"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. This is supposed to be a low-key operation."
"Yeah," Payne snapped. "I gathered that from your office decor. I meant the saving my ass part. I never asked to be saved."
"That's not what we heard from the Pentagon." He opened the lone folder that sat on his desk. "At oh-oh-oh-two hours, we were notified of a possible medical evac on Jeju Island. Details to follow. At oh-oh-eleven hours, medical evac was changed to personnel evac. Three soldiers, two civilians. Aerial resources were diverted from a training mission in the Korea Strait, course south-southwest toward Seongsan. At oh-oh-seventeen hours, our rendezvous point was updated when your boat was tagged by satellite." He glanced up from the folder and stared at them. "Shall I go on?"
Jones spoke first. "Can you repeat the part about medical evac? That was so exciting!"
"You think this is a joke?"
"No," Payne said, "we don't. But unless you have transcripts of an unauthorized broadcast on our part, I think it would be best if you dropped your attitude. Last time 1 checked, sergeant majors were several notches below captain in the chain of command."
Crawford stood from his chair. "Maybe so. But last time checked, you were retired."span›
He walked toward his office door, then stopped. "Stay put. I'm calling Washington."
Payne and Jones waited for Crawford to close his door before they spoke. And even then, they did it in hushed tones, trying not to be overheard.
Jones asked, "Did you call for evac when I was shot?"
"Are you crazy? I was running down the street, chasing a gunman. When could I call?"
"What about Kia?"
"What about her? She was taking care of you. Did she use your phone?"
Jones shook his head. She was busy, too. "Well, someone called."
Payne nodded, confused. "Yeah, but the question is who."
32
Twenty minutes passed before Crawford returned. When he did, he said nothing until he punched a series of buttons on his desk phone. Its speaker crackled to life.
He muttered, "Washington is on the line. Hang up when you're done."
Then he turned and left the room. No explanation. No name or hint of what was to follow. Payne couldn't tell if Crawford was angry, embarrassed, or pleased with himself, because the bastard had no facial expressions. Like the ultimate poker player. Or someone with Botox.
Payne pulled the speaker closer. "This is Jonathon Payne. Who am I speaking to?"
There was a lengthy delay before a gruff voice filled the line. "Randy Raskin. Pentagon."
Jones started laughing, happy to hear from his friend. "Damn, Randy, you scared the hell out of us. We thought you were someone important."
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I love you, too."
Payne said, "You know what he means."
"I know, I know." The ever-present clicking of Raskin's keyboard could be heard in the background. He was the quintessential multitasker. "I'm guessing your host is out of the room."
"Yeah. We're clear."
"Thank God! That guy is an idiot. I've been forced to sound official for the past three hours. No matter what I did or said, he kept quoting rules and regulations. Blah, blah, blah. Even when D.J. was shot, he gave me flack about evac."
Jones leaned forward. "I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for asking."
"Oh, now I get it," Raskin teased. "You don't consider me important, yet you want me to care about your health? Sorry, fellas. You can't have it both ways. .. . Besides, I already knew you were fine. I've been monitoring your progress all night."
Payne frowned. "How so?"
"The amazing thing about Korea is their technology. They're way ahead of us when it comes to implementation. It's actually kind of creepy. Sorta like Big Brother."
"Meaning?"
"Did you know Jeju has more than six thousand traffic cameras? With a touch of a button, I tapped into their mainframe and followed your movement all over the island. I'm telling you, it was great. Just like a movie! When you got attacked by ninjas? Man, that was awesome! You were like, kick, punch, shoot! And that guy was like aaaaaaaagh! Only I couldn't hear him scream because there's no sound on their cameras."
"Are you done?"
"Not yet. If you want, I can burn you a copy on DVD. You know, like a home movie."
"I'd like one," Jones said. "Please send it to-"
But Payne cut him off. "Actually, I'd prefer if you deleted all traces of us from their system. If Korea sees that footage-"
"1 know, I know. Don't worry. I already took care of it. I wiped out the entire feed from Seongsan. Their computers will interpret it as a power surge, but we know the truth."
"Thanks," Payne said. "You're the best."
"I know that, too."
"So," Jones said, "was there a reason you called? Or were you just calling to brag?"
"Damn! The guy gets shot one time, and now he's all business." Raskin pounded away on his keyboard until the correct file filled his screen. "You asked me to do more research on Dr. Ernie Sheldon, and I found some interesting nuggets. Is there somewhere I can send them, or will I have to go through Crawford?"
"Fill us in now," Payne said. "You can send it through him later."
Raskin scanned the data. "Don't crucify me on this one, but I gave you some misleading intel the last time we talked. Turns out, Dr. Sheldon might not be dead. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. His main file lists him as deceased. Yet I tracked him through some back doors and found a fairly recent posting. For the past three years he's been working as a special projects coordinator at Fort Huachuca."
Fort Huachuca is a major military installation in Arizona that became home to the U.S. Army Intelligence Center and School in 1971. Since then, its post has changed several times, yet in the past three decades one thing has remained constant. If a soldier wanted to be certified as an interrogator, he went to Fort Huachuca-where they taught all the necessary skills to become a 97E (pronounced 97 echo), everything from the art of interrogation to the rules of deception.
Payne and Jones were quite familiar with the installation, a place both of them endured while prepping for the MANIACs. At times their training was horrific, bordering on inhumane.
But it prepared them for what they'd face in the Special Forces. And how to handle it.
Payne said, "Define special projects."
"Everything from the latest torture techniques to mind-control experiments. Plus I hear there's been progress with gamma-aminobutyric acid. Combining GABA drugs and physical exhaustion to extract confessions." Raskin cleared his throat, as if catching himself before he revealed too much. "Of course, that's probably just hearsay. I have no specific knowledge as to what Sheldon was working on."
"And these projects," Payne wondered. "Are they being used in the field?"
"Honestly, Jon, I really don't know. I sit behind a desk all day, fiddling with my keyboard. You're the one in the real world. You tell me. Are these techniques being used?"
Payne knew the answer was yes. Torture has been around for as long as there's been pain and wouldn't stop anytime soon. The problem is that torture has proven to be unreliable because all prisoners eventually talk, although what they say is often fabricated, a way for the brain to protect the body from further abuse.
That's why men like Dr. Sheldon conducted their research.
They're looking for better ways to obtain information.
Recent studies have shown that some of the simplest techniques-exhaustion, sleep deprivation, prolonged exposure to heat or cold-are the most effective. Yet in recent years, the one technique that's been in the news the most is waterboarding. It was even mentioned by Vice President Dick Cheney in a White House interview, who called it a "very important tool."