Tiger by the Tail by John Ringo, Ryan Sear Page B

operations.
    Creata cocked her head as she regarded the Kildar.
    “It would not do much good at home, now would it?”
    Mike grinned. “Absolutely not.”
    “I have not had opportunity to work live on one of these yet. I’ve had the class but that is different. What I do know is that they take a long time. Best to bring it downstairs, where I can work undisturbed.”
    “Vil, Danes, you heard the lady. Move it out,” Mike said. “When you’re done, start going over your AARs with the master chief.”
    “And what will you be doing in the meantime?” Adams asked.
    Mike’s lips peeled back in a wolfish grin. “I’m going to go have a chat with those pirates to find out what they know about what they stole. Vanner, I’ll need translation capability.”
    The intel chief hefted his Toughbook laptop. “I figured you would.”
    * * *
    On the rear deck, Mike studied the three prisoners. Each had been secured to chairs, their hands and feet zip-tied to the metal arms and legs. Some kind soul had even treated their wounds.
    “Let’s see . . .” He pointed at the woman. “Prostitute, I’m guessing.” He switched to the halting Chinese Vanner had prepped for him. “Speak English?”
    Shaking her head, the woman let loose a stream of rapid-fire Cantonese; at least, Vanner assured him that’s what she was speaking. His laptop recorded her words and parsed them into cohesive, if a little disjointed, English that Vanner fed to him.
    “Working near Pemangkat . . . hired to work on island for a few days . . . attacked by base . . . wait a minute, base was attacked by gunmen. He—” She nodded at the man in the purple doo-rag, who scowled and looked away, “—made me go with him,” Vanner reported.
    “Why were you piloting the boat?” Mike asked.
    “He say he shoot me if I do not.”
    “Okay.” Mike drew his pistol and pointed it at her face. “What do you think I’ll do to you if you don’t tell me what I want to know?” He sighed, lowered the pistol and looked at Vanner as there didn’t seem to be a translation. “Hello?”
    “Working on it,” Vanner said just as the laptop spit out a string of Cantonese. “Oops.”
    “What?” Mike snapped.
    “I think it just said, ‘Your dog is a fruit.’ Hang on . . .” There was another stream of Cantonese and he nodded. “There. Got it. Gah. I hate Chinese. ‘Of the moment are considerations of future actions of a negative form.’ Seriously?”
    The girl looked away from the .45’s muzzle, which must have seemed huge, and spoke even faster.
    “I swear . . . that is all I know.”
    “Don’t have a huge amount of street cred in Southeast Asia.” He holstered his sidearm and walked over to the shot caller. “Guess we’ll have to improvise.” A part of him regretted the necessity, another, darker part him did not.
    “You have no idea who I am, do you?” he asked the pirate leader.
    The guy spat a strange language back at him.
    “What’s he saying?”
    “Just a moment.” Vanner tapped keys. “Looks like he’s Malaysian. He’s said, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about . . . you Americans . . . This is illegal . . . You cannot do this to me . . . ’ Pretty much repeating variations of the same stuff.”
    “Yeah, too bad no one here gives a shit about what I’m going to do to you in the next few minutes.” Mike walked over to a toolbox and took out a claw hammer, tucking it into the back of his shorts. Hauling a small, study metal table with him, he went back to the man and set the table down next to his chair. Flipping out his lock blade, Mike cut the pirate’s right hand free. He slammed it down on the table, then pressed the blade of the knife to the man’s wrist, holding it diagonally, so if the guy moved he would slash his veins open. “I know you can’t understand me, but I’m sure you can grasp the concept of holding your arm really still. Vanner, give me, ‘where did you get the green box?’”
    The only answer he