by Unknown
Payne focused on Kia. "Are you squeamish? If so, I need to know right now."
"No, sir. I'm not squeamish. Why?"
"Because this is going to be bad. Worse than anything you've seen before."
Kia grimaced. "How do you know?"
"Experience."
"You used to investigate crime scenes?"
Jones answered for him. "No, we used to cause them."
Payne said nothing as he turned from Kia. He knew she was aware of their background with the MANIACs and the types of missions they used to run. Still, for a split second, he was embarrassed. Not for his actions—he was quite proud of his military record—but the way his past had been framed. Kia was a new member of his team, and he didn't want her to get the wrong impression. He wasn't a killer or a criminal. He was a soldier. Nothing more, nothing less.
Up ahead a shadow danced on the cave wall. Payne spotted it and headed toward the source of the light. It was a faint glow deep within the bowels of the mountain, yet he knew its intensity would increase tenfold when he reached the scene. Each step brought new sensations that he noted. The rumble of a portable generator. The artificial heat from overhead lights. The echoing drip of seeping liquid. And a stagnant cloud of that god-awful stench. It was inescapable. Unforgettable.
"Don't touch anything," he stressed to Kia. "And if you feel nauseous—"
"I won't feel nauseous."
Payne stopped and put his hand on her shoulder. "But if you feel nauseous, just leave the scene. Don't ask for permission. Just go. Get some fresh air, collect your thoughts, whatever you need to do. Just don't get sick at the scene. That's very important."
"I'll be fine, sir."
"Thankfully," Jones joked, "if she does vomit, this place will smell better."
"I'm not going to vomit," she insisted. "I'm not the least bit squeamish."
Payne nodded, hoping she was right. "Well, we'll find out soon enough."
Kia lasted less than ten seconds before she bolted toward the entrance. But Payne and Jones didn't stop her. Or blame her. During their time in the military, they had never witnessed anything like the scene inside the cave. It was beyond gruesome. It was barbaric.
Blood covered everything. The ceiling. The walls. The floors. Crevices in the stone were filled with sticky red puddles. Cracks looked like surging rivers, the liquid flowing from one point to the next, as if the cave had been drenched with a crimson rain, the downpour searching for a way to escape. Only there was nowhere for it to go because the entire chamber was saturated with fluid. Like a giant heart had exploded and coated everything in its wake.
A table and a chair sat in the middle of it all. Both were bolted to the floor. Both were splattered with arterial spray. So was the light that hung overhead. It looked ancient. No fancy fixture. Not even a pull string. Just a solitary bulb that was caked with dried blood. A single wire ran from its base, snaking across the ceiling, held in place by mining staples that were old and rusty. Obviously from another generation. In fact, the whole chamber had that feel, a giant time capsule that had been cracked open, revealing the way things used to be done when no one was watching. Payne closed his eyes and tried to imagine the screams.
Four floodlights were set up along the periphery, but only one was currently on. Jones glanced at its base and noted a lack of blood. No way it was there when the violence occurred. Same with all the others. They were spotless. Obviously brought there to light the scene.
"Can we go in?" Jones whispered.
Payne shrugged, unsure if all the evidence had been processed. He was ready to call out when a man wearing a surgical mask peeked his head out of the back corridor.
"I thought I heard someone." He wore a butcher's apron that was streaked with blood. It matched the stains on his surgical outfit and booties. "Please come in."
Payne didn't move. "Are you sure? We don't want to disturb—"
"Yes, yes! I'm positive. Everything has been collected."
Jones glanced around at all the gore. "Everything? I think you missed a spot."
The man walked across the bloody cave, barely leaving footprints in the residue. Until then Payne and Jones were under the impression that the chamber was wet. But the dampness was an optical illusion, a combination of the bright light and the crimson stains that made the surface glimmer, a red version of the Amber Room in St. Petersburg, Russia.
Only the tint in this room was biological.
Payne extended his gloved hand and introduced himself, using the opportunity to study the masked man before shifting his focus to the crime scene. Dr. Ernie Sheldon was short and frail, with little hair other than the gray fuzz that covered his temples and the back of his head. The corners of his eyes creased with wrinkles whenever he smiled. It was one of the few things that Payne could see behind his mask.
"You're sure we can come in?"
Sheldon nodded. "Of course! How can you help me if you can't come in?"
"Good question. Better yet, why are we here? It's obvious this isn't a missing-person case."
"Why do you say that?"
Jones motioned toward the floor. "There's less blood at the Red Cross."
"True, there's a lot of blood in here. But how do you know who the blood belongs to?"
"We don't," Payne admitted. "In fact, there are a lot of things we don't know. People have been pretty tight-lipped about why we're here. And to be honest, it's starting to piss us off."
"Then allow me to apologize, because that's all my fault. I'm the one who wanted you kept in the dark. Me and no one else. I'm completely to blame."
Payne glanced at Jones, who shrugged as he studied the cave. "Go on."
"Actually," Sheldon said, "there's not much to explain. I want you to form your own opinion based on your observations, not mine or anyone else's."
"That's understandable. But to do that, we need a starting place. Some basics that'll let us form a rational conclusion. Otherwise, D.J. is liable to guess that this place is nothing more than a Korean slaughterhouse."
Jones grinned. "Moooooooooooooooo."
"Fair enough. What would you like to know?"
"What's your job description?"
Sheldon shook his head. "That's something I'd prefer not to reveal at this time. Concentrate on the scene, not me."
"Fine. What is this place?"
"It's a lava tube, formed when molten rock burst forth from—"
Payne interrupted. "I know what a lava tube is."
'Then why'd you ask?" Sheldon's voice was playful, not demeaning. Like a mentor forcing his pupil to ask the right question.
"I meant this facility. It's obvious this place wasn't used for public tours."
"What's your best guess? Take a look around and hypothesize. If you guys are as good as—"
"Some sort of prison. Fairly old." Jones knocked on the table, listening to the metal thump as it echoed throughout the chamber. "Possibly World War II, maybe later. It's been around for a very long time." He crouched to examine the floor bolts, which held the table and the chair in place. "If I scraped away the blood, I could probably find a manufacturer. That would tell us if it was Korean, Japanese, or American.. .. My guess is American."
Sheldon smiled. "Why do you say that?"
Jones shrugged. "Because we're American. Why else would we be called in?"
"Touche."
Jones shifted his focus to the lightbulb that dangled above his head. It wasn't on, so he was able to stare at it, searching it for clues. "Jon, come over here."
Payne strode across the room, his eyes focused on the bulb. "See something?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure if this table will hold me. Can you give me a hand?"
Holding Payne's shoulder, Jones stepped onto the chair, then the table itself. The surface was remarkably solid, refusing to sag under his body weight. He flipped on his flashlight and studied the light socket. To his eye, there was a tiny piece that didn't belong. It was circular and curved. Definitely modern. "Just what I though
t. It's a camera, embedded in the base. I bet if I took it apart, I'd find a microphone inside, too."
Sheldon clasped his hands together, clearly amused by Jones's discovery, yet not the least bit surprised. "And what was its purpose?"
Payne answered as Jones hopped off the table. "To record interrogations."
"Heavens! You two are good."
Jones ignored the flattery and studied the black cable that ran along the ceiling to the rear of the cave. It stretched into the corridor from where Sheldon had originally emerged, which meant this facility continued beyond the current chamber. Possibly much deeper. What had the SUV driver told them? The longest lava tube on the island is more than eight miles long.
"That camera is next-generation American technology. Definitely military. Expertly placed. And since these walls are way too thick to transmit to an outside source, that means the recording device has to be ..."
His words hung in the air as he followed the wire into the next room.
Unprepared for what he was about to see.
* * *
8
Halfway down the path, Kia sat on a tree stump, her head perched between her knees. Breathing was still difficult, but no longer because of the bile that had risen in her throat. Now it had more to do with her behavior than anything she had just seen.
Good Lord, she thought. Did I really just run out of the cave?
In all her life she had never been more embarrassed by her actions. Sure, she'd talked a good game, bragging that she wasn't squeamish, pretending she could handle anything, but all it took was one look at the crime scene and she started running. Of course, the good news was that she followed through on one promise to Payne. At least she didn't vomit on any evidence.
Kia untied the surgical mask that hung around her neck and tossed it down the rocky path. Her booties came off second, followed by her surgical gloves. With a rubber snap, she flicked them into the air. Even if she was ordered back to the cave, there was no way she was going in. Not with all that blood. Deep down inside, she knew her stomach wouldn't allow it.
"Nasty scene," said a voice from behind.
Kia whirled around so fast she almost fell off the tree stump. Her lack of grace caused the driver of the SUV to laugh as he emerged from the trees.
She apologized. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Don't worry about it. You weren't the scene I was talking about." The driver wore thick gloves and carried a bag labeled Medical Waste. He used it to collect her garments. "Remember what I said when I gave you these? I'd been inside the cave, and once was enough for me."
She nodded, no longer quite as mortified.
"All of us have our limits. And all of us have a specialty. My guess is you weren't selected for forensic work or combat. You were brought in for another purpose."
"Is it that obvious?"
'Then why'd you go in the cave in the first place?"
She shrugged, not really sure of her answer.
"Let me guess. You were trying to fit in, weren't you? Trying to impress your squad leader. Trying to show him how tough you were." He laughed, the sound of someone who had been in her position and had made the same mistake. "Listen, I know this is going to sound pretty simplistic, but I'll let you in on a little secret I learned long ago. The best way to impress your boss is to do your job. That's it. That's the key to getting ahead in this world. Do what you're supposed to do and you'll get noticed."
"Too late. I think I already got noticed."
He grinned. "Yeah, sprinting out of the cave probably wasn't your best choice."
"Probably not."
"In that case, may I suggest Plan B?"
"Which is?"
"Do something that will make everyone forget about Plan A."
"Such as?"
The driver glanced into the trees. He knew they were being watched by several snipers, all of them ready to pull their triggers over the slightest indiscretion. Still, he wanted to assist Kia. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "There's a village nearby, filled with several people who probably aren't very good with English. As far as I'm concerned, their statements might come in handy as this investigation broadens. Heaven knows what they heard or saw."
"You mean no one's talked to them?"
"No one's even been over there. We've been waiting for a translator."
Shame motivated people to commit desperate acts. Some large. Some small. Some completely foolish. As Kia walked toward the village through the camphor trees, she pondered these categories and wondered how she would classify her decision at the end of the day.
The daughter of an American soldier and a Korean mother, she was born on a U.S. Army base near Seoul, 275 miles north of her current location. Foreign marriages rarely worked in the military—they're often based on loneliness and little else—but her parents were the exception. Kia lived in South Korea until she was seven, learning the language, land, and customs from her mom. Then, when her father was transferred to a Stateside base, she learned all about America from him. Ironically, when she was old enough to choose her home, she split the distance between the countries, opting for a job on the Marshall Islands, in the middle of the Pacific.
Near the end of the rocky path, Kia spotted a harubang, also known as a stone grandfather, a ubiquitous gray figure found everywhere in Jeju. It marked the beginning of the village. Made of porous basalt, the six-foot sculpture had two hands—one rested slightly higher on its belly than the other—but no feet. A curved hat sat atop its friendly face. Bulging eyes. A big nose. A gentle mouth. Island elders once believed they drove away evil spirits. Nowadays they were simply a symbol of Jeju, the only place in the world where the original figures were located.
Kia touched it as she walked past, her eyes no longer focused on the relic but on the tiny village that lie ahead. She felt foolish for her thoughts but hoped the statue had done its job, protecting these people from the violence of the cave.
Little did she know that the villagers had played a major role in the bloodshed.
Both past and present.
* * *
9
Mecca, Saudi Arabia
On the outskirts of the sacred city, there was a massive blue sign. Its message was written in Arabic and English, an equal dose of welcome and warning. For true believers of Islam, it marked the gateway to their holy land, the one place on earth they were supposed to visit before they died. But to others, the sign was more ominous. A threat that shouldn't be ignored.
STOP FOR INSPECTION ENTRY PROHIBITED TO NON-MUSLIMS
Fred Nasir stared at the sign and realized this was the point of no return. There was an exit road to the right of the checkpoint, a final chance to turn around and drive back to Taif. Or Riyadh. Or anywhere else he wanted to go. But if he stayed in this line of traffic, which he'd been sitting in for the longest thirty minutes of his life, there was a chance he was going to be pulled from his Toyota Camry and taught the Hind of lesson he'd rather not learn.
For a culture that preached peace, some Muslims were skilled at violence.
Guards were standing up ahead, armed with rifles. He knew that additional men, carrying more significant firepower, were stationed in the nearby security building. Video cameras recorded everything: faces, cars, license plates. A sophisticated system whose sole purpose was to weed out the unwanted. Nonbelievers, who didn't belong.
"Relax," he said to himself. "You'll be fine."
After taking a deep breath, Nasir eased his car under the blue warning sign and waited for the inevitable. The part he feared the most. Two soldiers came out of the booth, neither of them smiling. The first asked for his travel visa and passport; the other glanced inside the car, searching for things that didn't belong. Mecca was a strict city with strict rules. No exceptions. This wasn't like Tijuana, Mexico, where a tourist could slip a couple of bucks to a guard and smuggle Pepe the Dancing Mule across the border for a bachelor party. This was far more serious. The type of place wh
ere bribe attempts were greeted with gunfire.
As requested, Nasir placed his papers in a tiny basket and handed it to the guard, who quickly disappeared into the booth, where he'd inspect everything, putting extra emphasis on the paperwork that granted travelers access to Mecca. To get clearance, Muslims must file the proper certificates (vaccinations, marriage, birth, etc.) weeks in advance, pay the proper entry fees, and include a notarized letter from the director of their mosque that certified their faith. Passports were required as well, but unlike some cities that frowned on visitors from certain nations, Mecca was the ultimate melting pot, a city whose sole existence was to greet visitors from all countries, as long as the visitors believed in Islam.
This time of year—the last month of the Islamic calendar—the city was particularly busy, hosting more than two million guests who were there for the hajj, the pilgrimage that all able-bodied Muslims were required to make at least once in their lifetimes. To accommodate the influx of travelers, the Saudi government built a special airport in Jeddah, the largest in the world in overall area, consisting of a dozen terminals. Traffic flow was so specialized that it was open only for the hajj season. The rest of the year it sat dormant, unable to handle normal operations.
Unfortunately, the airport sat fifty miles west of Mecca, meaning everyone who flew in for the hajj still had to pass through the same security checkpoints as those who drove. This clogged the roadways with cars, vans, and tour buses, plus the occasional hearty soul who walked the entire way through the desert heat. Nasir had heard stories of men passing through security on the hump of a camel, but thus far he hadn't seen any.
Three minutes later, the guard returned with his approved paperwork. Everything had checked out; Nasir was free to enter the city. Lifting the metal gate, the guard welcomed him with a common Islamic greeting. "Salaam aleikoum."
