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."
20
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."
Payne rubbed his eyes, half-regretting his seat on the couch. It was soft and plush and made him want to sleep. "Let's go back to the cave for a sec. Let's focus on that. What do we know about the operation?"
"Schmidt's team consisted of himself and the three squad members who weren't killed at the hospital. That means five of them in total. Dr. Sheldon said Trevor was in charge of the facility, doing torture or whatever. Forensics found three samples that weren't in the system, probably from the prisoners or the men who killed Schmidt's crew."
"In other words, professionals."
"Definitely. No way they got to Schmidt otherwise."
Payne sighed, still trying to grasp the situation. "Professional soldiers mean one of two things: we captured a foreign official that was important enough to be rescued. Or-"
"We snagged a terrorist with a lot of secrets."
"Exactly. Someone big. Someone worth saving."
"That makes more sense to me. Terrorists are off-the-grid to begin with. No reason to bring them into the system. Smuggle them to a cave and let Schmidt work them over until he got them to talk." Jones paused, thinking things through. "Let's face it, Schmidt and his men would've been perfect candidates for that type of work. Still angry from the hospital attack."
"Plus it explains the village."
"How so?"
"A foreign national wouldn't cover up his escape. If anything, he'd blow the whistle on the cave, showcasing the evil nature of America. But a terrorist? He'd want everyone dead."