Sword of God

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.'

'You know where he is?'

'I know where he was. That's the best I can do.'

Payne considered the old man's answer, trying to read between the lines. Trying to figure out how he fit into all this. Was he a relative of the Parks? A friend? Or was this some kind of trick meant to distract Payne from danger that waited around the bend? His gut told him he was safe, that there was no real threat, but he realized a second opinion never hurt.

So he casually unzipped his coat-his signal to Jones- and waited for a response.

Three seconds later, his cell phone rang. He grabbed it with one hand and signaled for the old man to wait with the other. Very calm, very natural. Like any other day at the office.

'Hello?' Payne answered.

Jones was positioned on the hotel roof, which offered him views of the grounds, roads, and sea. Visibility was poor due to the lack of sun and a thin layer of fog that had settled over the golf course, but from his vantage point, nothing looked suspicious. 'We're clear.'

'Hello?' he repeated, as if there were a bad connection. It prevented him from faking a conversation. It also allowed Jones to call right back if anything changed. 'Hello?'

The old man laughed. 'You need a new phone.'

Payne shrugged and smiled. 'And you need a new truck.'

He laughed louder. 'You are probably right.'

'So,' he said, 'how do you know the boy?'

'I don't. I've never met him before. I am just a poor fisherman who lives at sea.'

'Then I don't understand.'

'But my son,' the old man clarified, 'he helped the boy. He knows the father. He helped him in his time of need.'

'Well, I'd love to speak to him.'

'Then let's get going. It's a long drive.'

'Can't we just call him?'

'Not with your phone. It doesn't work.' He cackled softly. 'Besides, my son needs to meet you in person. He needs to look you in the eye. He needs to judge your character.'

Payne nodded, willing to take the risk. 'In that case, I'd be happy to meet him. But I'm going in my own truck. I'd feel safer that way.'

'Suit yourself,' said the old man. 'But my truck is going to outlast us all.'

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