Chris Kuzneski - Sword of God

He glanced at his watch again. Five more minutes had passed.

Finally, Nasir heard movement up ahead. He stared through the metal gate, hoping to get a glimpse of his contact before he had to talk to him. Praying it wasn't another mole man.

One glimpse and he realized that wasn't the case. In fact, it wasn't a him at all.

It was a woman. A sexy woman. Striding confidently through the darkness. Her hair was covered and she wore a robe, but there was something about her that was captivating.

Suddenly he wasn't in such a hurry to leave.

"May I help you?" Shari asked, who had put on appropriate clothes for her visitor.

"Yeah. I have a delivery."

"Great. I've been expecting you. Please slip it through the gate."

He looked at the fence and frowned. "You mean I can't come in?"

"Why wouldyou want tocome in?"

"I don't know. Just to look around. I'm kind of curious."

Before Shari could respond, the guard emerged behind her. He still held the pickax in his grasp. "You know what they say about curiosity."

Nasir gulped. "It killed the cat."

"It's gonna kill the deliveryman, too, unless you get your ass out of here."

Shari fought the urge to smile. "You heard the man. Give me the package, then you better get going. I'm not big enough to protect you if he gets angry."

Nasir nodded and slipped a sealed envelope through the gate. Inside the envelope was the take-out menu he had picked up at Al-Gaim. Inside the menu was a tiny computer disk.

Shari glanced at it and frowned. "Is that everything?"

"Yes. That's everything."

"Okay, then. Thanks for coming." She turned to leave but realized he was still standing there, just watching her. "Can you find your way out? Or do you need some help?"

"I'll gladly help you out," growled the guard.

"No, thanks. I'm fine." Nasir backed away from them. "No problem at all."

"Great," Shari said with a laugh. "Take care now. Stay safe."

Nasir turned and hustled up the ramp, dying to get out of the tunnel. Dying to see the sunlight.

Ironically, it was one of the things that led to his death.

There's a split second when people first leave the darkness when their eyes are unable to adjust. The sun's rays are just too bright; pupils are unable to compensate.

To a trained killer, it's something that can be taken advantage of. A moment when his target is temporarily blind. And a blind target is an easy mark.

The man calmly waited until Nasir stepped outside the tunnel. Then, before he could focus, he took his jambiya, a curved Arabic dagger, and slid it across Nasir's throat. One quick slash and it was over. His scream emerged as a bloody gurgle, a short burst of spray followed by a quick loss of life. No resistance. No struggle of any kind.

One minute the target was alive, the next he was dead.

Just like the killer had been taught.

After that, he simply dragged Nasir back into the tunnel and dumped him on the ground, blood pouring from him like a gutted pig. No need to hide the body. No need to clean up the scene. That would defeat the purpose of this violent act.

This murder was a message.

One he wanted them to see.

14

Payne spotted a wooden bench in a small flower garden. Always cautious, he checked it for hidden weapons before letting the old man take a seat.

Payne had been raised by his grandfather, so he had a special place in his heart for the elderly. He believed in respecting them. And listening to them. Always soaking in as much wisdom as he possibly could before the resource was no longer available. Of course, he also knew that some senior citizens were total assholes. Therefore, he planned on taking every precaution until he knew more about this guy and his past.

"So," Payne said, "tell us about the gate."

The old man stared at him, sizing him up. Several seconds passed before he was willing to speak. And when he did, there was a bitter tone in his voice. Filled with anger and acrimony. "This isn't the first time Americans have come to Jeju. You've been visiting for decades. And I don't mean tourists. I mean soldiers like you. Threatening our island."

On the inside, Payne felt like a total ass. Embarrassed for being there. Ashamed for holding this guy at gunpoint. Mortified by the lack of U.S. military support during the Jeju Massacre. Yet what could he do? It was crucial for him to stay in control of the situation, so he revealed nothing. No emotions. No response. No reaction of any kind.

"I was one of the men who was arrested back in 1948. My entire family was pulled out of my home, this home, at gunpoint. The women were carted away first, their screams echoing through the night. Then we were blindfolded and dragged into a nearby cave, where we were beaten, starved, and tortured for the next three years. During that time, my father, uncles, and brothers were killed. Out of nine of us, I was the only one who survived."

The old man rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face.

"You want to know why I have a gate? That's why I have a gate."

Kia sat next to him and whispered something in Korean. Something soft and comforting. The tone of her voice revealed that much. Payne had no idea what was being said and realized it would be inappropriate to ask. The old man needed a moment, and Payne was willing to give it to him. That's the least he could do. So he took the pitchfork from Kia and let them talk.

Eventually, after a few minutes of dialogue, Kia turned her attention to Payne. "Do you have any questions?"

Payne nodded. He had several. Yet he realized things would go smoother if someone else did the asking. Someone the old man could trust. Someone who hadn't grabbed his ponytail and pulled him to the ground.

"Actually, why don't you interview him? I figure, you found the guy."

Kia smiled, thrilled with the opportunity. And her excitement seemed to brighten the old man's mood. Five minutes earlier, he had been holding her at bay with a rusty pitchfork. Now the two of them were bonding.

She started simple. "Can you tell us more about the Americans?"

"They've been coming here since the fifties. Mostly in the dead of night when they didn't think we were watching. But we saw them. We noticed what they were doing. Bringing in others, sneaking them through the woods." He turned toward Kia, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Things died down a few years ago. All of us hoped they'd finally moved on, that they'd found somewhere new. But all of that changed a few months ago when the screams returned to the island. Pe-Ui Je Dan had been reborn."

"Pe-Ui Je Dan?"

The old man nodded. "The Altar of Blood."

Jones stared at Dr. Sheldon, still trying to figure him out. So far, their conversations were like a game of poker. A lot of bluffing, a lot of gamesmanship, yet no obvious winner. Every once in a while Sheldon toyed with him-dropping a hint, raising the stakes-but he refused to lay his cards on the table. And until he did, the game would continue whether Jones wanted it to or not.

Unfortunately, Sheldon's last comment was his most puzzling yet. He claimed Trevor Schmidt was in charge of this facility. But how could that be? It didn't make any sense. Schmidt was a highly decorated Special Forces soldier, handpicked for the MANIACs and trained in their specialized form of warfare. Those skills could not be used in a cave. Not as a guard, nor as a facility supervisor. To achieve full impact, he needed to be in the field.

Then again, Colonel Harrington stressed that Schmidt was no longer the same man he had been. That he ceased to exist after the incident at Taif. Those were Harrington's exact words. Schmidt ceased to exist. Like Schmidt had died with everyone else in the incident. As if he were unable to shoulder the pain and loss of the tragedy and had simply given up. Jones had seen many soldiers who could no longer handle the pressures of war, who could no longer bounce back from their emotional scars and remain on active duty. But he had never heard it described in Harrington's terms. His friend had ceased to exist.