Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [75]
“Master Chief,” Jackson said. “Let me borrow your translator earpiece for a minute. I want these guys to know what I’m saying to them.”
Ruiz popped it out and handed it to the officer. Jackson looked at the two prisoners, who were staring wide-eyed at the dead man. They wore white uniforms like coveralls and were equipped with tool belts but no weapons. Both had the unsettling green eyes that characterized the Eluoi; otherwise, their features were similar to those of a human of Italian or Greek ancestry. Jackson was pretty sure they were workers and not soldiers. One was just a kid, not even ready to shave, but the other was older, with a weathered, lined face and thinning gray hair. The officer held out the earpiece to the second prisoner, gesturing toward his own ear. The man took it with visible reluctance but placed it in his ear canal with an ease that suggested that the translating device was not unknown to him.
Jackson indicated the dead Eluoi and fixed the two prisoners with his most formidable glare. “I need information. If you don’t want to end up like him, you’ll give it to me. Do you understand?”
The older Eluoi nodded. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice quivering slightly. The words emerged from the fellow’s mouth in that spitting bizarre language of the Eluoi, but the translator in Jackson’s ear still functioned perfectly. The lieutenant could see that the prisoner was afraid, and he intended to capitalize on that emotion.
He indicated the disabled aircraft. “The other passengers on that jet—what happened to them?”
The man’s eyes flashed quickly to a door on the other side of the hangar, but immediately his gaze reverted to Jackson. “I didn’t see any other passengers,” he said. Then he nodded his head, an overt gesture, in the direction of the closed door. “Nobody else was on that ship, not when I came out here.”
His eyes were wide, and he was trembling with fear. Clearly, he was afraid of someone who might be watching or, more likely, listening.
“How long have you been here?” Jackson demanded loudly and sternly. At the same time, he gestured to Ruiz, Harris, and Falco, pointing silently at the door.
“Um. Only a few minutes. I just got here,” the worker said, watching nervously as the three SEALS moved smoothly and silently over to the door.
“What about that aircraft?” the lieutenant demanded, indicating the jetcar that remained parked in the hangar. “Is it ready to fly?”
“Yes. Yes, sir, it is,” said the technician, nodding eagerly.
At the same time, Ruiz smashed open the door and Harris and Falco plunged through. Not knowing what to expect, LaRue and Rodale threw the prisoners to the floor and held them down while Jackson followed his Teammates into the adjacent room.
Suppressed shots thudded out, the short bursts of gunfire quickly followed by a very female scream and two SEALS simultaneously shouting, “Clear.”
When the lieutenant charged in, he found Consul Char-Kane standing, her hands over her mouth, between two dead Eluoi soldiers. Each had been shot in the chest, and the Shamani woman, though unscathed, had been spattered with blood from at least one of them; her golden jumpsuit was spotted with crimson drops. On either side of the doorway, Ruiz and Falco kept sweeping the room, maintaining security as they “cut the pie” with the muzzles of their weapons. They had both shot the Eluoi soldiers as they stood within a half meter of the shocked consul.
Harris caught Char-Kane as she swayed and helped her sit on a bench. A glance around suggested that they were in some kind of wardroom, perhaps a place for an air crew to prepare to fly. A bank of metal lockers lined one wall, and a hallway led toward additional doorways.
“Check it out,” Jackson said, motioning with his head. Ruiz and Falco immediately darted down the short corridor