Sword of God

where is everyone?'

'They're out back.'

Without saying another word, the old man stood and walked out of his side garden, stepping carefully on flat stones that had been laid in the ground. Kia followed closely behind, while Payne brought up the rear. He walked with his weapon drawn, eyes scanning the terrain, ready for the unexpected. Pruned trees and shrubs filled the landscape, everything perfectly manicured, as if the old man spent all his time doing nothing else. During the summer months, the flowers would have been in bloom, a rainbow of colors bursting in every corner of the yard. But this time of year everything looked dreary, as if a curtain of gloom had been dropped on the entire village. The sky was gray. The mood was dark.

Originally Payne had assumed the stench of burning pine had come from the old man's chimney, which continued to belch a steady stream of smoke, but as they rounded the corner of the house, he noticed the actual source. A giant fire pit had been constructed in the middle of the backyard. Volcanic rocks lined the exterior, stacked three feet high and fifteen feet across. Wooden embers smoldered on the inside, casting no flames but burning intense like a furnace. No sparks. No light. Just a lot of heat. The type of fire that was used to cook meat.

An ancient wheelbarrow, covered in rust, sat abandoned in the yard, next to an ax, a pick, and a variety of cutting tools. All of them splattered with the same hue. The same rust color as the wheelbarrow. In a flash, Payne sensed what had happened. What the old man had done.

'Where are your neighbors?' Kia wondered. 'I thought they were back here.'

The old man nodded, his eyes filling with tears as he stared into the fire. 'They are.'

15

In ancient times, bodies of the dead were often burned en masse to prevent the spread of disease, a common act during times of war when blood-soaked battlefields were sometimes littered with thousands of victims, soldiers so brutalized that identification was next to impossible. The cleanup process was so essential that some generals actually called a truce with their enemies after a major battle, giving both sides enough time to properly dispose of the corpses before their war reignited and more soldiers were slain.

While a student at the Naval Academy, Payne had read grisly accounts of the disposal process, perfected by the empires of yesteryear, and prayed he would never see it in person. Yet here he was on Jeju, a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, and he was forced to stare at the ashes. Maybe forced to sift through them to figure out why this crazy old bastard had loaded the bodies of his neighbors onto a wheelbarrow and burned them in his backyard.

For all Payne knew, he might have done the same thing with the victims from the cave. That would certainly explain where everyone went. Why they suddenly disappeared.

Of course, that wouldn't explain who killed them or why. But one thing at a time. He would worry about those details later. For now, he had to get this guy talking.

Payne's thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID and saw David Jones. Their phones had been designed with a special encryption chip, so they could talk without concern. No hijacked signals. No security leaks. As safe as whispering.

Payne clicked SEND. 'We need to meet.'

Jones agreed, his voice somber. 'Where are you?'

'In the village.'

'There's a village?'

Payne laughed. He'd said the exact same thing to the sniper who'd led him here. He gave Jones directions, then added, 'When you come, bring some backup. I've got a major situation.'

He nodded. 'That makes two of us.'

Twenty minutes passed before Jones arrived at the old man's gate. He led a split squad-both security and forensics- in a convoy of SUVs. Payne didn't recognize any of the men, which led him to believe that there was a full platoon stationed nearby. Hiding somewhere in the woods. Waiting for something to happen. For a mission that was supposedly black, there were a lot of potential leaks. Too many, as far as he was concerned.

Jones climbed out of the lead SUV, leaving the rest of the soldiers behind. None of them moved. They just sat there. Patiently. Awaiting further instructions.

'Who are your friends?' Payne asked. 'They're very well behaved.'

Jones didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed Payne by the elbow and turned his back to the men. Just in case one of them could read lips. 'Things have changed.'

'No shit. How bad is it?'

'Very. But you go first. How should we deploy?'

Payne explained the basic layout of the village and where he needed troops. Mostly on the periphery. Far from the evidence in the backyard. At least until he got a better handle on things. As for forensics, they'd have to wait until the area was secure.

Jones jogged to the lead SUV and gave them instructions. In an instant, the team sprang to life. Men hustled from the vehicles, scattering to the four comers of the town. Seconds later, they couldn't be seen. Blending perfectly with the landscape. Payne watched their movements from a distance, impressed by their efficiency. Either they were elite soldiers, who adapted on the run, or they'd been here before and knew exactly where to go. Both possibilities raised intriguing questions. Things he'd discuss with Jones at a later time.

But first mere were other issues to resolve.

'Your turn,' he said to Jones. 'What's changed?'

'The parameters of our mission. I just got word from forensics. About Trevor.'

Payne nodded, realizing what that meant. Deep down inside, he'd hoped Schmidt was still alive, but he sensed that wasn't the case the moment he saw all the blood. There was simply too much of it. But now tilings were official. His former student was dead. Killed by unknown forces for unknown reasons. Which meant this was no longer a rescue mission. It was something far worse. A homicide investigation.

Jones continued. 'Schmidt's team, including himself, consisted of four men whose DNA was on file with Colonel Harrington. Forensic testing proved it was their blood. And they found so much of it, there's no way any of them could've survived.'

'Anything else?'

'They found three additional samples. Strike that. Three recent ones but no names. And not in the main cave but one of the back chambers. That's where the prisoners were kept.'

'So Sheldon admitted it was a prison?'

Jones nodded. 'If you think about it, it makes sense. It's far from America but close to North Korea, which is our biggest nuclear threat. This location gave us deniability and a lot of freedom when it comes to persuasion. No one was looking over their shoulders.'

'And what was Schmidt's role?'

'Sheldon claims he was running it.'

'The mission or the torture?'

He shrugged. 'Maybe both.'

Payne winced at the news, instantly thinking back to the years he'd spent with Schmidt, all the training, all the missions, and wondering where he'd gone wrong. If he'd gone wrong. The life of a Special Forces soldier was a complex one, an equal mix of aggression and discipline, humanity and brutality, always searching for a peaceful solution in an ultraviolent world. Balance was difficult to maintain, nearly impossible, which was one of the reasons why Payne was glad he got out when he did. While he still had a sense of honor. While he still had control.

But some soldiers weren't nearly as fortunate. Sometimes tragedies occurred that pushed them too far over the edge, causing them to lose track of their humanity. Their morality. Their ability to tell the difference between right and wrong. And when that happened, the military usually did one of two things. Either they counseled them on their behavior, hoping to cure it. Or they gave them a change of duty, hoping to exploit it.

And that's what happened to Trevor Schmidt.

An incident changed his life. And the military took full advantage.