book

by Unknown

  If that happened, her lack of clothes would be the least of their worries.

  Boards creaked as Fred Nasir walked down the steep slope of the tunnel. When the path leveled off, it turned gently to the east. Lightbulbs hung above him, barely lighting the way. He walked fifty more feet, where he was greeted by a locked metal gate. It wasn't what he was expecting to find so deep underground.

  "Hello?" he called, his voice echoing through the shaft. "Is anyone home?"

  A hulking security guard emerged from the darkness. He carried a flashlight in one hand and a pickax in the other. Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the dirt that covered his face. To Nasir, it looked like the guard was leaking mud. Like a mole man who lived in the Earth's core.

  "May I help you?" he asked in a deep voice.

  "I have a delivery."

  "Stay there."

  Nasir nodded. What choice did he have? The gate was locked, and the person he needed to meet was on the other side. At least he hoped he was. The truth was he didn't know anything about him. Much like it had been at Al-Gaim. He was given a time and a place but wasn't quite sure who was going to be there when he showed up. He was told it was done for security. The less he knew, the better. Obviously it made perfect sense, but it was still unsettling.

  He glanced at his watch again. Five more minutes had passed.

  Finally, Nasir heard movement up ahead. He stared through the metal gate, hoping to get a glimpse of his contact before he had to talk to him. Praying it wasn't another mole man.

  One glimpse and he realized that wasn't the case. In fact, it wasn't a him at all.

  It was a woman. A sexy woman. Striding confidently through the darkness. Her hair was covered and she wore a robe, but there was something about her that was captivating.

  Suddenly he wasn't in such a hurry to leave.

  "May I help you?" Shari asked, who had put on appropriate clothes for her visitor.

  "Yeah. I have a delivery."

  "Great. I've been expecting you. Please slip it through the gate."

  He looked at the fence and frowned. "You mean I can't come in?"

  "Why would you want to come in?"

  "I don't know. Just to look around. I'm kind of curious."

  Before Shari could respond, the guard emerged behind her. He still held the pickax in his grasp. "You know what they say about curiosity."

  Nasir gulped. "It killed the cat."

  "It's gonna kill the deliveryman, too, unless you get your ass out of here."

  Shari fought the urge to smile. "You heard the man. Give me the package, then you better get going. I'm not big enough to protect you if he gets angry."

  Nasir nodded and slipped a sealed envelope through the gate. Inside the envelope was the take-out menu he had picked up at Al-Gaim. Inside the menu was a tiny computer disk.

  Shari glanced at it and frowned. "Is that everything?"

  "Yes. That's everything."

  "Okay, then. Thanks for coming." She turned to leave but realized he was still standing there, just watching her. "Can you find your way out? Or do you need some help?"

  "I'll gladly help you out," growled the guard.

  "No, thanks. I'm fine." Nasir backed away from them. "No problem at all."

  "Great," Shari said with a laugh. "Take care now. Stay safe."

  Nasir turned and hustled up the ramp, dying to get out of the tunnel. Dying to see the sunlight.

  Ironically, it was one of the things that led to his death.

  There's a split second when people first leave the darkness when their eyes are unable to adjust. The sun's rays are just too bright; pupils are unable to compensate.

  To a trained killer, it's something that can be taken advantage of. A moment when his target is temporarily blind. And a blind target is an easy mark.

  The man calmly waited until Nasir stepped outside the tunnel. Then, before he could focus, he took his jambiya, a curved Arabic dagger, and slid it across Nasir's throat. One quick slash and it was over. His scream emerged as a bloody gurgle, a short burst of spray followed by a quick loss of life. No resistance. No struggle of any kind.

  One minute the target was alive, the next he was dead.

  Just like the killer had been taught.

  After that, he simply dragged Nasir back into the tunnel and dumped him on the ground, blood pouring from him like a gutted pig. No need to hide the body. No need to clean up the scene. That would defeat the purpose of this violent act.

  This murder was a message.

  One he wanted them to see.

  * * *

  14

  Payne spotted a wooden bench in a small flower garden. Always cautious, he checked it for hidden weapons before letting the old man take a seat.

  Payne had been raised by his grandfather, so he had a special place in his heart for the elderly. He believed in respecting them. And listening to them. Always soaking in as much wisdom as he possibly could before the resource was no longer available. Of course, he also knew that some senior citizens were total assholes. Therefore, he planned on taking every precaution until he knew more about this guy and his past.

  "So," Payne said, "tell us about the gate."

  The old man stared at him, sizing him up. Several seconds passed before he was willing to speak. And when he did, there was a bitter tone in his voice. Filled with anger and acrimony. "This isn't the first time Americans have come to Jeju. You've been visiting for decades. And I don't mean tourists. I mean soldiers like you. Threatening our island."

  On the inside, Payne felt like a total ass. Embarrassed for being there. Ashamed for holding this guy at gunpoint. Mortified by the lack of U.S. military support during the Jeju Massacre. Yet what could he do? It was crucial for him to stay in control of the situation, so he revealed nothing. No emotions. No response. No reaction of any kind.

  "I was one of the men who was arrested back in 1948. My entire family was pulled out of my home, this home, at gunpoint. The women were carted away first, their screams echoing through the night. Then we were blindfolded and dragged into a nearby cave, where we were beaten, starved, and tortured for the next three years. During that time, my father, uncles, and brothers were killed. Out of nine of us, I was the only one who survived."

  The old man rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face.

  "You want to know why I have a gate? That's why I have a gate."

  Kia sat next to him and whispered something in Korean. Something soft and comforting. The tone of her voice revealed that much. Payne had no idea what was being said and realized it would be inappropriate to ask. The old man needed a moment, and Payne was willing to give it to him. That's the least he could do. So he took the pitchfork from Kia and let them talk.

  Eventually, after a few minutes of dialogue, Kia turned her attention to Payne. "Do you have any questions?"

  Payne nodded. He had several. Yet he realized things would go smoother if someone else did the asking. Someone the old man could trust. Someone who hadn't grabbed his ponytail and pulled him to the ground.

  "Actually, why don't you interview him? I figure, you found the guy."

  Kia smiled, thrilled with the opportunity. And her excitement seemed to brighten the old man's mood. Five minutes earlier, he had been holding her at bay with a rusty pitchfork. Now the two of them were bonding.

  She started simple. "Can you tell us more about the Americans?"

  "They've been coming here since the fifties. Mostly in the dead of night when they didn't think we were watching. But we saw them. We noticed what they were doing. Bringing in others, sneaking them through the woods." He turned toward Kia, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Things died down a few years ago. All of us hoped they'd finally moved on, that they'd found somewhere new. But all of that changed a few months ago when the screams returned to the island. Pe-Ui Je Dan had been reborn."

  "Pe-Ui Je Dan?"

  The old man nodded. "The Altar of Blood."

  Jones stared at
Dr. Sheldon, still trying to figure him out. So far, their conversations were like a game of poker. A lot of bluffing, a lot of gamesmanship, yet no obvious winner. Every once in a while Sheldon toyed with him—dropping a hint, raising the stakes—but he refused to lay his cards on the table. And until he did, the game would continue whether Jones wanted it to or not.

  Unfortunately, Sheldon's last comment was his most puzzling yet. He claimed Trevor Schmidt was in charge of this facility. But how could that be? It didn't make any sense. Schmidt was a highly decorated Special Forces soldier, handpicked for the MANIACs and trained in their specialized form of warfare. Those skills could not be used in a cave. Not as a guard, nor as a facility supervisor. To achieve full impact, he needed to be in the field.

  Then again, Colonel Harrington stressed that Schmidt was no longer the same man he had been. That he ceased to exist after the incident at Taif. Those were Harrington's exact words. Schmidt ceased to exist. Like Schmidt had died with everyone else in the incident. As if he were unable to shoulder the pain and loss of the tragedy and had simply given up. Jones had seen many soldiers who could no longer handle the pressures of war, who could no longer bounce back from their emotional scars and remain on active duty. But he had never heard it described in Harrington's terms. His friend had ceased to exist.

  A loud ding echoed throughout the cave, a sound that snapped Jones back to reality. He glanced at Sheldon, who told him not to worry. The sound meant that Sheldon had received a classified e-mail. Probably the test results he'd been waiting for. Jones wasn't sure if he was allowed to see them, but there was no way he was going to miss this opportunity. He followed Sheldon into the next room, hovering over his shoulder at all times, hoping to catch a glimpse of the e-mail. But his persistence wasn't necessary. After Sheldon scanned the report, checking and double-checking the information, he passed it to Jones. No fanfare. No explanation. No games of any kind. He knew Jones was smart enough to figure things out, so he simply handed it to him.

  Unfortunately, the news was worse than Jones had expected. A lot worse.

  Payne made sure he heard the term correctly. "The Altar of Blood?"

  The old man nodded, refusing to look at him, focusing on Kia instead. "No matter who was taken there, they always screamed to their gods, begging to be saved from the pain they endured. Sometimes this went on for days. Sometimes weeks. But their prayers were never answered. Their blood was always spilled."

  The old man trembled, remembering the time he had spent in the cave and all the family he'd lost. Kia tried to soothe him, touching his shoulder, whispering words of encouragement in Korean before she asked him another question. "And the Altar was recently reborn?"

  "Our village was quiet for many years. But a few months ago the spirits were reawakened. The screams started again at night, in a language I've never heard. An ancient language. Something barbaric. Like the Devil speaking in tongues." He glanced toward Payne, still refusing to look him in the eye but making sure he heard every angry word. "But the Devil didn't come here alone. Your people brought him here. Your people lost control. Yet my people were the ones who suffered.... Why does my village always suffer?"

  Payne wanted to tell him that he had nothing to do with this, that he'd come to this island to help his people and his village, but the old man wouldn't have listened. There was too much anger, too much history for Payne to overcome. At least with words. The only way to make a real difference was to find out what happened and close the cave forever.

  Thankfully, Kia continued to ask the right questions, proving to be a valuable asset. "Speaking of your village, where is everyone?"

  "They're out back."

  Without saying another word, the old man stood and walked out of his side garden, stepping carefully on flat stones that had been laid in the ground. Kia followed closely behind, while Payne brought up the rear. He walked with his weapon drawn, eyes scanning the terrain, ready for the unexpected. Pruned trees and shrubs filled the landscape, everything perfectly manicured, as if the old man spent all his time doing nothing else. During the summer months, the flowers would have been in bloom, a rainbow of colors bursting in every corner of the yard. But this time of year everything looked dreary, as if a curtain of gloom had been dropped on the entire village. The sky was gray. The mood was dark.

  Originally Payne had assumed the stench of burning pine had come from the old man's chimney, which continued to belch a steady stream of smoke, but as they rounded the corner of the house, he noticed the actual source. A giant fire pit had been constructed in the middle of the backyard. Volcanic rocks lined the exterior, stacked three feet high and fifteen feet across. Wooden embers smoldered on the inside, casting no flames but burning intense like a furnace. No sparks. No light. Just a lot of heat. The type of fire that was used to cook meat.

  An ancient wheelbarrow, covered in rust, sat abandoned in the yard, next to an ax, a pick, and a variety of cutting tools. All of them splattered with the same hue. The same rust color as the wheelbarrow. In a flash, Payne sensed what had happened. What the old man had done.

  "Where are your neighbors?" Kia wondered. "I thought they were back here."

  The old man nodded, his eyes filling with tears as he stared into the fire. 'They are."

  * * *

  15

  In ancient times, bodies of the dead were often burned en masse to prevent the spread of disease, a common act during times of war when blood-soaked battlefields were sometimes littered with thousands of victims, soldiers so brutalized that identification was next to impossible. The cleanup process was so essential that some generals actually called a truce with their enemies after a major battle, giving both sides enough time to properly dispose of the corpses before their war reignited and more soldiers were slain.

  While a student at the Naval Academy, Payne had read grisly accounts of the disposal process, perfected by the empires of yesteryear, and prayed he would never see it in person. Yet here he was on Jeju, a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, and he was forced to stare at the ashes. Maybe forced to sift through them to figure out why this crazy old bastard had loaded the bodies of his neighbors onto a wheelbarrow and burned them in his backyard.

  For all Payne knew, he might have done the same thing with the victims from the cave. That would certainly explain where everyone went. Why they suddenly disappeared.

  Of course, that wouldn't explain who killed them or why. But one thing at a time. He would worry about those details later. For now, he had to get this guy talking.

  Payne's thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID and saw David Jones. Their phones had been designed with a special encryption chip, so they could talk without concern. No hijacked signals. No security leaks. As safe as whispering.

  Payne clicked SEND. "We need to meet."

  Jones agreed, his voice somber. "Where are you?"

  "In the village."

  "There's a village?"

  Payne laughed. He'd said the exact same thing to the sniper who'd led him here. He gave Jones directions, then added, "When you come, bring some backup. I've got a major situation."

  He nodded. "That makes two of us."

  Twenty minutes passed before Jones arrived at the old man's gate. He led a split squad—both security and forensics— in a convoy of SUVs. Payne didn't recognize any of the men, which led him to believe that there was a full platoon stationed nearby. Hiding somewhere in the woods. Waiting for something to happen. For a mission that was supposedly black, there were a lot of potential leaks. Too many, as far as he was concerned.

  Jones climbed out of the lead SUV, leaving the rest of the soldiers behind. None of them moved. They just sat there. Patiently. Awaiting further instructions.

  "Who are your friends?" Payne asked. "They're very well behaved."

  Jones didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed Payne by the elbow and turned his back to the men. Just in case one of them could read lips. "Things have changed."
r />   "No shit. How bad is it?"

  "Very. But you go first. How should we deploy?"

  Payne explained the basic layout of the village and where he needed troops. Mostly on the periphery. Far from the evidence in the backyard. At least until he got a better handle on things. As for forensics, they'd have to wait until the area was secure.

  Jones jogged to the lead SUV and gave them instructions. In an instant, the team sprang to life. Men hustled from the vehicles, scattering to the four comers of the town. Seconds later, they couldn't be seen. Blending perfectly with the landscape. Payne watched their movements from a distance, impressed by their efficiency. Either they were elite soldiers, who adapted on the run, or they'd been here before and knew exactly where to go. Both possibilities raised intriguing questions. Things he'd discuss with Jones at a later time.

  But first mere were other issues to resolve.

  "Your turn," he said to Jones. "What's changed?"

  "The parameters of our mission. I just got word from forensics. About Trevor."

  Payne nodded, realizing what that meant. Deep down inside, he'd hoped Schmidt was still alive, but he sensed that wasn't the case the moment he saw all the blood. There was simply too much of it. But now tilings were official. His former student was dead. Killed by unknown forces for unknown reasons. Which meant this was no longer a rescue mission. It was something far worse. A homicide investigation.

  Jones continued. "Schmidt's team, including himself, consisted of four men whose DNA was on file with Colonel Harrington. Forensic testing proved it was their blood. And they found so much of it, there's no way any of them could've survived."