“Windows in the front of the house, Harley. Were they covered or open?”
“Blinds drawn. That old kind that you pull down and roll up. Closed off tight.”
“Lieutenant, any more transmissions from the house?”
The specialist looked up from his laptop computer. “One more that plotted about twenty feet from the first one.”
“Alpha Squad, we’re moving in. We have to get in front of the place first. Give us two minutes, DeWitt. Then we’ll signal and both walk up to the place together.”
It worked that way. Murdock heard nothing from inside the house. At the front door Bill Bradford lifted his size-thirteen boot and blasted the door open. It swung inside and Murdock was first through the open door, slanting right. Jaybird dove to the left.
“Clear,” both SEALs said at the same time. They heard excited voices from another room. Murdock and Jaybird were on their feet looking through a connecting door.
They heard a crash that might have been the back door being kicked open. A handgun barked in one of the rooms. That sound was followed by a three-round burst from a submachine gun, and then another burst.
When the sound tapered off, the earpieces spoke.
“We have two prisoners and one KIA,” Ed DeWitt said. “Are you inside, Alpha?”
“Inside and holding front two rooms. Move toward us carefully.”
Just then a man stormed through the open door from the second room. Jaybird, standing near the door, heard him coming and clubbed him with the stock of his Bull Pup, swinging it like a baseball bat. The Chinese man went down in a heap of arms and legs. Jaybird promptly cuffed him with riot plastic strips.
Ed DeWitt peered through the door. “Clear up to here,” he said.
“On the net. Everyone search this place. We need an address, a phone number, photos, anything that would tell us where the hostages might be. Move it.”
They looked for half an hour, tearing the place apart. It had been unused for a long time and the recent occupants hadn’t even messed up a coat of dust. It wasn’t hard to see what had been moved and where such information might be.
“Not a fucking thing,” Jaybird said. “We’ve been over this place with our fine-tooth a dozen times. No number on a scrap of paper. No note on a sleeping bag. Nothing.”
“How many live ones do we have?” Murdock asked.
“Three and one KIA,” DeWitt said.
“Separate them and interrogate,” Murdock said. “Try in English, then let Ching go with his Mandarin.”
As he said it they all heard a car driving up to the front door and stopping. The four men split to different sides of the front room and watched the door, which still hung open, with one hinge out of place.
“Hello, anyone home?” a voice asked from outside.
Jaybird jumped in front of the open door, his Bull Pup covering the visitor.
The young man wore a baseball cap and carried an “instant hot” pizza box.
“Hey, at least it’s a different weapon this time. You owe me twelve dollars and forty-two cents.”
Ten minutes later they finished talking with the delivery man. He knew nothing about the people in the house. Twice he had brought them pizza and cola. The first call was yesterday afternoon.
“That’s twelve dollars and…”
Murdock waved him quiet. “We don’t have any money. Hey, try the drivers of those two white vans a half block over. They look hungry.”
The SEALs went back to the questioning. One of the men spoke English. He quickly admitted he was a U.S. citizen and had been sucked into this conspiracy. He did what they told him to do. He didn’t even know that some Chinese had invaded two of the islands.
“No one has come to this house except the pizza guy,” the Hawaiian-Chinese man said.
Murdock believed him.
The questioning with the Mandarin-talkers went slower. There was a minor language problem, but they could communicate. Ching quickly found the one in charge of the radio location. He refused even to give his name.
Ching hit him in the face with his big fist and knocked the tied man off the chair. He was put back on the chair and the same question asked. Ching hit him again, this time in his unprotected gut. The man turned pale. Then his eyes went wide and he vomited on the floor.
On a small radio that had been left precisely where it had been when they came in, Mandarin words were now heard. Ching picked up the transceiver and answered.
“Yes, we are here. There has been no report from the Americans.”
“Where is Sung?”
“Taking a piss. Need any of us over there?”
“No. We’re secure here. The plane is ready if we need it. Ask Chang if he thinks another body would infuriate the Americans and be counterproductive.”
“Will do.”
Ching put his hand over the microphone, and a moment later spoke into it. “Chang said the one kill should be enough. Any more would, as you say, be counterproductive.”
“Keep in touch.”
“We’ll do that.”
The set went silent.
Murdock had listened from the doorway. Ching translated the exchange. Then Murdock called for Holt, who had the radio out and was folding out the antenna as he ran into the room.
“CINCPAC, now.”
Holt made the moves and gave Murdock the handset. He made one call and had a quick answer.
“CINCPAC, how many private landing strips on Maui big enough for a good-sized plane that are near or on the grounds of a large house or mansion?”
“One of my men is contacting the FAA here. We’ll know in a few minutes. What progress?”
Murdock told the officer of their find and the dead end. “When we get a good lead, we’ll let you know. Murdock out.”
Holt moved the SATCOM to one side, leaving the antenna tuned on the satellite and the switches on to receive. He went to the table and stared at the radio the Chinese used.
“Look at that little thing,” he said. “It isn’t even Chinese. It’s a low-priced walkie-talkie.” He looked at the printed material on the sides and back and chuckled. “Damn, only a half-watt output. That means this shit-face radio can transmit not more than three or four miles at the most.”
“Oh, yeah,” Murdock yelped. “Holt, you wonderful motherfucker, don’t you ever die. Get on the horn and ask CINCPAC for any airfields within four miles of this spot. Do it now. Let’s suit up and get out of here. Didn’t I see a cell phone in that van? Let’s move. Leave these assholes here tied up. We’ll phone the local cops to come pick them up and hold for the military.”
They rushed back to the van, and Holt kept the SATCOM set up with the antenna positioned. It beeped again to confirm it was aligned right. He made the new transmission about a local airfield, and had back a quick response.
“A local tells us there is an airfield at an old Dole mansion about three miles out of town inland. The road is Dole Road. The place is huge with airfield, swimming pools, polo field, the works. Owned by a rich Chinese now, as I understand it from the local officer from that area.”
“Could be the site of the hostages. We’re moving. Be dark in another hour, just about right. SEALs work best in the dark. Out.”
The vans were moving. The drivers knew the road and the mansion.
“Hell of a big place,” Harley said. He’d been past it. As he remembered, it had a private road with a gate that was usually locked.
They drove up to the gate just after dusk with the patented flaming Hawaiian sunset behind them. The gate had two padlocks on it.
“Oh, yes, Mother,” Miguel Fernandez said. “This one has an electrical keeper. If the gate is opened and the circuit is broken, it rings an alarm somewhere and we get company fast.”
Murdock stared at the gate locks. The padlocks would come open with little trouble. The electric circuit was another matter. How in hell did they open the gate to get the vans through and not break the connection?