Weston Ochse - SEAL Team 666 - A Novel

Ruiz found himself standing next to a printer, an ancient dot matrix. He said as much, then turned it on.

It was soon printing one line at a time, making a sound like the world was ripping apart.

“Recovery vehicle says we have to get moving. They have aircraft inbound in ten mikes.”

“I could write faster than this printer,” Walker said, tearing off one page.

“Can we upload to your server?” Laws asked.

“We’re not set up for that,” Jen said, “But let me check.”

Holmes went into action. “Ruiz. Set the charges for seven minutes, then meet us at the bow. Laws, you’ve got exactly two minutes to get what you need out of that computer.”

Laws glared at Holmes, then shrugged. “Tell your girl thanks,” he said, standing up. He jerked out the power cord to the computer, then pulled his knife from its sheath. He jammed it into the back of the computer and pried off the side panel. After a moment of sawing and breaking, he came out with the hard drive. “Possible capture by the People’s Liberation Army is the mother of invention.”

“Save it for the inspirational poster. You all ready?”

Laws and Walker nodded.

“Do you need me anymore?” Jen asked from across the world.

The sound of her voice made Walker long for home. Given a proper evac and recovery, he’d be there soon enough. “Leave the light on,” he said.

“Wilco,” she replied. Then, “And be careful, honey.” Then she disconnected.

Laws broke into a grin from ear to ear.

“Don’t say it,” Walker growled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it … honey .”

Walker rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. But that evaporated as he noticed Holmes standing over Fratty’s body. “I’ll carry him,” Walker said, hurrying over. He flexi-cuffed Fratty’s hands and ankles together the way he’d been taught, which would make him easier to carry both in and out of the water. Then he lifted the body and arranged the weight on his left shoulder.

Holmes watched him through the whole process. Then he went to the controls and checked the speed and direction. “Okay, let’s go. Masks on.”

They donned their masks, and then the three of them moved down the stairs together, Holmes in front and Laws in back, Walker in the middle with Fratty’s limp arm around his neck. The ship was about a mile out and they could still see the lights of the police cars on the wharf. There were more than a dozen of them now. The cruise ship was off the port side of the ship and less than a thousand meters away. Drunken revelers on the deck waved and shouted to them. They were close enough to be seen and maybe even recorded. But Twitter and Facebook, in addition to all the other social networks, would be scoured by the Ladies in Blue Shoes—a name for a special unit consisting of wives of SEALs past and present, who used state-of-the-art software to wipe evidence from public Internet spaces. They loved their jobs and treated each mission as if they were storming the beach themselves.

When they reached the bow, Holmes secured a rope and dropped it over the edge. Ruiz came running over a moment later.

“Three minutes,” he said.

Holmes, who’d removed the canine harness from Fratty earlier, secured Hoover in the harness, then went over the edge. The dog had been thoroughly trained in water operations and accepted the treatment like a professional.

When they were all safely in the water, they formed a square with Fratty floating in the middle. They kick-paddled away from the boat. They weren’t frantic, but they were efficient, each knowing that if the ship went up, they needed to be a safe distance away.

Walker began to feel a strange current beneath them, as if something large, some leviathan from the deep, had come up to glimpse the night air. He could almost feel its weight as the water was relocated beneath him. And when it touched his foot, he was ready for the submarine to take them home.

24

SUBIC BAY. TWENTY-SIX YEARS EARLIER.

They said it was a Hantu Kabor—a grave demon. Sometimes he could still feel its oily fingers slithering through his thoughts. The feeling was so acute, it felt as if it had never left. And in those panicked moments, he experienced the return of the helplessness that had so consumed his life in the months it had owned him.

He’d been walking home from school when it had entered him. He remembered the day perfectly. School had let out. He’d ended up leaving late because of detention. The streets were empty except for the occasional passing car, and even then, the windows were so heavily tinted that he couldn’t see the people inside. The feeling of being alone crept up on him, until finally it was the echo of his own footsteps against the brick-walled buildings that brought his fear alive.

The sky hung heavy with the threat of rain, lugubrious gray clouds ready to let go. The crisp air swirled with a cold wind that carried trash down the street in blustery gusts. Jack remembered the feeling of being watched. He’d turn around to check, but there was no one else there. Where the feel of invisible eyes touched him, it left spots that glowed with cold.

Then came the whispers. At first they were unintelligible. Multilingual, he could catch snippets of Tagalog, English, what sounded like German and Chinese, plus thousands of other words. Always on the edge of comprehending, he found himself trying desperately to understand as the whispers chased him down.

The first time he tripped, he blamed it on the uneven sidewalk. He fell hard to his knees, skinning both of them so that blood seeped from the dirt-encrusted wounds. He climbed back to his feet and began to run. The whispers grew louder. He thought he heard a single word— Jackie . Then he fell a second time, the pressure of an invisible hand between his shoulder blades propelling him forward.

He got up slowly as the wind increased and the voices grew louder. Now and then he could pick out a word he recognized, but he couldn’t string enough together to figure out the meaning. He’d begun to cry, although he wasn’t sure when. His knees and hands burned with fresh wounds.

He’d dropped his books somewhere behind him and now he staggered toward his home. His hands were out in front of him and dripping blood; he had only two more blocks to go when the whispers and the wind stopped so completely it was as if the world had just been paused.

Jack stopped himself and turned. He saw only buildings with gaping empty windows, the forlorn street, piles of trash and leaves as still as if the world had become a snapshot. He was entirely alone.

Alone.

Except for the breathing.

Imperceptible at first, the sound grew in strength. Low huffs from a beast, the sounds emanated from right behind him. Afraid of what he might see, he still couldn’t help turning around, trying with increasing desperation to see what wasn’t there.

Then he felt the other , as if a greasy hand was laid on the back of his neck. He screamed and tried to shake it off, but it increased in weight and ferocity. Suddenly it shoved him to his knees. His head slammed against the ground. His back arched and the greasy hand slid inside the back of his head with an explosion of pain so great his jaws couldn’t make any sound.

Then his universe exploded like a sheet of black glass and fell away.

At that moment he could understand the voices. They’d been telling him to run. They’d been telling him to get far away. Most were sorry that he’d joined their ranks. But there were some who were happy to have his company. Locked inside the limitless mind of the grave demon, they were eager to live again. Jack represented a newness they could eat and consume, and they would take his memories and make them their own until there was nothing left of little Jackie Walker or until eternity burned away.