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  "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."

  Prisoners were immobilized with ropes or cords. Feet slightly inclined. Head below legs. Cellophane was wrapped around the subject's face and water was poured over him. Almost instantly the gag reflex kicked in and the subject panicked, terrified of drowning and certain death. Rumor has it that several CIA officials volunteered to go through the ordeal to understand its physiological devastation. Their average endurance time was fourteen seconds.

  Payne was familiar with all this information. What he didn't know was Dr. Sheldon's role in what was going on. Had he been called in as an expert to assess the crime scene? Or was the cave one of his experiments gone wrong? And if so, who was the intended victim?

  "Bear with me," Payne said as he changed the direction of their conversation. "Last time we spoke, I asked for the names of prisoners in black-op facilities. Unfortunately, you were unable to help. So let me approach this from a different angle. One of my sources recently gave me the name of a known terrorist who we think might be part of this. If I mentioned his name, would you be able to confirm or deny his capture?"

  Raskin chose his words carefully. 'Technically, I couldn't confirm anyone's capture without proper clearance. But I'd be happy to deny any rumors that I felt could hurt your mission."

  "Fine. The name we heard is Hakeem Salaam."

  Raskin said nothing for the next fifteen seconds.

  'Thank you," Payne said, reading between the lines. "That's a big help."

  "My pleasure. Now unless you have something else, please put the sergeant major back on the phone. I want to mess with him some before I get back to work."

  Whatever Raskin said to Crawford was effective, because from that moment on he was on his best behavior. He led Payne and Jones to a private computer terminal, where they were able to download Dr. Sheldon's file and print several photographs they had requested.

  Armed with this new information, they were escorted across the facility grounds to where the Parks were being detained. Kia was called out of the room for a quick briefing, filling them in on the past few hours, describing what was said on the boat, in the helicopter, and in the holding cell. Amazingly, just like Mr. Kim in the village, the Parks had warmed to her in a short time—incredible, considering the circumstances.

  "Is the boy talking?" Payne wondered.

  "Not about the cave, but he is talking about other things. He's a great kid who's been through a whole lot. I'm stunned he's even coherent."

  "What about the dad?"

  "Scared. Angry. Anxious. Emotional. Everything you'd expect from a guy who lost his family and doesn't know why."

  "What do you recommend?"

  "About what?"

  "About talking to them. We need to know what they know. ASAP."

  "But Jon—"

  "I know," he said, not letting her get started with an emotional plea. This was one of those situations where he wouldn't be dissuaded. 'Trust me, I realize they aren't ready to talk and won't be ready for some time. Unfortunately, this interview can't wait. We got some new intel that we need to act on immediately, and the only way to do that is by talking to them. So whether it's you, me, or all three of us combined, this conversation needs to take place right now."

  * * *

  33

  Kia led the Parks into an interview room and prepared them for what was about to happen. She assured them that Payne was a decent man who would do them no harm, that he'd lost a good friend during the violence at the cave, and needed their statements to find the people responsible. When put in those terms, Chung-Ho was more than willing to help—even though he knew it would be painful for him and his son—because it was the honorable thing to do.

  Payne came in next. Polite. Respectful. Empathetic. None of it an act of any kind. He'd lost his parents at an early age, killed by a drunk driver when he was in junior high, so he was all too familiar with sudden loss. His years as a soldier, surrounded by death and destruction, hadn't dulled any of those feelings, and they never would.

  They'd be a part of him forever.

  "I know some of these questions are going to be difficult, probably the last thing in the world that you want to talk about, but I wouldn't be asking them if they weren't so important." Payne paused, trying to ease into the interview.

  "Obviously, if you'd feel more comfortable speaking in Korean, we can use Kia as an interpreter."

  Chung-Ho shook his head. "My English is good. So is my son's. We speak good."

  "Yes, you do. Much better than I speak Korean." He smiled, hoping to keep the conversation friendly. "To make things easier, I'd like to start with you. I figure the more you can tell me, the less I'll have to ask your son. In the long run, I think that would be best. Don't you?"

  He nodded in appreciation, thankful for Payne's kindness.

  Meanwhile, Yong-Su sat in a chair in the back corner, staring at the floor in a semidaze. Kia sat next to him, telling him about her childhood in Korea, occasionally brushing the black hair from his eyes, like a mother might do. More worried about his well-being than the interview that was taking place ten feet away.

  "If we can," Payne said, "I'd like to talk about last Saturday."

  Chung-Ho described what he could remember. Yong-Su had stumbled home from the cave, covered in blood. After checking him for injuries, Chung-Ho went from neighbor to neighbor, asking if they had seen anything, but no one had. Soon they discovered a trail of blood leading toward the cave. Panicked, he rushed to Kim and asked him what he should do. Kim's advice was to take his son and leave town immediately. So he did, just like that. His wife and family were supposed to follow and meet them an hour later. But the people from the cave prevented it.

  "Have you been to the village since?"

  "No. It is not safe." He looked back at his son, choosing his next words carefully. "When my wife not arrive, I call Mr. Kim from pay phone. He tell me what happen to village. He tell me never come back and not call police. He handle everything."

  Kim hadn't mentioned the phone call, but it explained why Chung-Ho had never returned to check on his wife and the rest of his family. He already knew what had happened to them.

  "Did you see anyone from the cave that day?"

  "No."

  "What about beforehand? Maybe a stranger walking in the woods?"

  "I see nothing. We stay in village. They stay in cave. No strangers."

  "But your son," he said delicately. "He saw some people, didn't he?"

  Chung-Ho turned and looked at his boy.

  "Did he tell you what he saw?"

  He took a deep breath, then nodded. "He see blood. People in cave with blood."

  "You mean dead people?"

  He shook his head. "No. People still alive. They were talking."

  Payne paused, confused. Until that moment, he had assumed that Yong-Su had stumbled into the scene after everyone was dead, possibly overhearing the killers talk about the black stone as they left the cave. But now his father was telling him the exact
opposite. Yong-Su was in there while people were still alive.

  In a heartbeat, the direction of the interview had to be changed.

  Payne thought back to the cave, recalling the layout of the initial chamber. A desk and a chair were bolted to the middle of the floor. A single lightbulb, equipped with a tiny camera, hung from the volcanic rock. Everything was bathed in blood—the floor, the ceiling, the walls. On the bright side, if there was one, the blood was primarily contained in that one room, the place where interrogations occurred. And since Yong-Su was covered in blood, he'd obviously been in there. Maybe during a torture session. If so, who knew what he could answer?

  The possibilities were endless.

  Payne sorted through all the questions in his head— who was being tortured, what was being said, who killed Schmidt and his crew—trying to figure out which was most important. In the end, he realized the most pressing question was one that Chung-Ho couldn't answer.

  They needed to speak to the boy himself.

  Payne asked Kia to join him in the hall, where they were met by Jones, who'd been watching the interview in an adjacent room. He wanted to take a more active role but realized the bullet hole in his arm might be disconcerting to Chung-Ho, since he had pulled the trigger. Jones spoke first. "We need to talk to the kid." "I know," Payne replied. "But it shouldn't be me." They both looked at Kia, who appeared less than thrilled with the concept.

  "Fine." She groaned. "What do you want me to ask?" Jones handed her a manila envelope filled with pictures that had been e-mailed by Randy Raskin. "We need to know who the kid saw. Who was alive, who was dead, who was being tortured, and so on. After that, we'll have a much better grasp of things."

  "Right now the timeline is pretty fuzzy," Payne admitted. "The kid walks into the cave and sees people covered in blood but claims they were alive. If so, how did he get so much blood on him? Maybe he saw the killers after the fact. Or maybe he walked in during an interrogation. Either way, we need to know who he saw so we can figure out what happened."

  Kia grimaced. "You know, this isn't going to be easy. I can barely get the kid to talk, and when I do, it's about silly things. What he likes to eat. What he does for fun. Now you want me to ask him about the cave?" She took a deep breath. "Any recommendations?"

  Payne nodded. "Yeah. Make a game of it."

  "A game?"

  "The kid's eight and scared out of his mind. The lighter you make it, the better."

  "Easier said than done."

  "I realize that, but you've been doing great with him. I have the utmost confidence in you."

  "I do, too," echoed Jones. "I've been watching you in there, and the kid really likes you. You're a natural at this."

  "Thanks. But I'm still nervous."

  "Don't worry about it. You'll do fine.... Of course, if you think it would help, I'd be happy to give you a kiss for good luck."

  Kia laughed, thankful for the levity.

  "Yeah. Didn't think so." Jones started to back down the hall. "But if you change your mind, let me know. Just wink at the camera and I'll come running."

  Payne and Kia sat on one side of the table, the Parks on the other. Kia spread twenty pictures in front of Yong-Su and told him they were going to play a game. The rules were simple. Some of the men in the photos had been to Jeju, while many others hadn't. For every one he got right, he would be given a piece of candy—his favorite food in the whole world. However, for every one he got wrong, a piece would be taken away.

  "Do you understand?" Kia asked. "If you aren't sure about someone, you shouldn't guess. Only choose the ones that you're absolutely positive about. Okay?"

  Yong-Su glanced at the pictures and nodded.

  He could taste the candy already.

  * * *

  34

  Before the incident, Yong-Su was a typical eight-year-old boy. He was adventurous, active, and loved getting dirty. His hair was black and grew way too fast, falling into his eyes if he didn't get it trimmed every other week. Three of his front teeth were missing—two on top, one on the bottom—giving him a jack-o'-lantern smile that was common among his age Rroup.

  Of course, during the past nine days there was little lo smile about. From the moment he stumbled out of the bloody cave, he was a changed person. Partly in shock. Partly in grief. Dealing with things that would devastate most adults.

  And yet there he was. Staring at all the pictures, playing Kia's game.

  Looking forward to all the candy he was going to win.

  In a complex world, sometimes it is the simple pleasures that get us through.

  He studied the images for several seconds, choosing all I he people he saw in the cave. Selecting them in his head before he made his choices. Finally, without saying a word, he picked up a photo. Then another. And another. Two over here, three over there. Gathering them in his hands like a deck of cards. Tapping them against the table to make sure they were nice and straight. Sixteen photos in all. Some Americans. Some Arabs. A wide variety of ages.

  When he was done, he handed the stack to Kia. It was much larger than she was expecting.

  She said, "You saw all of these people?"

  Yong-Su shook his head and pointed to the desk. "No, those people."

  Four photos were spread across the surface. Payne recognized them at once.

  It was Trevor Schmidt and his crew.

  "Can you tell us where you saw them?" she asked.

  He nodded, then explained what happened that day.

  Yong-Su had been playing in the woods when he smelled the blood. A strong, pungent odor that piqued his curiosity and gave him the courage to investigate the one spot he was forbidden to go. He knew he should have turned around and run in the opposite direction, but he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to the place. He had to see it for himself.

  So he crept up the hill, carefully. Listening for the screams he sometimes heard at night. But on this morning, everything was silent. It gave him the nerve to continue.

  The tunnel opening was dark. Almost black. The only hint of light was somewhere up ahead, cast by a single bulb that hung from the ceiling. He listened for voices but heard none. The cave was quiet, peaceful. The only sound was the occasional crunch of stone under his feet—and even that was just a whisper. The lone thing that stood out to him was the smell. The air was thick with it, filled with the putrid odor that reminded him of a hunting trip he once took with his dad.

  The first chamber was unlike anything he had ever seen. Much of the floor and some of the walls were dripping with blood. Not smeared with it, but actually leaking it. Like the earth had been gashed and was starting to bleed. He walked over to the closest wall and touched it. Ran his lingers through it. The light was faint, yet bright enough to prove he wasn't imagining it.

  His hand was now crimson. His face was now pale.

  That was the moment he heard the voice. Initially, he thought he was just spooked by the liquid that covered his hand. Then he heard a second one. And a third. Voices emerging from the depths of the cave. Panicked, he turned to run outside but slipped on the slick floor. Soon his skin and clothes were covered in red—a color that saved his life.

  He scampered to the far corner of the cave and curled into a tiny ball, partially hidden by a crevice in the rock, partially camouflaged by the blood. In the faint light, he was nearly invisible to the naked eye, especially since no one was looking for him. If they had been, they would have found him immediately. No doubt about it. The chamber was small and they were trained soldiers, but at that moment they assumed they were alone. It wasn't until much later when they saw his footsteps that they realized their facility had been breached and their secret had been spilled. That's when they were forced to invade the nearby village and kill everyone they found.

  To them, their mission was too important to be derailed by sympathy.

  From the back corner, Yong-Su saw four men as they approached the table and chair that were anchored to the middle of the floor. Each of them ca
rried a small box. Each box was filled with three plastic bags. Each bag was filled with blood. The men laughed and joked as they punctured the bags with their knives and squirted the blood everywhere for the second time that day. On the floor. On the ceiling. On the walls. Bag after bag, squeeze after squeeze, until the cave glistened like a ruby in the faint light of the bulb.

  There was no violence or torture on that final morning. Just a bunch of clever men who faked their own murders with bags of their own blood, liquid that had been collected over several days and stored in the cave.

  DNA evidence that would prove their deaths while actually giving them life.

  Payne excused himself from the interview and met Jones in private, both of them stunned by what they'd just heard. For the past two days, they were under the impression that Trevor Schmidt and his crew had been murdered inside the cave. Butchered and brutalized by some unknown group that was trying to rescue a terrorist. But now, thanks to the testimony of an eight-year-old boy, they knew the truth about the cave. Not only was Schmidt alive, but his team was probably responsible for the massacre in the village.

  One minute Payne wanted to avenge his friend's death. Now he wanted to kill him.

  Payne said, "Schmidt was already running a black op. No one knew where he was or what he was doing. So why in the hell would he fake his own death?"

  "If I had to guess, I'd say to hide from the man he was working for."

  "Colonel Harrington?"

  Jones nodded. "Think back to our time with the MANIACs. We were given a lot of latitude when it came to our missions. If we didn't report on time, no big deal. They came to expect that from us to a certain extent. But deep down inside, we knew there was a line we couldn't cross. And if we did, they'd send someone after us—whether we wanted them to or not."