Sword of God paj-3

by Chris Kuzneski

  To him, it was a question that needed to be answered before he'd let anything progress.

  "You know," Kia said, breaking the silence, "this isn't my first trip to Jeju. When I was a young girl, my father brought me here to see the haenyo, the women divers of the island." She pointed out the window to the Yellow Sea, where three yachts, their lights twinkling against the horizon, floated on the rolling darkness. "To watch them work was amazing. Most of them were in their forties or fifties, but some were in their sixties or seventies. They'd tie rocks to their belts and jump into the deep water, sometimes sinking more than twenty meters down to the ocean floor, where they'd collect abalone and sea urchins and a variety of other treasures. They'd stay down there for several minutes, longer than I thought was possible to hold one's breath, before they'd untie the rocks and swim back to the surface with baskets full of goods."

  She took a sip of water before continuing. "For some reason it's taboo on the island for men to do any diving. No one's really sure why. Some say it's because women have more fat on their bodies, which allows them to endure the cold waters of the deep. Others say it's because women are more buoyant, allowing them to swim to the surface faster after filling their baskets. But whatever the reason, they're some of the best divers in the world. Male or female."

  Payne nodded in agreement. He had heard stories about the women divers of Korea but didn't know they were based here. Some Navy SEALs even used their breathing techniques.

  "To be honest," she continued, "that's one of the reasons I pushed so hard for this assignment. I've been a translator for many years, working for military bases around the world, but I've always wanted to work in the field. It's something I've always wanted to do. Sadly, I never had the guts to pursue any openings until this assignment became available. As soon as I heard Jeju, I figured a higher power was telling me something. My father brought me here to learn from these courageous women. Now I have a chance to show some courage of my own."

  He smiled at her story, glad to know something about her background that wasn't found in a personnel file. "I have to admit I was skeptical at first. But truthfully, things have worked out well. Of course, I'm still not sure how you convinced Harrington to give you a chance. There had to be dozens of other applicants who spoke Korean."

  "There probably were. But unlike most of them, I'm also pretty good with Arabic."

  Payne froze, his warning sensors going off. "Excuse me?"

  "I speak Korean, Arabic, Japanese-"

  "Hold up." Payne glanced around to make sure no one was listening. He lowered his voice just to be safe. "Arabic was one of your requirements?"

  She nodded. "Korean and Arabic, though I'm not sure why Arabic was so important. It's not very common in this part of the world."

  "Sonofabitch!" Payne mumbled. A major piece of the puzzle had just fallen into his lap, and he needed to act on it immediately. "Kia, I'm sorry, but we don't have time for dinner."

  "We don't?"

  "No," he said as he stood from the table. "We have to leave now."

  23

  Payne hustled back to his suite, where he roused Jones from his nap. Meanwhile, Kia was dispatched to find Mr. Lee, whose local knowledge might come in handy.

  Jones said, "You're telling me Arabic was a requirement of her job posting?"

  Payne nodded. "Which means Harrington was expecting Arab witnesses."

  "Or prisoners."

  "Which supports our terrorist theory. It also explains something Kim said. He mentioned hearing ancient voices, like the Devil speaking in tongues. That's how Arabic might sound to someone who's never heard it before."

  Jones agreed, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had showered before falling asleep so he was ready to leave whenever necessary. "Any word from Dial?"

  "Not yet. But it's only been a few hours. Nick's good, but not that good."

  "Unfortunately, Arabic doesn't do much to limit our candidates."

  "Sure it does," Payne joked. "Only three hundred million people speak Arabic as their main language. We've just eliminated several billion suspects in the world."

  Jones gurgled in front of the sink. "G-g-g-g-g-ooood point." He spit for emphasis.

  "The thing that confuses me the most is Harrington. What's with all his games? He dragged us here under false pretenses, then gave us only half the intel we needed to succeed. That doesn't make sense to me. Why bring us in if he wants us to fail?" Payne paused, thinking back to their plane trip with Harrington. "Do you remember what he said when you asked him about Schmidt's latest missions? He told you it was none of your goddamned business. That should've told us something right there. He's been keeping stuff from us from the very beginning."

  Jones emerged from the bathroom. "Unless he hasn't been."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Who knows? Maybe Harrington isn't messing with us. There might be other possibilities."

  "Such as?"

  "Maybe he's a crappy colonel."

  Payne laughed. "A crappy colonel?"

  "Maybe he's not keeping us in the dark. Maybe he's just clueless."

  "Sorry, but I didn't get that sense in Pittsburgh. He seemed pretty perceptive."

  "Fine. Then maybe it's something else."

  "Like what?"

  Jones paused, trying to think of an alternative. "Maybe he's in the dark, too."

  "In what sense?"

  "Well, we used to run black ops. How often did we report to our superiors?"

  Payne smiled. "Not as often as we were supposed to."

  "Exactly! So maybe the same thing happened here.

  Maybe Schmidt followed our example and failed to tell his boss what was going on. Days go by and Harrington finally sends someone to check up on him. And when he got there, he found the cave covered in blood."

  "You know, that's not half bad."

  Jones nodded, impressed with his own theory. "Actually, it would explain a lot. Early on I asked Harrington when Schmidt was last seen, and he said he didn't know. Then I asked him where, and he didn't know that either. That sounds like a soldier who didn't report very often. Just like us back in the day."

  "Which might explain Harrington's comment about the MANIACs. He said we were being brought in because we thought differently than normal soldiers. He must've figured we'd be able to piece together Schmidt's final mission, maybe shed some light on what happened here."

  "If that's the case," Jones added, "he probably didn't know Schmidt was dead until he got the blood results. For all we know, he might've thought this was actually a rescue mission. Just like he told us in the very beginning."

  "Crap!" Payne said. "Maybe I pegged the guy wrong."

  Suddenly confused, he walked out of the bedroom and went straight to the small kitchen, where a small basket of tangerines sat in the corner, adorned with a sign that said Grown Fresh on Jeju. Payne grabbed two and tossed one to Jones, who caught it like a wide receiver. Whenever Payne got hungry, he found it difficult to think clearly. And right now, he was famished, his stomach grumbling like a bad muffler.

  Payne started peeling his fruit. "So what you're telling me is that Harrington might not be messing with us?"

  "Maybe not." Jones took a bite and quickly regretted it, realizing that toothpaste and tangerine didn't mix. "He still should've told us about the Arabic. If he felt it was an important skill for our translator, we should've known about it."

  "Agreed."

  .lust then the electric lock on the suite started to beep. Someone was entering.

  Most likely Kia and Mr. Lee.

  "Speak of the devil," Jones said as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "If you don't mind, I'll let you handle Mr. Lee. He wants to kiss your ass, not mine."

  Payne walked into the kitchen and rinsed the tangerine pulp from his fingers, realizing that nothing ruined a meeting quicker than a sticky handshake. Kia walked in first, followed by Mr. Lee, who glanced around the suite, making sure everything met his high standards. He said
a quick hello to Jones before he spotted Payne in the kitchen. "Good evening, Mr. Lee. Would you like a drink? I make a mean glass of water."

  The smile on Mr. Lee's face grew wider than normal, honored that Payne had remembered his name and respected him enough to offer him a beverage. He politely declined, then walked over to the couches where he stood patiently until everyone was ready to be seated. Payne and Kia sat on one couch, he and Jones on the other.

  Payne said, "I know you're a busy man, so I'd like to thank you for coming here on such short notice. All of us appreciate your time."

  Mr. Lee bowed slightly, his way of showing respect.

  "The three of us came to Jeju on a personal quest, one that's left us puzzled. We are searching for a boy who lives in a tiny village near the base of Mount Halla. We found his home with little difficulty, yet he wasn't there. One of his neighbors heard the young boy speak of the Black Stone on the day that he disappeared with his father. However, the opulence of your resort leads us to believe that he was mistaken. These are poor people with limited means."

  Jones handed Mr. Lee the photograph of Yong-Su Park and his father, Chung-Ho. He studied their faces but recognized neither.

  "None of us are experts on Jeju or its customs. Therefore, we're hesitant to take our search public, afraid mat our questions might be perceived as a nuisance. Kia can speak the language-she was actually born in South Korea-but we need some guidance with our journey."

  Mr. Lee nodded, grasping the situation. "I would be honored to help you with your quest… If it's appropriate, may I ask a question?"

  "Of course," Payne said. "Ask whatever you'd like."

  "I would imagine a man of your stature is here on a fruitful mission, one that would bring no harm to the father or son."

  Payne met his gaze, assuring him of his decency. "We are here to help, not harm."

  "Yet you're unwilling to involve the authorities?"

  "At this point, we think the Parks are hiding from the authorities."

  Mr. Lee frowned at the mention of their name. "Their name is Park?"

  Payne nodded. "Is that a problem?"

  "Possibly. Ten percent of all South Koreans are named Park."

  "Really?" Jones blurted. "That's a lot of Parks."

  "Still, it could have been worse. Twenty percent of us are named Kim."

  Payne laughed at the comment, glad that Mr. Lee was an optimist. "If you'd like, we'd be happy to write down everything we have. Names, addresses, and everything else we can think of. Plus you're welcome to make a photocopy of their picture if you think it would help."

  Mr. Lee stood and gave him a slight bow. "I shall do it at once."

  "And if there's any expense to you-"

  He held up his hand to cut him off. "There will be no expense. I am honored to help."

  "Are you sure? Because-"

  "Yes," he said firmly. "I am sure."

  Then, before Payne could say another word, Mr. Lee took the photograph and hustled out of the suite-the safety of the father and son suddenly in his hands.

  24

  Sunday, December 31

  Early in Payne's military career, these were the moments that drove him crazy. Not the training or the long hours or the constant threat of dying, but the waiting. The time during missions when all he could do was sit on his ass and stare at his watch. It contradicted everything he believed in.

  Payne's grandfather was the hardest-working man he had ever met, someone who used to work double shifts in the steel mills of Pittsburgh, trying to earn enough money to open his own business and give his family the chance of a better life. Then, once his small investment paid off and Payne Industries blossomed into one of the biggest names in the world of manufacturing, he still set his alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. because there was no way in hell he was ever going to be outworked by anyone. In his mind, laziness was a mortal sin.

  Growing up, that's the work ethic that was instilled in Payne. The creed he lived by. It enabled him to become a top student, a better athlete, and one of the best soldiers in the world. Yet the reality of military life was nothing like the movies or the recruiting commercials he saw on TV- especially the one that bragged, We do more before 6:00 a.m. than most people do all day. Payne liked to joke that was true but only because they spent all night drinking and beating off.

  Eventually, once he was given his own command, he started to view things differently. That's when he realized how much time and preparation went into a mission. How long it took to acquire foreign intelligence. To gather supplies. To wait for the enemy to make a mistake. And once that started to sink in, his guilt began to fade and the waiting game became much more tolerable. Within a few months, he transformed himself from an overeager warrior to a patient one. Someone willing to eat, sleep, and joke while all the pieces fell into place.

  But once they did, he became a man possessed.

  The room phone rang before sunrise. Payne was already awake, lying in bed, analyzing their next move while he waited for additional information-whether it came from Raskin, Dial, or Mr. Lee. Surprisingly, the call didn't come from any of them. There was a new voice on the line. One he hadn't heard before. A male. Distinctly Korean. Speaking in hushed tones. "Is this Mr. Payne?"

  "Yes," he said, sitting up in bed. "Who's this?" "Are you looking for the father and his boy?" "Who is this?" he repeated.

  "Be downstairs in twenty minutes. You and your friends." "Hold up! We're not going anywhere unless-" Click. The caller hung up. No names. No explanation. No additional instructions. Just be downstairs in twenty minutes. Payne set the phone in its cradle as footsteps filled the hall. Jones reached his room first, followed by Kia. Both of them wide awake. Ready to roll.

  "Who was it?" Jones asked.

  "He didn't say."

  "What did he want?"

  Payne looked at them, confused. "Us."

  Twenty minutes wasn't enough time for most people. But these were the type of contingencies that Payne had trained for. When he walked into a room, he searched for exits. Danger zones. Blind spots. Sometimes it wasn't even a conscious act. His mind automatically worked through the possibilities like a computer crunching data. All the details were just sitting there in his brain, ready to be used if he ever thought they were necessary. And today they were.

  He walked outside at 7:00 a.m., still forty minutes before daybreak. The weather was breezy and brisk, colder than it was when he arrived on Jeju twenty-four hours before. He wore jeans, a thick sweater, and a winter coat. It concealed his gun and body armor. Anonymous phone calls were a rarity in his business. He would take every precaution.

  To Payne, the front exit was too obvious. Too predictable. The perfect spot for an ambush. So he left the hotel through one of the employee lots, walking behind trees and bushes until he reached the front of the hotel. Virtually invisible in the predawn light.

  But no cars were waiting for him. No one was standing around. Even the valets were inside, trying to stay warm. Some people would have been spooked by this, but not Payne. He preferred it this way. The fewer distractions, the better. Just him and whoever wanted to meet.

  He'd take those odds any day of the week.

  He heard the vehicle before he saw it. A rumble, a sputter, and the occasional grinding of gears. The sound echoed through the darkness like a rooster greeting the sun. It finally came into view as it entered the resort grounds, passing the chiseled entrance sign that gleamed in its spotlight. The truck was American, decades old, probably abandoned at the end of the Korean War because it was too old to salvage even back then. How it still worked was a mystery. It coughed and sputtered as it crawled past the manicured shrubs, belching smoke as it did.

  The man behind the wheel looked older than the truck, his wrinkles bathed in light every time he passed under one of the fancy lampposts. White hair, gaunt face, his eyes nothing but slits. Partially from his Asian features. But mostly because he had to squint to see.

  If ever a man and his truck belonged tog
ether, it was these two.

  Payne watched him as he drove up the hill and through the parking overhang, stopping on the downslope of the other side, as if he needed momentum to get started again. The back of the truck was filled with a variety of fishing tools. Rods and reels. Several nets. Two ice chests that were big enough for salmon. Nothing new or expensive. Simple tools for an age-old craft.

  The motor continued to run as he stepped out of the truck. He wore grimy old clothes that reeked of the sea. His spine was crooked, his posture hunched, his skin splotched from the sun. He just stood there, whistling absently, his eyes straining to see the pocket watch he held next to his face. Anxious. Waiting. This was a man who was meeting someone.

  Cautiously, Payne stepped into the light. Just far enough to be seen. 'Good morning."

  The old man froze until he spotted Payne in the shadows. Moving slowly, he trudged toward him until he was close enough to whisper. The same voice as on the phone. "Are you Payne?"

  "Maybe. Who are you?"

  The old man leaned closer. "A friend of Mr. Lee."

  "In that case, I'm Jonathon Payne."

  He smiled, glad he had found him so easily. "Are your friends coming with us?"

  "That depends. Where are we going?"

  "To find the boy."

  Payne arched an eyebrow. "Which boy are you talking about?"

  The old man pulled out a copy of the photograph. The one Payne had taken from the Parks' house. He pointed to it with gnarled fingers that were covered in calluses. "Yong-Su."

  "You know where he is?"

  "I know where he was. That's the best I can do."

  Payne considered the old man's answer, trying to read between the lines. Trying to figure out how he fit into all this. Was he a relative of the Parks? A friend? Or was this some kind of trick meant to distract Payne from danger that waited around the bend? His gut told him he was safe, that there was no real threat, but he realized a second opinion never hurt.