book

by Unknown

  "Anything else?"

  "They found three additional samples. Strike that. Three recent ones but no names. And not in the main cave but one of the back chambers. That's where the prisoners were kept."

  "So Sheldon admitted it was a prison?"

  Jones nodded. "If you think about it, it makes sense. It's far from America but close to North Korea, which is our biggest nuclear threat. This location gave us deniability and a lot of freedom when it comes to persuasion. No one was looking over their shoulders."

  "And what was Schmidt's role?"

  "Sheldon claims he was running it."

  "The mission or the torture?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe both."

  Payne winced at the news, instantly thinking back to the years he'd spent with Schmidt, all the training, all the missions, and wondering where he'd gone wrong. If he'd gone wrong. The life of a Special Forces soldier was a complex one, an equal mix of aggression and discipline, humanity and brutality, always searching for a peaceful solution in an ultraviolent world. Balance was difficult to maintain, nearly impossible, which was one of the reasons why Payne was glad he got out when he did. While he still had a sense of honor. While he still had control.

  But some soldiers weren't nearly as fortunate. Sometimes tragedies occurred that pushed them too far over the edge, causing them to lose track of their humanity. Their morality. Their ability to tell the difference between right and wrong. And when that happened, the military usually did one of two things. Either they counseled them on their behavior, hoping to cure it. Or they gave them a change of duty, hoping to exploit it.

  And that's what happened to Trevor Schmidt.

  An incident changed his life. And the military took full advantage.

  According to Colonel Harrington, Schmidt had acted heroically during a mission gone wrong. Bad intel caused his squad to be dropped in the middle of occupied ground, surrounded by the enemy, yet Schmidt led his men to safety without any fatalities. Many injured, but none dead. A modern-day miracle. They were airlifted to Taif Air Base in Saudi Arabia, where they were treated at Al-Hada Hospital, a Saudi facility that catered to Westerners. To boost morale, families were flown in from the States to the Al-Gaim Compound, where they were allowed to stay while their loved ones recovered. Anything, Schmidt had argued, to help his men get better.

  On the day of the incident, he had loaded up a shuttle bus with all the family members—wives, parents, girlfriends, even a couple of kids—and driven them to the hospital. His men were quartered in a separate wing, one that offered privacy from the regular patients, allowing them to talk freely about their missions without being overheard. Security was posted outside their doors, and every time the shift changed, the new guards swept the wing for listening devices. Far from perfect, but it would have to do until his men were healthy enough to be transported home.

  Schmidt parked in a secured lot and herded everyone toward the front entrance, where they were greeted by another member of his squad, one of the uninjured ones, who led them into the building, through metal detectors, and past security. Schmidt made sure each of his men was doing well before he got back on the shuttle bus and drove to Taif, where he had a meeting to discuss what the hell went wrong with his last mission and whose head was going to roll. Someone had to pay for the fuckup that nearly killed his squad. He'd make sure of it.

  Unfortunately, the meeting lasted less than three minutes. Schmidt barely had time to open his mouth when the conference room started to rumble. The floor began to shake. The walls began to quiver. Thunder ripped across the sunny sky. Everyone in the room was a seasoned veteran, so all of them knew what had happened. There had been an explosion. An attack of some kind. The only questions were where and why.

  The amazing thing about war is that there can be silence in the middle of so much noise. Phones started ringing and people started shouting, a cacophony of sounds that rose above the distant rumble of a building collapsing to the ground, but Schmidt heard none of it. Not a single sound after the initial blast. As if his brain had hit the mute button.

  Just like that, something inside him clicked.

  Chaos swirled around him as he walked down the corridor. Alarms going off. Soldiers running everywhere. The anger from a moment before had been replaced with a temporary numbness, a stark realization that his current life would be over the instant he walked outside and saw what had been destroyed by the blast. How many squad members had been killed.

  He paused at the door, his hand resting on the latch, trying to soak in his last few seconds of hope before he was overwhelmed by a thirst for revenge that wouldn't be quenched until he punished every last person who was responsible for this tragedy.

  Until he squeezed the life out of all of them.

  Finally, as if accepting his own fate, Schmidt took one last breath, then stepped into the brutal heat of the Saudi sun, where he stared at the hospital that burned in the distance.

  The flames igniting his rage within.

  * * *

  16

  Kia sat next to the old man, no longer fearing him. His name was Dong-Min Kim. After she explained who she was and why she was there, he apologized several times for attacking her with a pitchfork. She brushed it off like it was the type of thing that happened every day, but Kim knew better. He wasn't the least bit delusional, as she had first feared. He was actually clearheaded and caring. The stereotypical village elder.

  The two of them talked in Korean, everything light and conversational. Nothing about the fire pit, the cave, or what had happened during the past week. Those were topics she wanted to save for Payne and Jones. Instead, she talked about her childhood on the army base near Seoul, explaining how blessed she was to be exposed to so many cultures at such an early age and how it gave her a head start on her current career. By age ten, she could speak four languages.

  Kim was impressed by her accomplishments, especially her world travels. In all his life, he had never left the island of Jeju. Not even to go fishing. As a young boy he had nearly drowned while learning to swim, and after that he had an intense fear of the sea, which prevented him from going anywhere. No boats. No planes. No traveling of any kind. Instead he poured himself into books, learning the ways of the world from the comfort of his own home. Unfortunately, that was the main reason why he was so outraged by the presence of the cave. He rarely strayed from his village, yet the dangers of the world kept finding him there.

  With a wave of his hand, Payne caught Kia's attention. She excused herself from Kim and walked into the backyard, where Payne and Jones were waiting by the fire pit, the smell of smoke still filling the air.

  "Is he lucid?" Payne asked.

  Kia nodded. "Very. He knows exactly what's going on."

  "Good. We're hoping he can tell us what happened. Any advice on how to approach him?"

  "Sir?"

  "Will he be receptive to my questions, or should you conduct the interview?"

  "Honestly, sir, I think it would be best if I handled it. He doesn't trust Americans. And I think he'd be more comfortable speaking in Korean."

  Payne nodded, agreeing with everything she'd said. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to fill her in on the latest news about Trevor Schmidt, so he gave her a short list of questions that he and Jones had composed and asked her to look them over. Thirty seconds later she had them committed to memory. It was one of her strengths.

  "Try to keep things conversational," he suggested as he tossed the list into the fire and watched it burn. "Use your rapport to open him up. Then, and only then, ask him the important stuff. We need some honest answers from him. No time for bullshit. Remember, the longer he thinks about a response, the less likely he'll tell the truth."

  Kia nodded, then returned to Kim, who gave her a warm smile as she approached. Except for his long pony-tail, he looked like her maternal grandfather, a man who'd died long before she was born. Otherwise, Kia's mother wouldn't have been allowed to marry an American.

  "Sorry ab
out that," she said in Korean. "My bosses were asking about you."

  "And what did you tell them?"

  "I told them you weren't a flight risk."

  Kim laughed. "That much is true. If I didn't leave for this ..." His voice trailed off.

  "About that," she said, ignoring Payne's advice to take it slow. "Can you tell me what happened here? None of it makes any sense to me. The cave. The empty village. The fire."

  "In the past we always left the soldiers alone and they left us alone. It was a mutual understanding, one that has gone on for decades. But this time, fate intervened."

  She said nothing, hoping he would fill in the blanks.

  "A few weeks ago, a village boy named Yong-Su came to me and asked about the screams from the cave. I told him about its past, hoping to scare the curiosity out of him. But my efforts failed. Last weekend he went to the cave on his own."

  "What did he see?"

  "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But when he returned, he was covered in blood."

  "His blood?"

  "Someone else's."

  Kia paused, memories of the cave flooding through her mind. Ten seconds were more than enough to make her nauseous. She couldn't imagine what Yong-Su must have felt when he walked into the cave, completely alone, no one there to protect him. It had to be traumatic.

  Kim seemed to read her mind. "The boy came back unable to speak. His mother was crying, simply terrified, unsure of what to do. She cleaned him off and searched for injuries, but found none. Meanwhile the boy's father, an honorable man named Chung-Ho Park, ran from house to house, asking if anyone had seen what had happened. It didn't take long to figure it out. The boy had left a trail of blood everywhere he walked. We were able to follow it to the edge of the village and into the woods. Drip ... drip ... drip."

  The sound of his voice and the look on his face told Kia that his emotions were starting to resurface. To keep him calm, she put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently. Trying to comfort him. Hoping to keep him focused. Still, several seconds passed before he spoke again.

  "I'm an old man with a long memory. I know what kind of evil goes on in that cave, so I told Chung-Ho that the village was no longer safe for him and his son. Much to my relief, he didn't question me. He just put his boy in their car and left. His wife and the rest of his family planned on following, but they never had a chance."

  "Why not?"

  "The soldiers came into town in waves, dressed in black and wearing masks. Some of them followed the blood to the boy's home, while others spread throughout the village. I heard angry voices punctuated by screams, but that's all I could distinguish. I was too worried about finding a place to hide to make out their words."

  Kia sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

  "The first shot was the loudest. It sounded like a cannon, echoing through the town. Others soon followed, one after the other, coming in sporadic bursts like firecrackers. My house is the last one in the village, which gave me all the time I needed. After the first massacre, I'd built a small shelter under the floor of my house, just in case history repeated itself. I stayed down there for more than four days, barely eating or sleeping. Going to the bathroom in my own pants. When I could take it no more, I slipped into my backyard and listened. There were no sounds. I glanced out my front gate, but there was no movement. That's when I knew they were gone."

  "Did you call the police?"

  He waved his hands in disgust. "The police? Why would I call the police? They were in charge of the first massacre! To this day, half of my family is still somewhere in that cave, their bodies crammed behind a pile of rocks and left there to rot. It is such a disgrace to my family name, but there's nothing I can do about it. Believe me, I've tried."

  He took a deep breath before continuing. "Did you know the size of a grave plot in this country is larger than the average amount of living space that our citizens have? That's right. The dead took up more room than the living. And the cost of all their burials? It would have been more than I could afford."

  She nodded, finally beginning to understand his perspective.

  "So I took matters into my own hands. First I went into the boy's house, but everyone was dead. His mother, his brother and sister, his aunt, his cousins. Everyone. Same with the rest of the village. Every single person and been shot and killed. Bodies just lying there in puddles of their own blood, the smell starting to build. So I walked back to my yard and built a fire. I threw in some pine needles and incense to cover the odor. Then one by one I loaded them into my wheelbarrow and did the proper thing. I freed their souls to the sky."

  * * *

  17

  One of the guards found Fred Nasir's body near the tunnel entrance. His throat was slashed and he'd been left to die. Blood covered the wooden planks that lined the floor, dried by the desert heat that seeped in from the outside world.

  From the looks of things, he'd been dead at least an hour.

  Panicked, the guard sprinted down the steep slope, unlocked the metal gate that protected their site, and told Shari Shasmeen what had happened. Her face went pale when she heard the news. As project leader, it was her job to make all the important decisions—what they did, where they worked, and so on—and to take responsibility when things went wrong. And until then, she had accomplished it with remarkable ease. She had fifteen years' experience in the field and was recruited for her expertise. She was so gifted at her job that the project financier, the Arab who had hired her, was willing to overlook the fact that she was a woman—a remarkable concession in this part of the world.

  But a murder? That was way beyond anything she was prepared to handle.

  She was a religious archaeologist, not a detective.

  Obviously this was a situation she couldn't handle on her own, not with all the politics involved. So she did the one thing she was told to do if there was ever a major problem.

  She called her boss, Omar Abdul-Khaliq.

  He answered the phone on the third ring, his voice as composed as ever.

  "What is wrong?" he asked.

  She explained everything—the delivery, the murder, her concerns. The entire time he said nothing. He just listened, occasionally taking notes.

  "This is troubling indeed." He paused for a moment. "But it can be handled."

  "Handled how?"

  "You must listen to me and do exactly what I say."

  She knew not to question him. So far he had proven his worth at every turn. Not only did he finance the project with his deep pockets, money his family had earned in the oil business, but he'd done a remarkable job of getting work permits from the Saudi government, a minor miracle since they were digging right down the street from the Great Mosque, and keeping the police away. Several times she wanted to ask him how that was possible, but she realized it was one of those questions better left unasked.

  "Have you touched the body?"

  "No! We checked to see if he was dead, but other than that we haven't touched anything."

  "Good. This is good. You must not touch the body. Leave it as it is."

  She grimaced. "For how long?"

  "It will be removed today."

  "But—"

  His voice grew stern. "Please allow me to finish."

  She nodded, regretting her mistake.

  "I will send a new team of guards, men more equipped to handle this crisis. They will remain at the site, night and day. You shall brief them when they arrive. They'll need to see everything."

  "Of course."

  "Activity around the mosque will only increase as pilgrims arrive. The old city will be crowded, filled with millions of witnesses." Abdul-Khaliq paused, thinking things through. "Until the hajj is over, all work should be stopped at the site. No workers, no digging, no attention. No one but the guards to protect our work.... Do you not agree?"

  She answered carefully, realizing it was a loaded question. "Whatever you think is best."

  "Besides, you and your team deserve some time
off—a reward for all your efforts. It will help you forget this tragedy.... Mecca is a historic city, one you've barely seen. Use your time wisely. Roam the streets, observe the celebration. It is one to behold."

  Shari was quite familiar with the hajj and its customs. While preparing for her dig, she read several firsthand accounts, tales of tragedy and triumph, loss and salvation, written by men and women whose lives were changed by their journey. Deep inside she knew she would never participate as a pilgrim—she was a nonpracticing half-Muslim— but as an academic, she realized her observations would be invaluable.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the best thing to do.

  Considering the circumstances, it was certainly the safest.

  "Before we conclude," he said, "there is one more item to be discussed."

  "Which is?"

  "The delivery of my package. Did it arrive safely?"

  She held the sealed envelope in her hand. "Yes. I have it right here."

  "Good. That is good." He paused briefly. "Is it unopened?"

  "It seems to be."

  "Excellent!"

  She was dying to find out what was inside, especially since the man who'd delivered it was dead in her tunnel. Still, she knew not to ask too much. "What should I do with it?"

  "Hold it at all times. One of these days, it will come in handy. You shall see."

  The guards showed up sooner than expected, less man an hour after she'd called Abdul-Khaliq.

  They were highly trained and highly unsociable. Only one of them spoke to Shari, and even then it was to tell her to stay out of their way.

  Their first order of business was the body. One of the men went through Nasir's pockets, finding the keys to the Toyota Camry, while another man backed a van as close to the tunnel entrance as possible, until his rear bumper nearly hit the chain-link fence that protected it. They unloaded an Arabic rug that had been purchased at a nearby bazaar and unrolled it next to Nasir. Two of the men moved him to the edge of the rug, then rolled him up inside like a burrito.