Sword of God(12)

A table and a chair sat in the middle of it all. Both were bolted to the floor. Both were splattered with arterial spray. So was the light that hung overhead. It looked ancient. No fancy fixture. Not even a pull string. Just a solitary bulb that was caked with dried blood. A single wire ran from its base, snaking across the ceiling, held in place by mining staples that were old and rusty. Obviously from another generation. In fact, the whole chamber had that feel, a giant time capsule that had been cracked open, revealing the way things used to be done when no one was watching. Payne closed his eyes and tried to imagine the screams.

Four floodlights were set up along the periphery, but only one was currently on. Jones glanced at its base and noted a lack of blood. No way it was there when the violence occurred. Same with all the others. They were spotless. Obviously brought there to light the scene.

“Can we go in?” Jones whispered.

Payne shrugged, unsure if all the evidence had been processed. He was ready to call out when a man wearing a surgical mask peeked his head out of the back corridor.

“I thought I heard someone.” He wore a butcher’s apron that was streaked with blood. It matched the stains on his surgical outfit and booties. “Please come in.”

Payne didn’t move. “Are you sure? We don’t want to disturb—”

“Yes, yes! I’m positive. Everything has been collected.”

Jones glanced around at all the gore. “Everything? I think you missed a spot.”

The man walked across the bloody cave, barely leaving footprints in the residue. Until then Payne and Jones were under the impression that the chamber was wet. But the dampness was an optical illusion, a combination of the bright light and the crimson stains that made the surface glimmer, a red version of the Amber Room in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Only the tint in this room was biological.

Payne extended his gloved hand and introduced himself, using the opportunity to study the masked man before shifting his focus to the crime scene. Dr. Ernie Sheldon was short and frail, with little hair other than the gray fuzz that covered his temples and the back of his head. The corners of his eyes creased with wrinkles whenever he smiled. It was one of the few things that Payne could see behind his mask.

“You’re sure we can come in?”

Sheldon nodded. “Of course! How can you help me if you can’t come in?”

“Good question. Better yet, why are we here? It’s obvious this isn’t a missing-person case.”

“Why do you say that?”

Jones motioned toward the floor. “There’s less blood at the Red Cross.”

“True, there’s a lot of blood in here. But how do you know who the blood belongs to?”

“We don’t,” Payne admitted. “In fact, there are a lot of things we don’t know. People have been pretty tight-lipped about why we’re here. And to be honest, it’s starting to piss us off.”

“Then allow me to apologize, because that’s all my fault. I’m the one who wanted you kept in the dark. Me and no one else. I’m completely to blame.”

Payne glanced at Jones, who shrugged as he studied the cave. “Go on.”

“Actually,” Sheldon said, “there’s not much to explain. I want you to form your own opinion based on your observations, not mine or anyone else’s.”

“That’s understandable. But to do that, we need a starting place. Some basics that’ll let us form a rational conclusion. Otherwise, D.J. is liable to guess that this place is nothing more than a Korean slaughterhouse.”

Jones grinned. “Moooooooooooooooo.”

“Fair enough. What would you like to know?”

“What’s your job description?”

Sheldon shook his head. “That’s something I’d prefer not to reveal at this time. Concentrate on the scene, not me.”

“Fine. What is this place?”

“It’s a lava tube, formed when molten rock burst forth from—”

Payne interrupted. “I know what a lava tube is.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Sheldon’s voice was playful, not demeaning. Like a mentor forcing his pupil to ask the right question.

“I meant this facility. It’s obvious this place wasn’t used for public tours.”

“What’s your best guess? Take a look around and hypothesize. If you guys are as good as—”

“Some sort of prison. Fairly old.” Jones knocked on the table, listening to the metal thump as it echoed throughout the chamber. “Possibly World War II, maybe later. It’s been around for a very long time.” He crouched to examine the floor bolts, which held the table and the chair in place. “If I scraped away the blood, I could probably find a manufacturer. That would tell us if it was Korean, Japanese, or American.. .. My guess is American.”