Sword Of God (12 page)

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks. I point out the obvious.”

“What about the nonobvious?”

“Such as?”

“Prisoners in black-op facilities.”

Raskin grunted.
“That
might take me a while. I’ll have to check your clearance on that one.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious. That’s one of our extra-special secrets. So you might not qualify. Unless, of course, you have a permission slip signed by the right person.”

Now it was Payne’s turn to grunt. Mentioning Colonel Harrington’s name was bound to get him the answer he needed. Unfortunately, it would also tip off Harrington to their current line of pursuit, which was something he wanted to avoid. “Let me get back to you on that.”

Raskin nodded, reading between the lines. “Anything else? Or are you done using me?”

“Just one more thing, then I’ll let you go. Do you have any information on something called the black stone?”

He punched in the term and scanned the results. Hundreds of possibilities. “What part of the world are you calling from? Or is that classified?”

“South Korea.”

More typing, followed by a pronounced sigh. “Dude,  you didn’t tell me you were on vacation. Why didn’t you invite me? You never take me anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re in Jeju, right?”

Payne raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the question. “How did you know that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I swear, Randy, I’m not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Raskin sighed again. “If you’re lying to me, you know I’ll find out. I can check your credit card statements with a touch of a button. I can cancel them, too. I don’t care
how
rich you are, I can mess with your credit. You won’t even be able to buy a Twinkie at Seven-Eleven if—”

“Randy, I
swear
I’m not lying. I’m on company business here. Honest!”

“Fine,” he said with a grunt, still not believing him. He wrote himself a note to make sure. “On the west coast of Jeju, there’s a brand-new world-class golf resort. I hear it’s amazing. The
PGA
even had a tour event there.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s called the Black Stone.”

Route 12 is a scenic beltway that encircles Jeju Island. Meandering along the 157 miles of rocky coastline, it provides some of the most breathtaking views in all of Asia.

The
SUV
, borrowed from the military and driven by Jones, hummed along at 40 miles an hour, just under the legal limit. Payne rode shotgun, staring out the window, while Kia sat in the backseat, stressing how important it was to drive slowly because of all the surveillance cameras on Jeju. Tourists and speeding tickets were two ways the local government made its money.

An hour earlier, Payne would have laughed at the mention of tourists. Back then he was standing in the middle of a dreary village, surrounded by gray skies, bare trees, and the omnipresent odor of death, pondering what to do and where to go next. The concept of tourism would have seemed ridiculous to anyone but the most morbid of Stephen King fans.

Suddenly things were different, almost like night and day. Thanks to a tip from Randy Raskin, they were driving toward the Black Stone resort, passing palm trees, tropical beaches, and the type of architecture that can only be found in the Far East. A perfect example was the Jeju World Cup Stadium, which was designed to look like an
oreum
—a parasitic volcanic cone topped by a large crater that was unique to this island. Adding to its grandeur, the stadium was half-covered with a teu-shaped roof that symbolized the traditional fishing boats in the region. To Payne, the roof looked like a giant white sail, pulled tight by a strong gust of wind, anchored down by diagonal metal poles and thick white cables that contributed to the visual effect, as if the entire stadium were slowly being pulled across the terrain and into the nearby sea.

Minutes later they were stopping at Cheonjaeyeon Falls. Flanked by a thick forest of trees, three waterfalls cascaded from one pond to the next until the water reached the ocean below. Legend claims that the falls were named after seven nymphs who descended from the heavens to play in the crystal-clear water. They are still honored at the site, their images carved into Sonimkyo, a large bridge that arches across the pine-strewn valley, passing near a small pavilion that overlooks the main pond.

After parking the
SUV
, Jones dropped to his knees and glanced under the dirty frame, checking for tracking devices. He found one near the front left wheel and quickly pried it off. He handed it to Payne, who attached it to a nearby tour bus that was filled with a group of singing Germans, who either didn’t notice him or were having too much fun to care. Jones kept searching, eventually finding a second device, stuffed under the base of the dashboard. This one was used for listening, not tracking. The military’s way of keeping tabs on their investigation. Payne took it as well, this time pitching it into a nearby ravine.

“For the time being, let’s assume we’re still not clean,” Jones said as he walked over to the guardrail. “If we need to talk, we should do it away from the car.”

Kia nodded, realizing the comment was for her benefit. “Since we’re outside, does that mean I can ask a question? Because I’m really curious about something.”

“Go on.”

“What are we hoping to find at Black Stone?”

Both Payne and Jones shrugged, neither of them prepared to answer.

Kia translated their body language. “In other words, you have no idea.”

“Nope,” said Jones.

“None at all,” said Payne with a laugh.

A cold gust of wind blew through the valley, gently tossing Kia’s hair across her face. Although she grew up in South Korea, she was accustomed to the warm temperatures of the Marshall Islands, not the cold gusts of winter. Shivering slightly, she leaned closer to Payne, trying to absorb his warmth. If he noticed, he said nothing. He just stood there, staring out over the falls, watching the water surge over the rocks and splash into the pond below.

It was a tranquil moment in an otherwise horrendous day.

One they hoped would improve as time marched on.

The phone call came from America. Within seconds, the signal was transmitted halfway around the world, where it was received by a hotel employee at the Black Stone resort. She double-checked the client’s name and financial status before transferring the call to the appropriate extension. In an instant, the phone started ringing in Mr. Lee’s office.

He answered the call in English, his voice warm and welcoming, an equal mix of personality and professionalism. He wrote all the details in Hangul, the Korean alphabet. Spaces between words. Western punctuation. Rows from left to right, not columns from top to bottom, as in yesteryear. The traditional style of his language had slowly become Americanized. Not that he was complaining. He always had an affinity for the Western world, which was the main reason why he took this job. It gave him a chance to meet the best and the brightest, to network with power brokers, to make contacts for the future.

Technically, this was the off-season at his resort. The winter temperatures made golfing unpleasant, the grounds less scenic. Sailing was downright brutal because of the rough waves and stinging spray. When the flowers were in bloom, honeymooners from all over Asia would descend on his island like locusts. Horny, lovemaking locusts. They often stopped by his resort for spa treatments or fancy meals, rarely staying overnight because of the expense. This was a place that catered to the wealthy. People who didn’t blink when they got their bill.

And on those occasions when the ultra rich were in town, Mr. Lee got a call.

The
SUV
pulled up to the main hotel, which looked more like a Scottish fortress than a Korean resort. Thick pillars supported a large overhang that sheltered arriving guests from inclement weather. Beige stones, cut with laser precision, made up the bulk of the exterior, occasionally giving way to arched windows that soared toward the stone banisters on the second floor.

“Nice place,” Jones remarked as he threw the car into park. “Maybe too nice.”

Payne was about to agree with him. He was about to say there was no way that the father and son from the village could ever afford this place. That this was a waste of their time. That they’d be better off pursuing other leads instead of going inside and looking like fools. But before he could open his mouth, the resort staff, wearing tailored uniforms and crisp white gloves, swarmed their
SUV
. Smiles plastered on their faces, as if the king of Korea had just decided to pay them a visit. Everyone bowing and paying respect. It was borderline creepy.

The passenger-side door was opened with a flourish, a young man mumbling greetings in Korean while giving a theatrical bow. The same was done with the back door, only this time a gloved hand was proffered to Kia, who grabbed it and stepped out of the car. She smiled, bemused by the pageantry of it all. A third man reached for the driver-side door, but Jones glared at him and opened it himself. Strangely, this made the staff smile even wider, for they interpreted it to mean that Jones was treating them as equals. Not servants.

Payne stepped out last, suddenly cognizant of his casual clothes, which probably reeked of smoke and blood. Not to mention their dirt-splattered vehicle. None of that would have mattered at an out-of-the-way hotel. But here it was sure to be frowned on.

His concerns disappeared a moment later, when Mr. Lee strode out of the hotel. He wore a tailored Italian suit, freshly polished shoes, and a grin the size of his head. Jet-black hair framed his boyish face, although he was probably in his midthirties. He stood a foot shorter than Payne, but that didn’t prevent him from staring directly into Payne’s eyes with a confident gaze, the look of a man who was used to dealing with the rich and famous. Someone who wasn’t intimidated by it.

With a slight bow, he handed Payne his business card and welcomed him to the Black Stone Resort. Payne smiled at the card’s simplicity. It said
Mr. Lee
and listed his cell phone number.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee. I’d give you one of my cards, but I’m fresh out.”

Lee nodded at the gesture. “It’s not necessary, Mr. Payne. We’ve been expecting you.”

The lobby glistened under the recessed lights; the black and gold pattern of the stone floor appeared three-dimensional due to a fresh coat.of wax, giving it the illusion of depth. A circular atrium soared above the center lobby, interspersed with decorative black railings fifteen feet above the main desk. Several guests waited in line. But Mr. Lee ignored them all. The only people he cared about had just arrived. Jonathon Payne, party of three.

“I like the color scheme,” Payne said, trying to make small talk. Despite his large inheritance, he wasn’t comfortable with the trappings of wealth. He was more of a beer and burger guy than wine and caviar.

Mr. Lee nodded appreciation. “Did you know Hines Ward is South Korean? When he won Super Bowl
MVP
, we redecorated the lobby in Pittsburgh Steelers colors. We were very proud.”

Payne glanced at Jones, who stared back, both of them stunned by the statement.

Eventually Mr. Lee started to laugh. “I am just joking.

The colors never changed. They have always been black and gold. I make joke since you are a Pittsburgh fan.”

Payne laughed at his own gullibility. “How did you know that?”

“Because Mr. Lee knows all.”

“Glad to hear it, Mr. Lee. Because I have a bunch of questions you could help me with.”

“And I have a bunch of answers. But first, allow me to show you to your room. Perhaps all you need is a hot bath and a gourmet meal to help you discover some solutions on your own.”

Payne’s
room
turned out to be a massive suite, three small bedrooms separated by sliding doors from the living area. It was equipped with a plasma TV, multiple couches, a wet bar, and a small kitchen. The parquet floor blended perfectly with the light stone in the only bathroom. A two-person sauna sat underneath a tinted bay window, offering sweeping views of the Yellow Sea, where waves crashed in the distance, barely audible yet somehow comforting.

Kia showered first, dying to wash the smell from her hair. While they waited, Payne and Jones went to the far end of the suite, turning on the TV to drown out their conversation.

Payne spoke first. “I’m sorry about all the fuss downstairs. Randy must’ve called the hotel and told them we were coming, just to make a point.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t be surprised if a hooker knocks on our door.”

“Yeah, a fat one.”

Jones laughed loudly, glad to have a moment of levity in an otherwise dreadful day. Back when they were with the MANIACs, they often relied on laughter to get them through the tough times. That’s one of the reasons the nickname suited their unit. No matter how deep the shit, the humor never quit. So much so that other squads thought they were crazy. Actual maniacs.

“So,” Payne said, changing the subject, “how do you want to handle this? Should we snoop around the hotel, asking about the father and son? Or is that a waste of time?”

“We can try. But we don’t have much to go on. All we have is the picture.”

Jones pulled out a photograph of the Park family that they’d taken from their house before leaving the village. They’d rummaged around a little bit, checking closets and drawers, trying not to step in any blood in case the cops were eventually called in, but the place was so small, so cramped, it was obvious that the Parks didn’t have much money. As far as they could tell, there were nine people living in a house that was built for four. No way they were staying there.

“What are the other possibilities?”

“There’s no guarantee the old man heard correctly,” Jones suggested. “Or maybe he mistranslated the term. Or the boy was just muttering about black stones he saw inside the cave. There are dozens of explanations that would make more sense than this place.”