He was up against an unknown enemy with unknown numbers.
And he was facing them alone.
12
Jones stared at Dr. Sheldon, unsure if he was telling the truth. How could several days of fieldwork turn up nothing? "Doc, I'm not calling you a liar, but-"
"You find my lack of answers hard to fathom." Sheldon smiled, not the least bit offended. "And if I were you, I'd feel the exact same way. All this blood, all this evidence, I have to know what happened. Unfortunately, there's one thing preventing me from drawing any conclusions."
"Which is?"
"I don't have a lab. My entire investigation relies on forensic evidence, yet I can't test anything myself. As it stands, every single sample has to be smuggled off this island so it can be examined at some classified facility. That tends to slow things down."
"I guess it would."
"Right now I'm still waiting for test results I should've received days ago."
Jones nodded, sympathetic to the situation. Early in his career, he worked for the military police, so he knew all about forensic delays and what they did to a case. "Then let's concentrate on other things. Like Trevor Schmidt. How do you know he was here?"
"How? Because this was his facility. He was running the show."
"What do you mean?"
"They brought him in several months ago. First as a guard, later in a more significant role. My guess is they wanted to see if he could handle this place, and he ended up thriving."
"Doing what?"
"Doing everything we're not supposed to do."
The voices came from a house at the far end of the village. One male, one female. Both of them shouting in Korean. Or Chinese. Or some other language that Payne didn't speak. He tried to get as close as possible, hoping to get a view of the argument, but the stone fence that surrounded the yard was much taller than the others he had passed. It stood ten feet tall and was made of thick volcanic rocks that were held in place by some kind of natural paste.
The only entrance was a carved wooden gate that depicted all four seasons on Jeju. Royal azaleas blooming in spring. Waves roaring in summer. Leaves dancing in autumn. And snow falling on Mount Halla in winter. A stone grandfather stood on both sides of the gate; each was rough and weathered, like they'd been there longer than the home they were protecting. A stone chimney anchored the right side of the house, exhaling wisps of brown smoke that soared above the thatched roof and filled the air with a piney aroma.
Gun in hand, Payne crept closer until he was able to lean his body weight against the right gate. It groaned ever so slightly as it swung open, just enough space for him to slip inside.
Kia stood at the far side of the yard, her back against the wall, tension etched on her face. She was arguing with an old man who wore ajeogori robe and bqji pants. Pleading with him. Begging for something in Korean. None of this made any sense to Payne until he saw the weapon in the guy's grasp. It was long and sharp and pointed at Kia's midsection. Maybe a pitchfork. Maybe a trident. Whatever it was, it was fully capable of ruining her day.
Payne inched forward, approaching his target from behind. His hair was long and white and pulled into an elaborate ponytail that was bound tight with a fancy clip. Every time the old man talked, it swayed back and forth, up and down, as if punctuating his words with extra emphasis. His voice was guttural, his phrases choppy. Fear was evident despite the language barrier.
Kia spotted Payne about twenty yards away. Much to her credit, she didn't smile or point or call out to him. Instead, she kept arguing with the old man. Kept his focus straight ahead so Payne could ease into position and do whatever he needed to do.
Ten yards out, Payne lifted his gun and aimed it at the back of his target's head. One simple squeeze and the old man would have been dead. Brains splattered everywhere. Game over. But Payne sensed that was the wrong move. This guy wasn't a killer. He was scared. Probably more so than Kia. He was wearing a robe and slippers in his backyard. Simply defending his property. No way he deserved to die. Then again, neither did she.
Five yards later, Payne made a choice. No gun was necessary. He tucked his P226 in his belt and slipped behind the old man. In a fluid motion, Payne grabbed his ponytail with one hand and flicked away the pitchfork with the other. It fell harmlessly to the ground. The old man was next. Payne eased him backward, supporting his body weight with his own, making sure he didn't bang the man's head or break a hip or anything else.
It was his good deed for the day. No sense hurting the guy if he didn't have to.
"You okay?" Payne asked Kia, refusing to take his eyes off his target.
She nodded as she grabbed the rusty pitchfork. "I'm fine."
"Glad to hear it." Payne patted down the old man, who seemed stunned by the sneak attack, then took a few steps back. Just enough space to feel comfortable. He felt even safer once his gun was back in his hand. "What the hell happened?"
"He attacked me."
"Yeah, I kind of figured that. But why?"
"I don't know," she blurted, punctuating the words with the pitchfork. "I saw the smoke and came here to ask where everyone was because the entire village is empty and I thought maybe he could tell me what was going on, but before I could even ask, he attacked me."
Payne smiled, recognizing the symptoms of adrenaline. The rambling. The exaggerated hand movements. The white knuckles as she clenched the handle. Common traits for a soldier who was new in the field. "Kia, sweetie. Remember to breathe."
"What?"
"Breathe."
She nodded, sucking in a deep bream that returned some color to her cheeks. She repeated the process, and everything about her calmed down. At least a little bit.
"Now, what else can you tell me?"
"About what?"
Payne pointed to the old guy. "Him."
"I heard someone working out back. So I walked around the side of the house to investigate. I got halfway there when he came charging at me with this." She held up the pitchfork. "I'm not armed, so I did what my father always taught me to do when attacked. I screamed."
"And I heard you. You did it very well."
Kia smiled, the stress of the moment melting away. "Thanks."
"What were you two arguing about?"
"Everything! I said I wasn't going to hurt him, but he disagreed. I told him I was Korean, but he didn't believe me. No matter what I said, he claimed I was lying."
Payne nodded, starting to grasp the situation. Either the old guy was completely delusional, or he'd suffered a recent trauma. Something so significant that he'd developed some major trust issues. Why else would he be deathly afraid of Kia?
"Does he speak English?" Payne wondered.
She asked him in Korean but the old guy ignored her, refusing to say anything.
"Fine," Payne said, "then he can't help us. We're just gonna have to kill him."
The old man flinched on the ground, reacting to what Payne had said. Obviously a big mistake. Right then and there, Payne knew he spoke English. Or at least understood it.
In a calm voice, Payne said, "Don't worry, sir. I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to see if you could understand me. And clearly you can." He stepped forward and offered the guy his hand, but it was rejected. The old man wanted to stand on his own. "My apologies, sir. I figured since I pulled you down, the least I could do was help you up."
"Just like an American," the old man muttered in a thick Korean accent. He took a moment to dust himself off- first his robe, then his pants-before finishing his thought.
"Why do your people always assume that an act of kindness will make up for one of violence?"