Chris Kuzneski - Sword of God

Kia untied the surgical mask that hung around her neck and tossed it down the rocky path. Her booties came off second, followed by her surgical gloves. With a rubber snap, she flicked them into the air. Even if she was ordered back to the cave, there was no way she was going in. Not with all that blood. Deep down inside, she knew her stomach wouldn't allow it.

"Nasty scene," said a voice from behind.

Kia whirled around so fast she almost fell off the tree stump. Her lack of grace caused the driver of the SUV to laugh as he emerged from the trees.

She apologized. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Don't worry about it. You weren't the scene I was talking about." The driver wore thick gloves and carried a bag labeled Medical Waste. He used it to collect her garments. "Remember what I said when I gave you these? I'd been inside the cave, and once was enough for me."

She nodded, no longer quite as mortified.

"All of us have our limits. And all of us have a specialty. My guess is you weren't selected for forensic work or combat. You were brought in for another purpose."

"Is it that obvious?"

'Then why'd you go in the cave in the first place?"

She shrugged, not really sure of her answer.

"Let me guess. You were trying to fit in, weren't you? Trying to impress your squad leader. Trying to show him how tough you were." He laughed, the sound of someone who had been in her position and had made the same mistake. "Listen, I know this is going to sound pretty simplistic, but I'll let you in on a little secret I learned long ago. The best way to impress your boss is to do your job. That's it. That's the key to getting ahead in this world. Do what you're supposed to do and you'll get noticed."

"Too late. I think I already got noticed."

He grinned. "Yeah, sprinting out of the cave probably wasn't your best choice."

"Probably not."

"In that case, may I suggest Plan B?"

"Which is?"

"Do something that will make everyone forget about Plan A."

"Such as?"

The driver glanced into the trees. He knew they were being watched by several snipers, all of them ready to pull their triggers over the slightest indiscretion. Still, he wanted to assist Kia. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "There's a village nearby, filled with several people who probably aren't very good with English. As far as I'm concerned, their statements might come in handy as this investigation broadens. Heaven knows what they heard or saw."

"You mean no one's talked to them?"

"No one's even been over there. We've been waiting for a translator."

Shame motivated people to commit desperate acts. Some large. Some small. Some completely foolish. As Kia walked toward the village through the camphor trees, she pondered these categories and wondered how she would classify her decision at the end of the day.

The daughter of an American soldier and a Korean mother, she was born on a U.S. Army base near Seoul, 275 miles north of her current location. Foreign marriages rarely worked in the military-they're often based on loneliness and little else-but her parents were the exception. Kia lived in South Korea until she was seven, learning the language, land, and customs from her mom. Then, when her father was transferred to a Stateside base, she learned all about America from him. Ironically, when she was old enough to choose her home, she split the distance between the countries, opting for a job on the Marshall Islands, in the middle of the Pacific.

Near the end of the rocky path, Kia spotted a harubang, also known as a stone grandfather, a ubiquitous gray figure found everywhere in Jeju. It marked the beginning of the village. Made of porous basalt, the six-foot sculpture had two hands-one rested slightly higher on its belly than the other-but no feet. A curved hat sat atop its friendly face. Bulging eyes. A big nose. A gentle mouth. Island elders once believed they drove away evil spirits. Nowadays they were simply a symbol of Jeju, the only place in the world where the original figures were located.

Kia touched it as she walked past, her eyes no longer focused on the relic but on the tiny village that lie ahead. She felt foolish for her thoughts but hoped the statue had done its job, protecting these people from the violence of the cave.

Little did she know that the villagers had played a major role in the bloodshed.

Both past and present.

9

Mecca, Saudi Arabia

On the outskirts of the sacred city, there was a massive blue sign. Its message was written in Arabic and English, an equal dose of welcome and warning. For true believers of Islam, it marked the gateway to their holy land, the one place on earth they were supposed to visit before they died. But to others, the sign was more ominous. A threat that shouldn't be ignored.

STOP FOR INSPECTION ENTRY PROHIBITED TO NON-MUSLIMS

Fred Nasir stared at the sign and realized this was the point of no return. There was an exit road to the right of the checkpoint, a final chance to turn around and drive back to Taif. Or Riyadh. Or anywhere else he wanted to go. But if he stayed in this line of traffic, which he'd been sitting in for the longest thirty minutes of his life, there was a chance he was going to be pulled from his Toyota Camry and taught the Hind of lesson he'd rather not learn.

For a culture that preached peace, some Muslims were skilled at violence.

Guards were standing up ahead, armed with rifles. He knew that additional men, carrying more significant firepower, were stationed in the nearby security building. Video cameras recorded everything: faces, cars, license plates. A sophisticated system whose sole purpose was to weed out the unwanted. Nonbelievers, who didn't belong.

"Relax," he said to himself. "You'll be fine."

After taking a deep breath, Nasir eased his car under the blue warning sign and waited for the inevitable. The part he feared the most. Two soldiers came out of the booth, neither of them smiling. The first asked for his travel visa and passport; the other glanced inside the car, searching for things that didn't belong. Mecca was a strict city with strict rules. No exceptions. This wasn't like Tijuana, Mexico, where a tourist could slip a couple of bucks to a guard and smuggle Pepe the Dancing Mule across the border for a bachelor party. This was far more serious. The type of place where bribe attempts were greeted with gunfire.

As requested, Nasir placed his papers in a tiny basket and handed it to the guard, who quickly disappeared into the booth, where he'd inspect everything, putting extra emphasis on the paperwork that granted travelers access to Mecca. To get clearance, Muslims must file the proper certificates (vaccinations, marriage, birth, etc.) weeks in advance, pay the proper entry fees, and include a notarized letter from the director of their mosque that certified their faith. Passports were required as well, but unlike some cities that frowned on visitors from certain nations, Mecca was the ultimate melting pot, a city whose sole existence was to greet visitors from all countries, as long as the visitors believed in Islam.

This time of year-the last month of the Islamic calendar-the city was particularly busy, hosting more than two million guests who were there for the hajj, the pilgrimage that all able-bodied Muslims were required to make at least once in their lifetimes. To accommodate the influx of travelers, the Saudi government built a special airport in Jeddah, the largest in the world in overall area, consisting of a dozen terminals. Traffic flow was so specialized that it was open only for the hajj season. The rest of the year it sat dormant, unable to handle normal operations.