He pointed to the glass of water. “You done with that, or will you be eating something?”
It took a moment for the question to register. When it did, Nasir’s heart skipped a beat. It was the code they had agreed upon. This was his contact, for a moment, he forgot how he was supposed to respond. Then it came to him. “I don’t know. Is it safe eating here?”
“I eat here every clay and I’m still breathing.” A huge smile filled his face. “Our food ain’t fancy, but it’s better than eating camel.”
The man reached into his apron’s pouch and pulled out a take-out menu, which he casually handed to Nasir. At least that’s how it appeared to the guards who were monitoring the dining hall via security cameras. This was the twelfth menu he had handed out during his shift, so his action appeared innocuous. No reason for any alarm or concern.
Of course, the guards couldn’t see what was hidden inside. It was the reason Nasir had risked his life to visit Al-Gaim. The reason why all that money had been given to him and why this handoff was taking place in the middle of a U.S. military compound.
As amazing as it seemed, the menu was the key to everything.
5
U.S. Army Base, Kwajalein
Republic of the Marshall Islands
(2,136 miles southwest of Hawaii)
After being briefed by Colonel Harrington, Payne and Jones slept for an entire day—at least according to the calendar. In reality, they took a four-hour nap during their flight from Hawaii to the Marshall Islands but crossed the International Date Line (longitude 180°) in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a spot halfway around the world from Greenwich, England.
So far their mission had gone as planned, flying from Pittsburgh to L.A. to Honolulu without any delays. They might have been a few years removed from the military, yet Payne and Jones were seasoned veterans when it came to long trips. They knew when to eat, when to sleep, and when to piss—all in order to hit the ground running. Most travelers would have bitched and moaned about spending so much time in the air, but not them. They were so accustomed to jumping out of planes in the dead of night, not knowing if they were ever going to see the sunrise again, that they viewed this trip as luxurious.
No parachutes or drop zones. Just pillows and playing cards.
Technically, the Marshall Islands is a sovereign nation that signed a Compact of Free Association with the United States in 1986. But that’s just fancy political talk. In simple terms, the United States has full authority and responsibility to protect the Marshall Islands. In return, the U.S. Department of Defense was given use of the Kwajalein Atoll, which consists of ninety islets and one of the largest lagoons in the world, and allowed to lease eleven nearby islands for the Ronald Reagan Ballistic Missile Defense Test Site—also known as the Reagan Test Site, or RTS. This Pacific weapons site is a vital cog in America’s defense system, not only because of its strategic location but also because of its sophisticated research technology.
Once the plane touched down, Jones grabbed one of his bags and headed for the front hatch. “How long do we have to kill?”
Payne shrugged, trailing his partner. “A few hours. They’re making final arrangements.”
The duo stepped into the warm night and glanced around the semideserted airfield. Bright lights shone in the distance, highlighting the periphery of the fence line. A tropical wind blew across the tarmac, kicking up the scent of jet fuel and burned tire. It was a smell they remembered well. Not quite as sexy as napalm in the morning, but memorable nonetheless.
A young woman with Asian features and dark hair stood at the bottom of the plane stairs. She wore a khaki skirt and an open-collared white blouse that danced around her petite frame in the gentle breeze. It was the middle of the night, yet she had a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes that said she was honored to be there. “Welcome to the Marshall Islands.”
To Jones, this was a pleasant surprise. He wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee.
“Aloha!” he said as he kissed her on both cheeks, a common greeting in Hawaiian airports. “Or however you say hello in Marshallese.”
The woman’s cheeks flushed, an equal mixture of anger and embarrassment. The smile that was present a moment before was replaced with an angry growl. This was not the delicate lotus blossom that Jones had first perceived. She was a typhoon to be reckoned with.
“Why in the world did you kiss me?” she demanded while poking Jones in the chest. “Just because I have an island complexion you automatically assume I’m some kind of air tramp ready to give you a lei. Do you see any flowers in my hand? Do you hear any Don Ho music?”
“Ah, crap,” Payne mumbled, trying not to laugh.
“You’re in the middle of a U.S. Army base, not on some island tour. What is wrong with you?” It was a rhetorical question. “While you’re in my presence, I expect to be treated with the respect I deserve or else we will stop dealing with each other and I will file sanctions with the base commander. Have I made myself clear?”
Jones nodded, completely mortified. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m a soldier, not a tart.”
“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to imply ...” He stopped in the middle of his sentence. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was completely out of line.”
She glared at him for a moment longer before nodding her head. “Fine. Apology accepted.”
Without delay, she brushed past Jones and stopped in front of Payne, giving him a quick salute. “Captain Payne, it is an honor to work with you. I know you weren’t used to working with women in the Special Forces, but I swear I’ll be of great assistance to you.”
A look of confusion filled Payne’s face. “In what way?”
“Wait,” she said. “You mean, you don’t know? I’ll be joining you on your mission.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll be joining—”
Payne signaled her to stop. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”
Puzzled by the news, Payne glanced at Jones, who gave him a shrug from a very safe distance. No way he was going to reenter mis conversation. Besides, it was obvious he had no idea who she was either, or he wouldn’t have kissed her. At this point the only thing Jones knew was that she was a soldier, not a tart. And since Payne already possessed that intel, Jones did the smart thing and retreated to the safety of the hangar.
Payne growled to himself. “What did you say your name was?”
“Choi. Sergeant Kia Choi. U.S. Army.”
“And who assigned you to my team?”
“Colonel Harrington, sir.”
“Really? In what capacity?”
“Full capacity, sir.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. What’s your skill set? Your specialty?”
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s linguistics. I’ll be serving as your translator.”
“My translator? Damn, Sergeant, why didn’t you say so?” He handed her one of his bags, letting her know that she was going to be treated like any other member of his squad. “I hope to hell you know a lot of swear words, because we cuss a lot.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I know them all.”
Payne dumped his gear inside the hangar, then followed Kia to an army jeep that had been built for World War II.
No key was required. Just a touch of the ignition button and the engine roared to life. “I hope our plane is newer than this.”
Kia laughed, a smile once again brightening her face. “Don’t worry, sir. RTS is equipped with the best technology in the world. We keep relics like this for personal use only. Most of the major roads on Kwajalein are paved, but when you hit the smaller atolls, you’re forced to deal with coral-lined tracks. And jeeps tend to thrive in that terrain.”
He nodded while shifting his attention to the nighttime sky. The alabaster moon, tucked behind a bank of clouds, occasionally showed itself, lighting the coconut palms that dominated the tropical landscape. The temperature was in the mid-eighties, a pleasant
change from the harsh Pittsburgh winter that Payne was used to facing in December.
As if reading his mind, Kia said, “The temperature here is remarkably consistent, averaging roughly eighty-two every month. Strangely, the nighttime temperature is three to five degrees warmer than the afternoon temperature. Mostly because of all the daytime rain.”
“A translator and a weather girl. It looks like the colonel found me a winner.”
“Actually, sir, I found Colonel Harrington.” The jeep squeaked to a halt as she stopped outside the airport command center. “I was born on a U.S. Army base near Seoul, so I know the language and people of South Korea better than most. I realized an old-school soldier like the colonel wouldn’t consider a woman for this job unless he was talked into it. So I called in every favor I possibly could for the opportunity to join your team.”
“You did what?”
“I called in several favors—”
“Hold up! Let me get this straight. You’re saying you’re not used to fieldwork.”
“No, sir. But—”
“Tell me, Choi, what are you used to doing?”
“Translating.”
“I know, but where?”
“Behind a desk.”
Payne groaned as he climbed out of the jeep and walked toward the building. It was bad enough that he was asked to run a mission with no prep time, but to assign him a rookie in such a critical role? What the hell was Harrington thinking? Her inexperience was going to cause a whole new set of problems.
“Sir,” she pleaded as she hustled after him, “I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Glad to hear it, Choi. Because if you do, there’s a good chance we’ll all end up dead.”
6
Saturday, December 30
Jeju Island, South Korea
The seventy-mile boat ride across Jeju Strait was eerily silent, partially due to the trio’s jet lag and partially from a lack of camaraderie. Their flight to Japan had gone smoothly, as did their trip to the southern tip of the Korean Peninsula. Good weather, no red tape, few delays. Kia showed off her translating skills at the Tokyo airport, easily switching from Japanese to Korean. According to her file, she was able to speak seven languages and read three more, which was a remarkable feat—especially since Payne and Jones had worked with some Americans who could barely speak English. Still, one issue gnawed at them: how would Kia react under pressure? It was one thing to ask a stewardess for more honey-roasted nuts in a foreign language; it was quite another to lie to an armed guard who was one flick of his finger away from blowing off your head.
In the field, that was the skill that made a good translator.
Normally Payne and Jones, who had reputations for cracking jokes and encouraging levity on their squad, would be in the midst of playful banter, but neither of them was in a talkative mood. Payne occupied his time studying the approaching coast through binoculars, while Jones sat upright in the rear of the boat’s cabin, catching a nap. His body swayed to the rhythm of the pounding waves. Left and right, back and forth, up and down. Never opening his eyes and never appearing unsteady. It was a skill he had developed in the MANIACs—sleeping whenever and wherever he could.
Kia, on the other hand, was anxious. She had taken Dramamine before they shoved out to sea, and so far her stomach had cooperated. At least in terms of seasickness. Unfortunately, the medication did little to quell the anxiety that was raging in her gut. So much was riding on this mission, much more than she was willing to admit. If she screwed up ... hell, she didn’t even want to think about it. Dwelling on the possibilities would only make her more nauseous.
The trio’s silence continued until their boat approached the northern end of the island. Jones sensed their change in speed and opened his eyes. “Are we there yet?”
“Looks that way,” Payne said as he secured one of the ropes to the back of the boat. “My guess is that’s our welcoming party.”
An Asian-American soldier, wearing blue jeans and a thick sweater, met them at the dock with a midsize SUV. He didn’t salute and warned them about displaying any military behavior outside of the cave. Don’t use ranks. Don’t use names. And don’t tell anyone, including the soldiers who were guarding the site, why they were actually there. Only a select few—those inside the cave—knew what was going on, and it was imperative that things stayed that way.
The weather was crisp, somewhere in the low forties, but it felt much colder because of the icy breeze that surged off the water. The people of Jeju often referred to their home as Samdado: the island of three abundances—wind (pungda), rocks (seokda), and women (yeoda). Jagged cliffs of black stone lined the northern face and made up the island’s core, formed by a volcanic eruption during the Quaternary Period of the Cenozoic Era. No historical records exist before the life of Christ, but local folklore insists that three leather-clad gods rose from the earth and used Tamnaguk (now called Jeju) for hunting. This continued until the gods stumbled upon a wooden chest that contained three princesses from the East Sea. The three gods married the three ladies and spent the rest of their lives raising five different grains, cows, and horses.
“You guys ever been here?” asked the soldier as he pulled their SUV onto the highway that led to Mount Halla, the highest mountain in South Korea. Its white peak rose 6,000 feet above sea level, spreading east to west across the center of the 712-square-mile island. “The coastal areas are swarming with tourists, particularly newlyweds. Asians view Jeju as the ultimate destination for honeymooners. Some people call it the Korean Hawaii.”
Payne studied the distant landscape—thick groves of alpine trees covered the black basalt—and disagreed with the comparison. “Doesn’t look like Hawaii.”
“Doesn’t feel like it, either,” Jones declared from the backseat. “Turn on the damn heater.”
The soldier smiled and cranked up the temperature. “Koreans actually embrace the variety of climates on Jeju. It’s one of the only places in the world where you can find both polar and tropical animals living on the same island.”
Payne nodded. “That’s kind of unique.”
“That’s nothing. This mountain we’re driving up right now, the one with all the snow on the top? It’s actually a volcano. When was the last time you saw snow on a volcano?”
“It’s been a while. We don’t have volcanoes in Pittsburgh.”
“Obviously it’s dormant now, but Mount Halla’s eruption formed this island millions of years ago. Everything you see—the hotels, the lakes, the trees—is sitting on volcanic rock. But the most remarkable part is what you can’t see. The core of this entire island is surging with lava tubes, massive wormholes snaking through the earth like giant veins. And I’m not talking small caves. I’m talking huge. The largest is more than eight miles long.”
Running throughout the northeastern corner of the island, Manjanggul is one of the longest lava tube systems in the world. The width of the main cave varies between six and seventy feet, while the height soars to more than ninety feet in certain spots. Tourists flock to three main entrances, where they are able to explore the naturally formed lava pillars and stalactites, including a landmark called Turtle Rock, which looks like an ancient turtle crawling out of the depths of Earth. Public tours are stopped six-tenths of a mile deep, leaving seven and a half miles to scientists who observe bats and other underground creatures in their natural habitat. They also study the tubes themselves, trying to ascertain why rivers of lava that once flowed deep underground burst to the surface, leaving massive chasms behind.
Experts believe there are more than a hundred lava tubes on Jeju, but only 60 percent have been documented in public records. The others are either undiscovered or being used for alternative purposes—such as the cave the U.S. military was studying. It was being protected by the top soldiers in the Pacific fleet.
A thick rope hung between two camphor trees at the bottom of the rocky trail, blocking all unauthorized per
sonnel. Two soldiers dressed in casual clothes sat on folding chairs, checking IDs. If they were trying to look inconspicuous, they were unsuccessful. Their size and skin color gave them away. Thankfully, other soldiers fared much better. Their painted faces and camouflage uniforms blended in with the nearby woods, making them virtually invisible. They scanned the terrain with their sniper scopes, poised to eliminate any trespassers who tried to approach the cave. Although this island was South Korean, this hillside temporarily belonged to the United States of America.
Members of Payne’s team flashed their credentials and were given immediate access to the site. Led by the soldier from the SUV, the trio climbed the path behind him, careful where they stepped. First Jones, then Kia, then Payne, his eyes darting back and forth, noticing everything. Azalea bushes, no longer in bloom, dotted the lower landscape, as did fields of long brown grass that rustled like dead leaves every time the wind blew. Up ahead, larger trees lined the basalt trail, roots and trunks squeezing out of narrow fissures in the stone. Fingerlike branches waved overhead, swaying against the breeze, as if urging them to stop. Under their footsteps, rocks crunched like broken bones, the sound mixing with the stale scent that wafted down the hillside like a waterfall of stench. The entire place felt macabre, like nothing Payne had ever experienced before. In his mind, he likened it to the setting of an Edgar Allan Poe story.
“Good Lord,” Payne said. “What in the world is that smell?”
The driver answered coyly. “It’s the reason you’re here.”
7
Fifteen feet from the cave entrance, each member of Payne’s team was given three things: a surgical mask, surgical gloves, and crime-scene booties to be slipped over their shoes. Yet no instructions or details were provided.
Jones eyed the driver. “Are you worried we’ll contaminate the scene?”
“Just the opposite. We’re worried about the scene getting on you.”
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