Grant felt his blood beginning to boil, but something was telling him to continue looking around the room. Maybe the men weren’t here, but there sure as hell was something.
He backed out of the room. He raised his NVGs, resting them on top of his head, then he withdrew his penlight from his utility vest. He signaled Adler, who acknowledged, then pulled out his own penlight.
Standing in the middle of the room, Grant aimed the narrow beam of light at the closest corner to his left. He walked forward slowly, while he moved the penlight back and forth, trying to cover every square inch of the cell. Nearing the back, he stopped, as he aimed the light into the left corner.
“Oh, Christ,” he mumbled quietly. Three letters, smeared but legible. In feces was printed: USN. He backed out of the room.
Adler stepped next to him, whispering, “USN?!”
Grant nodded, then spun around. He grabbed Kwan by the jacket collar and dragged him into the room, shoving him forward. He switched on the penlight.
Kwan lost his balance, and fell on his knees. Grant aimed the light directly in front of him. Kwan’s eyes focused on the letters, and he scrambled backwards, jumping to his feet.
Grant reached for Kwan’s jacket then flung him against the wall. He shoved a forearm across Kwan’s throat, then getting close to his face, Grant said in a low, deep voice, “You knew we were coming! You knew why! I told you what I’d do if… ” Suddenly, he heard Diaz in his earpiece.
“Zero-Niner, Three-Six.”
“Go ahead, Three-Six.”
“Found deuce. Foreign. Dead.”
Grant immediately released Kwan from his grasp. “Roger. Report back. Out.
Leaving Kwan in the cell, Grant joined Adler by the bottom of the stairs. Both of them stared at one another, shaking their heads. This op was turning into one big “clusterfuck.”
Diaz and James came into the building, immediately meeting Grant and Adler at the bottom of the stairs.
Diaz whispered, “Two Chinese, army-types. Looked like broken necks. Found them at opposite ends of the building, down side alleys. No IDs. Weapons were missing.”
Diaz had a sullen expression as he said, “I’m sorry, Boss, but we found these, too.” He reached into his chest vest.
Grant lifted one of two submariner watches Diaz was holding. The crystal face had some scuff marks, but the time was still accurate.
Adler laid a hand on Grant’s shoulder and said quietly, “Doesn’t mean anything, Skipper. They still could be okay.”
Grant handed the watch back to Diaz. “Hang on to them.” Diaz nodded and slipped both watches back into his vest.
“Both of you go help Ken search upstairs,” Grant said, getting a quick nod from both men. They hustled up the stairs.
The two men hadn’t been gone thirty seconds when Grant heard Slade, “Zero-Niner, Four-One.”
“Go ahead, Four-One.”
“Found deuce. Foreign. Dead.”
Grant could only think, What the fuck’s going on! “Roger. Coming up.” Grant pointed to Kwan. “Stay here! C’mon, Joe!”
They took the stairs two at a time, rushing up both flights. Diaz and James came around the corner, meeting up with them.
Slade was standing at the far end of the hallway. “This was the last room I had to check at this end.” He tilted his head toward an open doorway.
Grant entered the room first. “What the…?”
On the floor were two Chinese men, both wearing drab green army uniforms. By the look of the room, and condition of the bodies, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that a violent struggle had taken place.
What was left of two wooden chairs were at opposite sides of the room. The backs were splintered and legs were broken. A wooden table was snapped in half, probably when a body or bodies landed on it.
One of the dead men was just beyond the doorway, stretched out on his back. Four pockets in his jacket indicated he was an officer. There was bruising on his face, above his temples. Blood had dried near a corner of his mouth. The back of his hands and knuckles had deep bruising, as if he tried to defend himself.
The other man was on the opposite side of the twelve by twelve room. He was laying face down, with one arm under his torso, the other outstretched to the side, obviously broken. Patches of dried blood were on the back of his head.
Adler knelt next to him. “This guy had his neck broken, Skipper, among other things,” he said lifting the dangling arm. “I’m seeing a pattern here.”
Grant squatted next to the body by the door, looking closely at the throat. “Somebody used the chain of a nunchaku across his throat; crushed his windpipe, suffocated him. These men were in a martial arts duel to the death, Joe.” (Nunchaku is a weapon consisting of two sticks connected with a short chain or rope.)
Adler knew Grant was right in his assumption, since he held a black belt in karate himself.
Slade leaned toward Grant, then pointed. “Boss. Look over there, under that section of table.”
Grant stood then walked closer to the overturned piece of table. He ducked down. “Shit!” Underneath was a field radio, a short wave transceiver, the Comm 251A, completely demolished.
“Just can’t catch a break, Skipper. Now what?”
Grant pressed the PTT. “Five-Two. Need you up here.”
“On my way.” Stalley hurried upstairs, seeing Grant standing at the end of the hallway.
“Doc, take a look at those men,” Grant said indicating with a thumb over his shoulder. “Gimme a rough guesstimate on how long they’ve been dead.”
Stalley was using a cloth to wipe blood off his hands as he looked into the room. “Shit! What the hell happened here?!” He didn’t expect an answer.
He knelt close to the body by the door, making an examination. Sitting back on his heels, he looked up at Grant. “Really rough estimate, and because they’re still in rigor, I’d say no less than six, no more than twelve hours. Because of the heat, I might be off on those figures.”
“Okay, Doc. How’s the patient?”
“Don’t think he’s got much time left.”
“Did you find any identification?”
“Negative.”
“Do what you can for him.” Stalley nodded then left.
Grant tried to make sense of the situation. The two Chinese were killed sometime before dark. The “perpetrators” were able to eliminate two guards, then these two. But why leave the man downstairs… and alive? And who took the SEALs?
Adler saw the look on Grant’s face and knew the “wheels were spinning.” He walked closer. “Talk to me, Skipper.”
Slade, Diaz and James positioned themselves at intervals along the length of the hallway, with James standing watch at the top of the stairs.
Grant rested his back against the wall. “Nothing but questions, Joe. Whoever did this, was it because of the SEALs? Was it somebody who’d been assigned here with these guys and then went rogue?”
Adler stepped closer. “You don’t actually believe that a ChiCom would do that, I mean, go rogue. Do you?”
“I might just be reaching here.”
Seeing the setting of Grant’s jaw, Adler asked quietly, “What about Kwan? Do we need to worry about him?”
Grant shook his head. “I think he’s someone who’d never thought he’d be involved in this kind of op. That sonofabitch hasn’t done anything right so far. He should’ve known to post himself outside this building as soon as he knew we were coming. ‘Making deliveries’ my ass!”
Adler offered a suggestion. “Somebody higher up in the ChiCom chain of command had to know about our guys being brought here. Maybe they’ve been trying to make contact with these guys, and without that radio… Think we need to haul ass?”