He’d never even fired a shotgun until he’d joined the SEALs. He’d concentrated on firing different automatic rifles and pistols, mesmerized by the ability to fire more and more and more rounds one right after the other. But once he’d felt the sheer power of the Super 90, it was love at first shot.

Holmes had him moving first in the formation. He swept left and right as he ran at a crouch. He knew the others were behind him. He didn’t need to look back. He trusted his fellow SEALs implicitly.

They arrived at the gangway unnoticed—Fratty, Laws, Holmes, and Ruiz. Both MP5s were deployed inside the line of SEALs, bookended by the Super 90s. The only sounds in the night were the waves lapping at the dock and the grand tinkle of laughter from the cruise ship just off the coast. On the ground lay both guards with gazes staring off to the sky.

Laws reached down and grabbed one of the walkie-talkies and shoved it into his cargo pocket.

Then they moved onto the ship. It wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was big enough to be seaworthy and to have a central hold. The access hatch was open and a dull light emanated from within. Lights were also on in the wheelhouse, but as far as Fratty could tell, there was no one in there. He reminded himself that he could still be on camera, so they had to move quickly and quietly.

Holmes and Ruiz remained back, while Laws and Fratty moved to the ship’s stern. Fratty took lead, with Laws moving left, right, and also rear, using the barrel of his MP5 to sweep through the possible dangers that might come into his field of fire. That way he wouldn’t have to re-aim—he’d already have barrel on target. They soon cleared the main deck, checking behind containers and over the edges of the rails in the event someone was hammocked on the other side.

The wheelhouse was two stories tall, common in pre-eighties ships. Many of those that were still seaworthy kept to the coastlines, but ships this size had crossed both major oceans since before the founding of America, bringing wheat, gold, weapons, and slaves to and from brave new worlds. This ship didn’t have any of those things in the hold. If they were to believe the Triad enforcer, it was something much worse. Fratty couldn’t wait to find out what.

Laws flex-cuffed the doors to the crew compartment and the engine room, both located at the base of the wheelhouse. The Teflon cuffs wouldn’t stop anyone from getting out but would sure slow them down. He stepped quickly up the stairs and shoved the barrel of the Super 90 against the window, only to find an empty control room. He opened the door and stepped inside, wary of tripwires and booby traps. They found the lights and equipment turned on. A cold cup of tea sat on a counter beside a crumpled package of Chinese cigarettes and a glass ashtray holding a mound of butts and ash.

Fratty paused to check the computer equipment on the bridge. He also checked to see what operating systems they were using. Overly simple. If he decided they needed to use the ship for something—like a battering ram or a diversion—he’d be ready. He reported this to Holmes through the MBITR. Holmes told him to stand fast for a moment while he reconned the hold.

Fratty stared out the window and tried to make out the FNG across the way. He was green and he still thought with his pecker, but he’d make it. That is, if he kept his head down and away from Holmes. There was some history there, even if the boy didn’t know it.

Try as he might, he couldn’t locate Walker. The boy had made himself invisible. That was a good thing. Fratty glanced around the control room. It was like pretty much every other modern ship. There was no steering wheel like the ones ships had in the old movies, but a host of digital readouts and analog switches instead. By the model numbers, Fratty could tell that the ship’s electronics had been updated sometime in the late 1990s.

His gaze fell on a calendar. Not a Chinese calendar, but a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders calendar. The Cowboys might be America’s team, but those cheerleaders were the world’s darlings. Fratty had seen their posters and pictures in more Third World shitholes and Arab palaces than he cared to count.

“Clear. To me,” Holmes said.

Fratty and Laws grinned. Now to see what was in the hold.

17

MACAU. CARGO SHIP’S HOLD.

The entrance to the hold reminded Ruiz of the West Virginia mines his family called home.
Black to go in and black to come out
, his father would say to his son when asked about the black coal dust that coated his every pore and crevice. He never really did come clean. The closest he’d ever come was one Christmas when the mine had shut down for two weeks. His father’s skin had taken on a burnished tan those fourteen days, the only reminder of his work in the mines the deep creases in his knuckles, which wouldn’t let go of their deep veins of black.

With a flick of a switch, the hold went from nightmare to green. Ruiz descended carefully down the steel-cored stairs. First into the hold, he stared eagerly through the green-tinged darkness, examining each shadow for movement or an untrue color, like a deeper green or a deeper black.

The hold ran the better part of the length of the ship—probably sixty meters. All of that space was filled with row upon row of wooden boxes. Each about six by six by six, they were packed so closely together that there was little room between the topmost crates and the deck above. Nor was there any room between the crates. That also meant there was no air circulation. Only here and there was there more than an inch or two, usually because of an odd-shaped crate. The Ruiz clan knew volumes about this subject, having been on one side or another of a cave-in where miners drank air like it was made from Dom Pérignon.

“Report, Ruiz.”

He described what he was seeing, standing on the second-from-the-bottom stair, waiting, watching, ever-careful, his Super 90 moving along his line of sight, an extension of himself.

A large area, probably a dozen feet across, was open at the bottom of the stairs. A single crate rested against a floor-to-ceiling wall made of more crates.

“Frat, get the rear. Laws, move next.”

Laws descended and swung the barrel of his MP5 around in a tight arc. Holmes came next, followed by Fratty.

18

MACAU. CARGO SHIP’S DECK.

Walker watched as all four of his teammates descended into the hold. Now they had no cover. Walker lifted his eye from the optic and looked around. He lowered his NVGs over his eyes and ran them through the spectrum, checking infrared and starlight. There was no one and nothing at his twelve, three, six, or nine o’clock, which meant that he wasn’t doing anyone any good.

Fuck it.

He folded the bipod and hooked it to his leg. He began to back down from his perch.

Hoover growled.

Walker spun around, searching, then realized that the dog was growling at him. He switched off his MBITR. “What is it, girl?” He moved to lower himself.

Hoover growled again.

“You think I should stay? Is that it?”

The dog sat on her haunches and cocked her head. The result was a perfect
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
look.

Walker grinned and hopped down. “Easy there, Wonder Dog. I know what I’m doing. I lost line of sight and need to get a better position is all.”

He began to walk away, but Hoover remained. Walker went another five feet, then turned around. “Well? Are you staying there or coming with?”

Hoover looked from the top of the cargo container where Walker was supposed to be and then back to Walker. Finally she made up her mind and padded toward Walker.

“There you go,” Walker said. “Good girl.” He reached down to pat the dog’s head, but the dog dodged away from him and took the lead. All Walker could do was follow. He kept his NVGs in place as he wondered who was in charge, him or the dog.

19

MACAU. CARGO SHIP’S HOLD.

Laws found a light switch on a pole that was part of the structural support for the stairs. He let Holmes know, and after a moment’s hesitation, Holmes told him to flip the switch.

The danger, of course, was that the light might be noticed by someone. But this wasn’t their usual mission. If this were a hunter-killer mission, they’d be in and out after taking down or capturing their target. But in this case, they were gathering intelligence. Had they been able to communicate to the Sissy, they’d be relaying the mission narrative as analysts viewed their real-time footage. But with the threat of Chinese signal interception, they were running old school and off the grid. All they had for backup was the new guy. At least he had the dog to supervise him.

Laws lifted the NVGs so that they rested on the top of his helmet. He closed his eyes as he flipped the switch, then cracked them open, letting light in a little at a time. Now that there was light, he could see more details of the boxes. He’d expected Chinese writing, but instead found himself reading English beneath a logo that displayed a pink and blue big top and an elephant:
SUWARNABHUMI CIRCUS
.

“Do you think there are clowns inside?” Fratty asked. Like Laws and the rest of the SEALs, he’d racked his NVGs onto his helmet as well. Even when he was whispering, his smartassedness came through.

“Shut it,” Holmes commanded. “Walker. Come in.”

After a moment, “Walker.”

“You still in position.”

“Roger. NTR,” came the boy’s voice, saying
Nothing to report
.

“We’re inside so if there’s any movement, anything, report.”

“Wilco,” Walker said.

Maybe the boy was going to work out after all. He was headstrong, but then most SEALs were the same way. As long as he could work within the team, he’d be all right.

“We need to crack one of these open,” Holmes said. “Ruiz and Fra—”

Suddenly a Chinese man rolled free from a space near the ceiling made from a stack of smaller crates. He fell hard to the floor and lay there for a long moment, long enough for Laws to think that he was dead.

The SEALs had reacted, aiming weapons in every direction except toward the man, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else. Then their weapons swung toward him.

The man popped to his feet. His arms shot in the air as if he were a doll on wires. No taller than five feet, he wore stained white underwear and an equally stained white tank top. Red and orange gore stained his chest. His hair was cut in a buzz. He had three-days’ growth on his face. He wore plastic-framed glasses, taped at the corners and the crosspiece. One piece of glass was covered with tape.