Read Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) for Free Online

carrier full of Marines. Rat had stared at Duar and Mazmin for the entire flight. The terrorists had tried to look mean yet apathetic, as if their capture was a mere setback that would be set right soon. Mazmin had coughed uncontrollably throughout the flight. Rat had begun to wonder if he was contagious.
    As the helicopter blades slowed, the top of the sun broke over the horizon, giving the sky a golden glow. Few on the ship knew who was in the helicopter. To the other sailors and Marines onboard this helicopter looked just like many others that flew off the
Belleau Wood
every day. They knew it wasn’t a Marine helicopter; the dark gray paint and extremely subtle, almost invisible, markings were different. But there wasn’t enough difference to make them particularly curious. Those who did know waited anxiously for the helicopter to unload—they had been awakened when the excitement spread of the dazzling success of the mission.
    The jet engines continued to turn as the sailors on the flight deck ran to place chocks around its wheels to keep it from rolling on the moving deck.
    Two members of Rat’s team grabbed Duar’s arms tightly and walked him down the ramp. His face expressed shock and dismay when he realized he was on an American warship at sea. His head spun, searching in vain for some sign of land. Several Masters at Arms—the ship’s police force—walked to the helicopter to escort Duar and Mazmin. Duar’s legs stiffened as he resisted and struggled. Two SAS members lifted him up so only his toes were in contact with the ship’s deck as they hustled him toward the island of the carrier.
    Rat stepped off the ramp of the helicopter and watched Duar fight his way toward the island. As the second helicopter was settling onto the fantail at the other end of the
Belleau Wood
, Rat followed Duar.
    Mazmin fought his escorts even more than Duar had. He tried to spit on Rat as he walked by. Rat told the MAAs to stop. They quickly looked at him and noticed the Sudanese Army uniform and hat. The chief petty officer in charge of the group wasn’t about to stop for some African major. He looked at the major again. He noticed Rat’s dark skin but thought it was probably from a tan. Rat didn’t have the look of an African, or Middle Easterner. And his bright blue eyes were a dead giveaway. He noticed Rat’s arms, the highly defined taut muscles that showed great strength without bulk, and the carriage of someone who knew how to handle himself. The chief was very confused. He started to push Mazmin on, but Rat said, “I’m Lieutenant Rathman. Navy SEAL.”
    “Sorry, sir,” the chief said. “The uniform threw me.”
    “Threw him too,” Rat said, smiling. The smile vanished as he looked into Mazmin’s hostile eyes. He spoke to Mazmin in Arabic. “I’m going to visit you tonight, asshole. You think almost drowning in the desert was bad? Tonight it’s the real thing. Swim call. I’m going to drag you out of the brig and throw you over the side when nobody’s looking. You’ll fall into the black ocean yelling for help and nobody will hear you.” Rat smiled at him and walked a good distance behind him to the island.
    “You cannot.”
    “Just remember, my name is Rat. R-A-T. I’ll let you know it’s me before I get you out of the brig. I don’t want you to have any doubt in your mind about what’s happening. But remember, it will be very late tonight, when you’re asleep. I’ll expect you to get up well. No sleeping in. Make sure you set your alarm.”
    “You are a whore,” Mazmin said.
    Rat looked at him with a cold glare. He wanted Mazmin to think he was crazy, that he might do anything, like facing a pitcher that threw incredibly hard and was so wild you never knew where the ball was going. He wanted Mazmin to think of going to sleep as an act of courage. He gave the chief a nod to take Mazmin and they pushed him toward the island.
    Groomer loved Rat and the games he played with bad people. “What