SEAL Team 666: A Novel

“Listen closely. Musso discovered something. It looks like a man named Saw Thuza Tun ordered the tattoo suit from the Triad. Tun probably has a modicum of control. We don’t know how much. But you might be able to get through to him if needed.”

“Fuh … fuck that.”

“Exactly. So you need to find the focus. Do you know what that is?”

As Walker stumbled forward he remembered the conversation he’d had with Laws about the use of foci to channel and control spirits.

“Fo … cus?”

“Yes, Walker. A focus. It could be a ring or a bracelet or even a necklace. It could be anything.”

“Underwear. Bar … Barbie dolls.”

“What’d he say?” Billings asked someone.

“I think he said something about Barbie dolls and underwear,” he heard Musso say.

“Ceremonial,” Walker said, the word sounding like Theremonial.

“What’s wrong with him?” Musso asked.

“It’s all the magic,” Billings said. “It’s affecting him like this. We can only hope that it goes away.”

“Gothes away,” he said, stumbling even farther forward.

Suddenly a qilin turned the corner and ran down the street toward him. Walker tried to raise his rifle, but he didn’t have the strength. It was as though the buzz of magic had replaced everything.

The chimera ran straight at him.

Walker screamed in a cracked and broken voice as the beast slid to a stop in front of him.

But the creature didn’t attack. Instead, it sniffed him.

Walker had never been this close to a live one before. He could see the reticulations on the beast’s scales. Each one seemed to be intricately carved. Its eyes glowed a heated orange and its breath felt hot against his skin. Walker couldn’t take his eyes off the spikes. The chimeric equivalent of a puffer fish’s, they jutted out at all angles. One stumble, one bull rush, and he’d be impaled.

“Walker? Are you there?”

The qilin was startled. It jumped back and bared its teeth.

Walker reached up with a shaking hand and very slowly turned the radio off.

The creature sniffed his hand.

Walker didn’t dare move.

Suddenly the chimera grabbed him by the leg and began to drag him toward the center of the city. The viselike grip didn’t hurt, but there was no escaping it. Walker held on to his Stoner with both hands, hugging it to his chest, at the same time keeping his head from bouncing along the scorched earth.

They’d gone perhaps three blocks before a great horn sounded. The qilin stopped. It let go of Walker and raised its head. The sound came again. The

qilin glanced once more at Walker, then took off at a gallop toward the sound.

It took Walker a few minutes to get his strength back. He stood unsteadily. Looking around, he realized that the streets were widening. Where were the cars? Where were the homes? Everything was gone. What was even more astounding was that he hadn’t been eaten. Whatever had driven the mythological monster to take him had also freed him as it called the qilin back.

61

KADWAN. DAWN.

He stood, staring at the cricket pitch through the scope of his Stoner, for five minutes. There was nothing that could have prepared him for what he saw.

A thousand wooden crates rested on the pitch, aligned into grids. Atop each crate was a man, woman, or child, naked except for a dagger each held in their hands. The front row held three men he recognized—Laws, Ruiz, and Holmes standing on crates as well. Unlike the others, the SEALs were chained to the wood at each wrist and ankle, forcing them into the position of a dog. They’d been beaten. Blood was dripping from their faces onto the wood.

In front of them, looking ten feet tall, stood a man who could only be Chi Long. He wore chitinous medieval Chinese armor composed of green and silver scales. At his shoulders and feet were the heads of dragons in an aqua blue. They writhed upon his limbs, as if they were alive, but remained where they were. There was a red cloak beneath his armor. Tattered and scorched in places, it flowed several feet behind him like a battered bridal train.

But it was the face that transfixed Walker. Beneath a mane of luxuriously long black hair was the face of a dead thing. As if Chi Long had crawled from a barrow or crypt, the skin and sinew of his face was pulled back as tight as a drum. The skin had aged to the color of ochre, highlighting a mouthful of spiked teeth and fierce yellow glowing eyes.

Chi Long held a dagger in his right hand, and even as Walker watched, Chi Long pointed it to the sky that was beginning to brighten with the coming dawn.

Having seen what a sacrifice of blood could do to the contents of a single crate, Walker could only imagine what would happen if a thousand Karen did the same on the killing pitch.

Switching the selector switch to Fire, he took careful aim.

And fired.

A puff of dust exploded from the back of the demon’s head as the bullet tore through it.

He fired again, confused by the result.

He was rewarded with another puff of dust.

Chi Long turned toward him. As he watched, the holes made by his rounds closed.