"Yet you're unwilling to involve the authorities?"
"At this point, we think the Parks are hiding from the authorities."
Mr. Lee frowned at the mention of their name. "Their name is Park?"
Payne nodded. "Is that a problem?"
"Possibly. Ten percent of all South Koreans are named Park."
"Really?" Jones blurted. "That's a lot of Parks."
"Still, it could have been worse. Twenty percent of us are named Kim."
Payne laughed at the comment, glad that Mr. Lee was an optimist. "If you'd like, we'd be happy to write down everything we have. Names, addresses, and everything else we can think of. Plus you're welcome to make a photocopy of their picture if you think it would help."
Mr. Lee stood and gave him a slight bow. "I shall do it at once."
"And if there's any expense to you-"
He held up his hand to cut him off. "There will be no expense. I am honored to help."
"Are you sure? Because-"
"Yes," he said firmly. "I am sure."
Then, before Payne could say another word, Mr. Lee took the photograph and hustled out of the suite-the safety of the father and son suddenly in his hands.
24
Sunday, December 31
Early in Payne's military career, these were the moments that drove him crazy. Not the training or the long hours or the constant threat of dying, but the waiting. The time during missions when all he could do was sit on his ass and stare at his watch. It contradicted everything he believed in.
Payne's grandfather was the hardest-working man he had ever met, someone who used to work double shifts in the steel mills of Pittsburgh, trying to earn enough money to open his own business and give his family the chance of a better life. Then, once his small investment paid off and Payne Industries blossomed into one of the biggest names in the world of manufacturing, he still set his alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. because there was no way in hell he was ever going to be outworked by anyone. In his mind, laziness was a mortal sin.
Growing up, that's the work ethic that was instilled in Payne. The creed he lived by. It enabled him to become a top student, a better athlete, and one of the best soldiers in the world. Yet the reality of military life was nothing like the movies or the recruiting commercials he saw on TV- especially the one that bragged, We do more before 6:00 a.m. than most people do all day. Payne liked to joke that was true but only because they spent all night drinking and beating off.
Eventually, once he was given his own command, he started to view things differently. That's when he realized how much time and preparation went into a mission. How long it took to acquire foreign intelligence. To gather supplies. To wait for the enemy to make a mistake. And once that started to sink in, his guilt began to fade and the waiting game became much more tolerable. Within a few months, he transformed himself from an overeager warrior to a patient one. Someone willing to eat, sleep, and joke while all the pieces fell into place.
But once they did, he became a man possessed.
The room phone rang before sunrise. Payne was already awake, lying in bed, analyzing their next move while he waited for additional information-whether it came from Raskin, Dial, or Mr. Lee. Surprisingly, the call didn't come from any of them. There was a new voice on the line. One he hadn't heard before. A male. Distinctly Korean. Speaking in hushed tones. "Is this Mr. Payne?"
"Yes," he said, sitting up in bed. "Who's this?" "Are you looking for the father and his boy?" "Who is this?" he repeated.
"Be downstairs in twenty minutes. You and your friends." "Hold up! We're not going anywhere unless-" Click. The caller hung up. No names. No explanation. No additional instructions. Just be downstairs in twenty minutes. Payne set the phone in its cradle as footsteps filled the hall. Jones reached his room first, followed by Kia. Both of them wide awake. Ready to roll.
"Who was it?" Jones asked.
"He didn't say."
"What did he want?"
Payne looked at them, confused. "Us."
Twenty minutes wasn't enough time for most people. But these were the type of contingencies that Payne had trained for. When he walked into a room, he searched for exits. Danger zones. Blind spots. Sometimes it wasn't even a conscious act. His mind automatically worked through the possibilities like a computer crunching data. All the details were just sitting there in his brain, ready to be used if he ever thought they were necessary. And today they were.
He walked outside at 7:00 a.m., still forty minutes before daybreak. The weather was breezy and brisk, colder than it was when he arrived on Jeju twenty-four hours before. He wore jeans, a thick sweater, and a winter coat. It concealed his gun and body armor. Anonymous phone calls were a rarity in his business. He would take every precaution.
To Payne, the front exit was too obvious. Too predictable. The perfect spot for an ambush. So he left the hotel through one of the employee lots, walking behind trees and bushes until he reached the front of the hotel. Virtually invisible in the predawn light.
But no cars were waiting for him. No one was standing around. Even the valets were inside, trying to stay warm. Some people would have been spooked by this, but not Payne. He preferred it this way. The fewer distractions, the better. Just him and whoever wanted to meet.
He'd take those odds any day of the week.
He heard the vehicle before he saw it. A rumble, a sputter, and the occasional grinding of gears. The sound echoed through the darkness like a rooster greeting the sun. It finally came into view as it entered the resort grounds, passing the chiseled entrance sign that gleamed in its spotlight. The truck was American, decades old, probably abandoned at the end of the Korean War because it was too old to salvage even back then. How it still worked was a mystery. It coughed and sputtered as it crawled past the manicured shrubs, belching smoke as it did.
The man behind the wheel looked older than the truck, his wrinkles bathed in light every time he passed under one of the fancy lampposts. White hair, gaunt face, his eyes nothing but slits. Partially from his Asian features. But mostly because he had to squint to see.
If ever a man and his truck belonged together, it was these two.
Payne watched him as he drove up the hill and through the parking overhang, stopping on the downslope of the other side, as if he needed momentum to get started again. The back of the truck was filled with a variety of fishing tools. Rods and reels. Several nets. Two ice chests that were big enough for salmon. Nothing new or expensive. Simple tools for an age-old craft.
The motor continued to run as he stepped out of the truck. He wore grimy old clothes that reeked of the sea. His spine was crooked, his posture hunched, his skin splotched from the sun. He just stood there, whistling absently, his eyes straining to see the pocket watch he held next to his face. Anxious. Waiting. This was a man who was meeting someone.
Cautiously, Payne stepped into the light. Just far enough to be seen. 'Good morning."
The old man froze until he spotted Payne in the shadows. Moving slowly, he trudged toward him until he was close enough to whisper. The same voice as on the phone. "Are you Payne?"
"Maybe. Who are you?"
The old man leaned closer. "A friend of Mr. Lee."
"In that case, I'm Jonathon Payne."
He smiled, glad he had found him so easily. "Are your friends coming with us?"
"That depends. Where are we going?"
"To find the boy."
Payne arched an eyebrow. "Which boy are you talking about?"
The old man pulled out a copy of the photograph. The one Payne had taken from the Parks' house. He pointed to it with gnarled fingers that were covered in calluses. "Yong-Su."