Agent Stephens came down the stairs wearing his FBI jacket, three-hundred-dollar loafers, and wool pants. He had the clean features of a football player, a frat boy, or a serial killer. He wore yellow ballistic glasses. Behind him came the ICE agents in their own jackets. They went straight to the bodies and began checking for pulses.
Laws merely glanced at him before asking Ruiz, “Got something for that door?” He snapped a new clip into his submachine gun.
Ruiz cocked his head. “Not for the door—too thick—but look at what it’s set in.”
“That can’t be drywall. Are they that stupid?”
“I’ve seen it before.”
“Could be reinforced with MDF. They would almost have to in order to hold the weight of the steel.”
“So can we go through the wall?”
“I can do that,” Ruiz said.
Agent Stephens looked from one SEAL to the other. “Any word on how many we’re facing?”
Laws shook his head. “Nada.”
Agent Stephens shifted his expensive loafers. “I’m used to having more information.”
“I feel your pain,” Laws said. “This is more of a military op, but
“Is that what you call my participation?” Agent Stephens laughed. “I just don’t want to get in your way.”
“Me neither,” Laws admitted matter-of-factly. “Just follow our lead. We’re going to do this the right way and take our time. We’ve already lost the element of surprise, so it’s not like they don’t know we’re here.”
Agent Stephens checked the chamber of his pistol and nodded.
“Right now, our Snakehead friends and their associates from the Temple of Heaven Importers don’t know what they don’t know. They don’t know what happened to these guys. They just heard some gunshots. Even though they know someone is here, they don’t know who, so we still hold an element of surprise.”
“Are we sure anyone else is behind that door?” Agent Stephens asked.
“This is a Snakehead safe house. They’re the preeminent human smugglers on the planet and have been doing it longer than America’s been a country. You can tell by looking at it. Triad soldiers guarding it, here to protect the interests of whoever set this up. Behind that door is the rest of the safe house, which should be filled with either illegals or people they’re moving into the U.S.”
The ICE agents joined their group.
“Find any pocket trash?” Laws asked.
“Nothing specific. They were pretty sterile,” said one.
“They were from Chinatown. San Francisco,” the other ICE agent said. “Tattoos identified them as Temple of Heaven forty-niners. We’re definitely on the right track.”
Laws nodded toward the door. “Ruiz, you good?”
Ruiz had been busy attaching det cord in an upside-down L shape. What looked like a cooking timer was affixed to the wall beside it.
“How far below the surface are we?” Walker asked.
“About fifteen feet,” Yaya answered.
“See how the floor slopes towards the door?” he said, pointing out a pool of blood that seemed to be sliding away from one of the bodies.
“What about it?”
“I’m wondering how deep this might go. I doubt the GPR can see more than ten or fifteen feet into the ground. They might have a way out.”
Walker glanced at the blood and watched as it slid with gravity. “Good catch. Be ready then.”
“This could be an old pirate hideout,” Surrey said, walking up to them as she adjusted her body armor. It was more than snug around her waist and bosom and seemed to be cutting off circulation.
“As in sunken treasure?” Ruiz asked.
“As in sunken treasure,” she repeated. “They’ve found hideouts like this from back in the eighteen hundreds.”
Laws eyed the explosives that were ready to blow. “What does it mean if this is an old pirate hideout—what should we expect?”
“None of this,” she said, waving her hand toward the walls and the ceilings. “Although they could have improved upon it, I doubt they would. I’d expect a cave, with maybe a concrete or wooden floor. They’ve probably since blocked out the ocean, but if I was them I’d have left some method to get in and out secretly. That would allow someone to anchor a boat offshore and come inside without ever having to surface.”
“A drug runner’s dream,” the FBI agent said.
“Or a human smuggler’s dream,” added one of the ICE agents.
“Okay then. So expect an unconventional space on the other side of that door,” Laws said. He pointed to the older of the two ICE agents. “You stay here and guard our six. The rest of you follow behind. We’re going to go in hot. There are probably innocents down with the beegees, so show some fire discipline.” He went to turn, then thought of one more thing. “And don’t any of you get so excited you shoot one of us in the back.”
Yaya and Walker stood next to each other, ten feet from the steel door. Ruiz leaned his back against it. Laws stood off at an angle to the det cord that would allow him to immediately see inside the room. When everyone appeared ready, he nodded to Ruiz.
Five seconds later an explosion halfway between a rip and a bang peeled back the wall from beside the door. A dull red light emanated from the other side, but no one had a chance to check it out because they came under immediate fire.
Bullets bit into the table and counter in the kitchenette, sending chunks of Formica and pressboard popping into the air. The ICE agents and Agent Stephens ducked, but Surrey and the SEALs let the bullets fly. Finally the barrage subsided.
Walker started to approach the opening and felt the now-familiar buzz of electricity. With each step, it got stronger and stronger. By the time he was halfway to the hole, he was completely frozen. His legs quivered, but wouldn’t move. He held the 9mm at the end of paralyzed arms. Even his teeth vibrated. Had this been in the middle of a firefight, he’d have been full of holes.
“You okay?” Laws asked, heading to the same destination. But when he saw the fear in Walker’s eyes, he stopped and turned back. “Walker?”
It was as if the electric hum had invaded his bones.
Laws grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. “Is it the feeling? Is there something in the room?”
Walker tried to answer, but he lacked the capacity to move his mouth.
Laws smacked him across the face.
Walker felt some of the buzz decrease. “More,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.
“What the hell is going on?” Agent Stephens asked. “Is the boy scared?”
Laws shot a heated look at the agent, and the man shut up. Then Laws turned his attention back to Walker. “Here goes. Sorry, bud,” he said, then he hit Walker four times in a row with the flat of his hand.
On the fourth blow, it was as if he’d been released. Walker sagged, almost falling to his knees.
Laws helped him so that the metal door was between them and the other side.
“Jesus hell!” Walker finally managed.
“Looks like his spooky meter is turned all the way up,” Ruiz said.
“Walker? You okay?” Laws asked.
Walker really didn’t know. Was he? He didn’t feel anything now. He nodded and rubbed the side of his face. “Yeah. I’m good now.”
Walker slid to the right of the door. He spooled a cable from his cargo pocket, screwed it into a transmitter, and slid it around the corner. He held it in place with his left hand, pulled out a tablet, and turned it on. It took about thirty seconds, during which time Walker stuck his pistol around the corner and fired several times. It felt good to do something, especially since there was a moment there when he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to do anything … ever again.
When the tablet was finally synced with the sniffer, Walker and Laws took in the fish-eye image of the other
