SEAL Team 666: A Novel

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?”