Free SEAL Team 666: A Novel by Weston Ochse Page B

and a reception area, just in case someone came in and actually wanted pest control.
    The center of the room was filled with any number of plush leather chairs, leather sectionals, and stools. Tables were arrayed strategically around the room with academic books, supernatural tomes, and magazines of all shape and size including Mother Jones , Jane’s Defense Weekly , Smithsonian , National Geographic , various comic books, Jane’s Intelligence Review , Esquire , and Soldier of Fortune .
    Walker noted the broad selection. Mother Jones was a magazine known for its stances on human rights, conservation, and culture, dominated by deep anti-military sentiment. That it was among the selections said a lot about the team.
    Ruiz, who saw Walker pick up a copy of the magazine, said, “Holmes likes us to be well versed in everything that’s going on. Sometimes I’ve found leads in there that helped me.”
    Walker put Mother Jones down and picked up a comic book with Wolverine on the cover. “And this one? Glean any secrets out of the pages of this stately tome?”
    Ruiz chuckled. “No. But it helps pass the time between ops.”
    An immense climbing wall took up space near the back of the room. Thick-roped cargo nets could be raised and lowered from the ceiling, along with several rope lines that were most likely used to practice climbing and fast-roping. Windows were set in the eaves near the roof to let light in all the way around the building.
    The rooms and the offices were enclosed with drywall and wood. But because they were only standard height, their roofs were repurposed. Above the suites was a full kitchen and a fully stocked bar. An assortment of chrome café tables and chairs were arrayed in front of this. The space above the offices held weight-training equipment, including free weights, treadmills, and StairMasters.
    But as incredible as everything was, what amazed Walker the most were the pictures, paintings, and things adorning the walls.
    The things were clearly trophies of past ops, including strange horns, clawed hands, one large immense tooth, jaws, the tail of something that had to have been a Buick-sized lizard, and the stuffed head of some kind of demonic creature that had wiry horns, a flat face, and wide-slanted eyes. This memorabilia covered two walls from floor to ceiling. It was as if a big-game hunter had stumbled into the world of the supernatural.
    An eye-level platform extended from one of the walls by three feet. Affixed to this stood a taxidermically stuffed creature resembling a muscular Great Dane, albeit this creature had a twisted spine and legs, and twisting ram horns coming from its head. A plaque on the side of the platform read CHUPACABRA, MEXICO, 2004 .
    Twin clamps held a six-foot-long red worm. Hairs bristled its hard skin. A puckered indentation covered the lower end of the worm, while triple rows of razor-sharp teeth covered the upper end. A plaque read MONGOLIAN BLOOD WORM, 1964.
    He could stay and stare at these for hours, but the pictures and paintings drew him to another wall.
    Two separate walls had distinct groups of pictures. One wall held photos and paintings of men, and one woman, going back over two hundred years. Their uniforms changed with the times, going backwards from the present through Vietnam, Korea, the World Wars, the Civil War represented by both the Union blue and Confederate gray. Then the photos were replaced by pictures going all the way to a man in a white wig, who was clearly landed gentry from the time of George Washington. The newest one was a handsome Asian lieutenant, the date of his death reading May 2, 2011. Walker knew that date.
    “That’s the SEAL you replaced. He was a great man. You want to find out what happened in Abbattobad, check the mission logs. In fact, you’ll find them more interesting than anything else you’ve ever read.”
    Walker had seen the glass-enclosed shelves containing the volumes. Where the newest ones had glistening black