“Didn’t expect so. How about a drink?”
Teddy eyed the can. Take it when it’s offered, they’d said at SERE. “Yeah, but my hands are sort of occupied at the moment.”
Kuo, or Guo, laughed. He nodded to the guy behind Teddy. Chains rattled, and the cuffs came off his wrists, though his ankles were still shackled to the chair. Teddy shifted his weight as he massaged his wrists, trying to sense if it was bolted down. It didn’t give. He got the Pepsi down in three long gulps, burped, and set it on the concrete, licking his lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Kuo settled a tablet computer, an iPad if Teddy wasn’t mistaken, on his lap. “Sorry about the shackles, but you’re a dangerous guy, right?”
“Not so dangerous,” Teddy said. “Obviously. If I’m here.”
“You know, we can arrange to have things made much easier. I’d like you to see me as your friend. But first, let’s see what we have here. I assume you’re American. Correct?”
“Correct.” Teddy made himself look at the floor. “Sir.”
“Name and rank, please?”
“Theodore Harlett Oberg, master chief petty officer, United States Navy.”
“Harlett, or Hart-lett? Spell the name, please.”
He spelled it.
“And the serial number?”
Teddy gave it to him.
“Theodore, I’m sure you realize I’m a military intelligence officer. You are now a prisoner of war. But you’re also a source. No doubt you have been trained to resist interrogation, as a SEAL. I respect that. You are a SEAL, correct?”
Teddy didn’t answer. Kuo studied his iPad. “Born in Hollywood, California. Service in Saudi, Then Ashaara, then a break in service. Reactivated for service in Afghanistan and Iraq. Currently assigned to Echo Platoon, SEAL Team Eight, San Diego. Unmarried, no dependents?” He flicked a gaze at Teddy. “I’ll take that as a yes. My job is to find out what Echo intended to accomplish on Yongxing. Or do you still call it Woody Island?”
Teddy didn’t answer for a moment. He didn’t see how — even the names of individuals on the Teams were confidential — but it sounded like the guy had his complete service record. Which meant that either they’d penetrated Team computers or they had someone on the inside. Cooperate just enough to survive. Become the Gray Man. He said, “We use both names.”
Kuo nodded, looking pleased, and made a note. “Now, we have a slogan in the People’s Republic: ‘Kindness to those who confess, harsh discipline to those who resist.’ Unfortunately, over twenty civilians, including women and children, were killed during your failed invasion. Certain of my seniors are pressing for us to execute you and your teammate as war criminals.”
Teddy didn’t bother getting excited over the threat, and the obvious lie about civilian casualties. The Chinese were the enemy, but they probably weren’t al-Qaeda. He could get kicked around, but at this stage of the war, a POW was more valuable alive than dead. But maybe Kuo had just let something slip he hadn’t meant to. Teddy murmured humbly, “You captured someone else, sir?”
“One other SEAL, yes. He’s wounded, but is receiving treatment. And cooperating fully. If your statements agree, we’ll move you both to a special camp on the mainland. You will receive kind treatment. Your family will be notified via the Red Cross, in accordance with the Geneva Convention.” Kuo shook the empty can. “Another?”
“Thank you, sir, one was good.”
“Hungry? Something to eat?”
“I’m fine, sir, thanks just the same.”
“A personal question, if you don’t mind. Those scars on your face. Afghanistan?”
“Actually, it was at the pistol range,” Teddy said. “A Beretta. The slide failed. But it improved my looks.”
Kuo didn’t chuckle. He said gravely, “I have to warn you, Teddy, your treatment depends on your attitude. If you don’t cooperate, you won’t be going to the camp I described. You will either be shot as a war criminal, or end up in a hard-labor camp. The treatment there… well, let’s not talk about that.” He smiled. “So. Will you help with our investigation?”
“I want to. But, see, I’m not actually part of the leadership. Low man on the totem pole, if you know what I mean. They tell me what to do, and I do it.”
“What was your mission on Yongxing Island?”
“I didn’t know that, sir. I’m just an admin puke. I get the guys ashore, and count noses when it’s time to leave. The mustering petty officer, that’s me. Guy who counts the bullets and types the requisition forms.”
Kuo shook his head. “Let’s not do this. You’re a master chief. In the Teams, that ranks with officers. We need answers tonight. And believe me, we will get them. What was the mission?”
“I don’t know,” Teddy said again, gleaning, at least, that they hadn’t captured Harch. They stared at each other.
Finally Kuo sighed. “Hands behind you, please.”
He nodded to the trooper behind Teddy.
After about the fifth time they brought him up out of the water, Teddy had a come-to-Jesus moment. They weren’t going to stop. This was just going to keep on. Time after time, until he drowned, or more likely his heart burst.
He’d been waterboarded at Coronado, during the training. But there was a difference, knowing the guys doing it would get busted if they actually hurt you. That there was a medic next door, ready to bring you back if you passed out or went into convulsions.
He didn’t see any medics around here. Just furious, enraged sneers, as if some of the guys they’d taken down out on the dunes had been friends of theirs. Maybe they had. He was pretty sure now this was the 164th, and that he was still on Woody.
But he kept thinking about the brass bell. The one that hung at BUD/S, where, if you couldn’t take it anymore, you walked over and rang it. You put your helmet down, with those of the others who weren’t good enough, and walked away.
“Just shoot me,” he mumbled, through the loose teeth, the clotted blood in his mouth. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”
The big guy — his name seemed to be Lam — said something in Chinese. Kuo bent over, eclipsing the dangling bulb that glared into Teddy’s eyes. “Theodore. My friend. Do you really want more of this?”
Oberg struggled to remember who this was. Oh yeah. Redneck Drawl. Probably had a Confederate flag sticker on his pickup. He tried to act like the good guy, like the others were hard-asses and he was only trying to save him. He grunted, “Rack that fucking Mak and shoot me, asshole. I fucking dare you.”
“The mission,” Kuo said, for about the hundredth time since they’d beaten him some more, with sticks this time, then dragged him down the hall into what looked like a cleaning-gear locker, to judge by the swabs and shelves of what smelled like cleaning chemicals. Strapped him to the board, and slid it over the deep sink.
You didn’t need a lot of equipment. Just a sink, a faucet, and a towel. In a pinch, you could do without the sink. He’d done it with a towel and a canteen himself a couple of times. Persuading insurgents to share what they knew. Teddy didn’t bother to answer. Fuck him. Fuck them all.
“The mission,” Kuo whispered in his ear.
Teddy closed his eyes.
They always waited until he breathed out. This time too. The wet cloth, the struggle to get even a quarter of a breath around it. Then the water, going down his throat. Filling his sinuses. A lot of guys couldn’t take that. They tapped out, thinking they were drowning. For a diver, though, it wasn’t that terrifying. He gagged, and choked, but kept it wired.
It didn’t matter what you did anyhow. You were going to die. You just had to buy into that. Think about something else. Like that platinum blonde he’d plowed in LA, at his grandmother’s old house on Lookout Mountain. Loreena? Silvery hair. Shining breasts. Huge, dark nipples. Another wannabe songwriter, starlet. She’d fought him, tried to get away. He liked that. They never fought long.