Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (3 page)

Rat glanced at the downed American. “
Damn it
!” he yelled. The firing died down, the clicky sounds of the AKs vanished, replaced by the deeper chop of the American weapons. The fight was over in less than a minute. Some men lay dead and others writhed on the floor, dying. The one he had spared sat in the corner with his superficial wounds. Three of the Americans rushed around the room disarming everyone and ensuring that there was no additional threat.

“Everyone okay?” Rat asked.

The others responded by number, through twelve, with number nine silent.

“Somebody get over here and keep an eye on this son of a bitch. He shot Nubs in the face then threw his gun down. Banger, you get Duar? He charged out the back of the room.”

“Didn’t come out this way, sir, “ Banger replied.

Rat frowned and looked at Groomer, who had put Acacia on the floor near the door. Groomer grabbed one of the other members of the team. “Stay with him. Nobody touches him at all.”

He nodded.

Groomer followed Rat toward the door. Rat approached cautiously, confused by where Duar could have gone. He kept his weapon trained in front of him. Groomer was right behind him and to his left. “What we got here, Groomer? Where’d he go?”

“Must be between us and the door, right?”

“Must be a soft wall here somewhere.”

“Or floor.” Rat stopped. “I don’t like this. They can hear us. Might shoot through a wall. Robby!”

Robby ran to where they were.

“Give me the Ultra Wide Band.”

He took the device out of his backpack and Rat held it to the walls, then the floor. There was some ambiguity about what was behind them, some space, or odd construction, but no people. No stairways, no ladders, no obvious escapes. “What the hell,” he muttered to no one in particular. He turned the device off and handed it back to Robby. “I think I’ll ask that mother who shot Nubs where he is.”

Groomer stopped and started backing out of the hallway. “And what if he doesn’t want to tell us?”

“Post somebody here by the hallway entrance in case he or someone else comes back. If he left in a tunnel, he may have more men there.”

“Will do,” Groomer replied.

Rat reentered the main hall with its stucco walls and exposed beams. It was a well-constructed building. Rat wondered what it had been, and why it was abandoned. He looked at the dead men on the floor. He was completely unmoved. He had no sympathy for terrorists. They were subhuman to him. The bodies lay all over, bright red blood pooling around each of their bodies and going dark when exposed to the air for a few seconds. Each man had fallen in his own haphazard way. Several still had open-eyed surprised looks on their faces. The Americans stepped around them, making sure they were dead. Robby, one of the two black team members, was videotaping the entire scene with a miniature digital video camera. His radioman’s rating only scratched the surface of his vast capabilities—he was a technological wizard.

Rat saw Robby videotaping. “You call in the helos?”

Robby nodded. “Fifteen minutes.”

Rat checked his watch and considered whether he had time. “Toad, take six men and check every inch within a hundred yards of this building. That asshole has an escape tunnel or some way out of here. Find out where he came out. If you find anything, any sign of life, let me know.”

Toad nodded, grabbed five men, and hurried outside.

“All right, where’s that live one?” Rat asked, stepping over a dead terrorist. “And where’s Acacia?” He came upon Nubs. “
Damn
it,” he said, stooping to examine his wounds. He pulled the desert scarf up. Nubs’s face was ruined. The two AK-47 bullets had entered just above the lower jaw on the left side of his face. The exit wounds in the back of his head were massive. Death had been instantaneous. “I’m going to rip somebody’s head off,” Rat said, marching to the only living terrorist in the room. He fought the building fury he felt, the white anger that occasionally got him in trouble.

Acacia stood and followed Rat to the corner.

Rat stared at the man on the floor. He waited for the man to look up at him.

Rat glanced at the wooden table strewn with papers. “Somebody get all these papers. We’ll let intel take a look at those out on the ship.” He turned to Acacia and spoke in Arabic. “You okay?”

Acacia looked him in the eyes. “Speak English. I don’t want him—” he said, indicating the surviving terrorist, “—to understand.” He went on in English. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I came to get Duar. You know where he is?”

“No.”

“He was here, wasn’t he?”

Acacia flared angrily. “I wouldn’t have sent the signal if he wasn’t. I am not
stupid
.”

“Then where is he now?”

“I don’t know.” He looked around the room at the dead men. “If he is not dead,
you
must have let him escape. But he cannot have gone far.”

Rat regarded the prisoner. “I’m not leaving without Duar, even if we have to burn this building down. I think I’ll ask this one a few questions.”

“And after you ask him questions?”

“I’ll take him out to the ship with us so the pros can interrogate him. Robby, find me a bucket of liquid. Water, anything, coffee, goat’s milk, whatever. And two good-sized cups. Must be a kitchen around somewhere.”

“You gonna water-board this guy, sir?” Robby asked, his eyes getting bigger.

“If he makes me,” Rat replied.

Robby left the room.

Rat turned back to Acacia. “We’ve only got a few minutes.”

“I was told everyone would probably be killed except Duar.”

“This man surrendered. Can’t shoot him in cold blood.”

“
I
can,” Acacia said, looking at the man.

Rat stared at him, then understood. “He’ll be put away for so long he’ll forget all about you.”

“He will get the word out that I betrayed them.”

Rat didn’t reply.

Acacia spoke quietly. “After you’re done, just turn your back for ten seconds. You can be furious with me afterward.” He paused.

“Sorry,” Rat replied. “Can’t do that.”

“Then you may have to stop me.”

“I probably can do that.”

The Jordanian’s anger was starting to show on his face. “You are more interested in protecting him than me?”

“No, I’m not. But I’m not going to let you murder him.”

Acacia turned his back and walked away.

“Bring him over here,” Rat said loudly.

The terrorist was brought to him.

Rat spoke to him in Arabic. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The man said nothing.

Rat slapped him in the face with his open hand. He yelled, “What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes flamed with anger. He spat, “Mazmin.”

Rat looked at him intently and spoke softly. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer. Do you understand?”

Mazmin was emboldened. “I will not answer any questions.”

Rat replied quickly, “You may
think
you’re not going to answer, but I guarantee you that you will.”

Mazmin shook his head.

Rat asked, “Where is Wahamed Duar? Your boss?”

Mazmin shook his head again, growing firmer with every passing second that he wasn’t shot.

Acacia stood two steps behind Rat, fuming, fingering the trigger on the 9-mm semiautomatic handgun in his pocket.

Rat stared at Mazmin.

Robby came back into the room carrying a large, heavy animal trough full of water. He set it down carefully as some sloshed over the side and darkened the concrete floor.

“Robby, help me with this table. We’ve got to make a water board out of it. Turn it over and rip the legs off.”

They flipped the table over, laying it on the floor with the legs sticking up. Each gave a few sharp blows with the heels of their hands to two legs, splintering the legs off quickly.

“Turn the table back over and put the legs under one end. I need some incline.” He looked up. “Groomer. I need you to hold his head. Get a shirt or something off one of the dead guys.”

Groomer threw the sling of his weapon over his head to free his hands and rushed to help. They slid the four table legs under one end of the table, pointing the shattered ends toward the center of the table. It raised one end of the table higher than the other end by the thickness of the square legs—about four inches.

“Think that’s enough?” Rat asked.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Groomer said.

“Put him on the table.”

Two other SAS men grabbed Mazmin and threw him down on the table on his back. They held his arms while another came and held his legs. Mazmin’s eyes showed fear. He began yelling in Arabic, “You can’t do this to me!”

“Shut up,” Groomer said, “whatever the hell you’re saying.” He grabbed Mazmin’s head and pulled him down to the lower end of the table. Groomer kneeled on the floor and folded up a shirt lengthwise. He placed it across Mazmin’s eyes and forehead. He rolled up the excess on the sides of his head so the shirt stretched tight. Groomer leaned down with all his weight, pinning Mazmin’s head to the table. His mouth and nose were still exposed. He struggled to get free, but it was hopeless.

Rat dragged the water closer to the table and took the two cups in his hands. Mazmin’s chest was heaving from his heavy breathing. He knew something bad was about to happen.

Rat leaned over so his mouth was right next to Mazmin’s ear. “Where is Duar?”

“I don’t know any Duar.”

Rat lifted the dripping cup of water four inches above Mazmin’s face and poured a quick stream into his nose. Mazmin blew it out, afraid of more.

“Where is Duar?” Rat asked, with the image of Nubs’s shattered face vivid in his mind and the white anger fighting to return.

“Don’t know—”

Rat poured quickly while Mazmin’s mouth was open. Water went into his mouth and nose, but he was ready for it. He closed his mouth and stopped breathing.

Rat continued to pour water from the cup into his nose in a constant stream. As he poured, he filled the other cup. As soon as the first cup was nearly empty, he began pouring from the second cup, one continuous stream of water. As the second cup emptied, the first was refilled and ready to be poured behind the second. Again and again, one cup, then the other, an endless stream of water. “You have to breathe sometime, and when you do, all you’re going to get into your lungs is water. And unless you tell me what I want to know, you’re never going to get another breath of air. Think about that,” he said as he continued to pour.

Over a minute passed, but Mazmin couldn’t stand his burning lungs anymore. He gasped for breath but there wasn’t any air; he sucked the water deep into his lungs. Rat kept pouring.

Mazmin tried desperately to breathe, but all he got was water, in and out, and again, nothing but water. He tried to cry out, but the water wouldn’t even let him form a scream. There was no air to pass through his vocal cords. Rat poured one cup after another. No break. No air. Mazmin’s body strained against the men holding his arms and legs as he fought for breath. He was drowning and he knew it.

Mazmin tried to beg for mercy. Rat stopped the water flow. “Where is Duar?”

Mazmin’s chest heaved as he breathed deeply again and again, grateful for the air. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” Rat said as he dipped his cups back into the water. He began pouring and Mazmin began yelling then snapped his mouth again and held his breath.

Groomer tightened his grip on the fabric, putting extra weight on Mazmin’s head, driving it into the hard wooden table.

Mazmin’s lungs were burning from not having enough air. He wouldn’t be able to hold his breath for long. He tried to get a quick breath through his nose, but choked on it. The water went into his lungs and stomach. His stomach fought the intrusion and he began to throw up, sending food up against the water. Rat didn’t stop. He knew Mazmin was within a minute of breaking. He had seen many men on the water board. They all broke.

The water washed away the vomit and ran back down into his lungs. Mazmin couldn’t stand any more. He was on the verge of passing out. If he was about to die, he couldn’t even tell Rat. He tried to nod his head. Rat knew if he didn’t stop Mazmin would be dead in thirty seconds. He stopped the water. “Where is Duar?”

Mazmin spit the water out and blew it out of his nose, furious and fearful. He began crying. “If I tell you, you stop this!”

“If I believe you.”

“In a well! Perhaps three hundred meters to the south.”

Rat turned on his encrypted UHF radio. “
Banger, check for a well three hundred meters to the south. Duar may be there
.”

“Roger. Copy. On our way.”

Rat dipped his cups back into the water and filled them. He looked down at Mazmin. He knew he had heard the cups. He was confident that the sound alone was too horrible for him to handle right now. “Who does Duar report to?”

“Nobody. He ran everything.”

“How did he communicate with others?”

“I don’t know.”

Rat poured a small stream of water onto Mazmin’s face.

The man screamed. “I don’t know! I did things for him. I was not with him. I don’t know how he communicated with anybody.”

Rat wasn’t buying it. He began pouring water into the man’s nose and mouth again. Mazmin tried to scream, but again it was muffled by the constant presence of water. He fought it, but it was no use. He inhaled again and sucked water into his lungs, completely filling them with what felt like an ocean of water.

Mazmin suddenly went unconscious and sagged as his mouth hung open. Rat stopped pouring. He looked at Groomer.

Rat stood up. “That’s enough for him. Turn him over.”

They rolled him over on his stomach. Rat pressed Mazmin’s back between his shoulder blades. The water gushed out of his lungs, running down the table and onto the floor. He raised the man’s arms behind him and nearly touched his elbows. He repeated the motion two or three times until he heard Mazmin gasp for air.

Rat looked at the SAS men who had been holding Mazmin’s arms and legs. “Hold him here. I’m going to go find that well. Groomer, come with me.” Then loudly in Arabic, “And if I don’t find Duar, I’m going to come back here and stab
him
in the eye.”