Raskin nodded, reading between the lines. “Anything else? Or are you done using me?”
“Just one more thing, then I’ll let you go. Do you have any information on something called the black stone?”
He punched in the term and scanned the results. Hundreds of possibilities. “What part of the world are you calling from? Or is that classified?”
“South Korea.”
More typing, followed by a pronounced sigh. “Dude, you didn’t tell me you were on vacation. Why didn’t you invite me? You never take me anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re in Jeju, right?”
Payne raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the question. “How did you know that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I swear, Randy, I’m not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Raskin sighed again. “If you’re lying to me, you know I’ll find out. I can check your credit card statements with a touch of a button. I can cancel them, too. I don’t care how rich you are, I can mess with your credit. You won’t even be able to buy a Twinkie at Seven-Eleven if—”
“Randy, I swear I’m not lying. I’m on company business here. Honest!”
“Fine,” he said with a grunt, still not believing him. He wrote himself a note to make sure. “On the west coast of Jeju, there’s a brand-new world-class golf resort. I hear it’s amazing. The PGA even had a tour event there.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s called the Black Stone.”
19
Route 12 is a scenic beltway that encircles Jeju Island. Meandering along the 157 miles of rocky coastline, it provides some of the most breathtaking views in all of Asia.
The SUV, borrowed from the military and driven by Jones, hummed along at 40 miles an hour, just under the legal limit. Payne rode shotgun, staring out the window, while Kia sat in the backseat, stressing how important it was to drive slowly because of all the surveillance cameras on Jeju. Tourists and speeding tickets were two ways the local government made its money.
An hour earlier, Payne would have laughed at the mention of tourists. Back then he was standing in the middle of a dreary village, surrounded by gray skies, bare trees, and the omnipresent odor of death, pondering what to do and where to go next. The concept of tourism would have seemed ridiculous to anyone but the most morbid of Stephen King fans.
Suddenly things were different, almost like night and day. Thanks to a tip from Randy Raskin, they were driving toward the Black Stone resort, passing palm trees, tropical beaches, and the type of architecture that can only be found in the Far East. A perfect example was the Jeju World Cup Stadium, which was designed to look like an oreum—a parasitic volcanic cone topped by a large crater that was unique to this island. Adding to its grandeur, the stadium was half-covered with a teu-shaped roof that symbolized the traditional fishing boats in the region. To Payne, the roof looked like a giant white sail, pulled tight by a strong gust of wind, anchored down by diagonal metal poles and thick white cables that contributed to the visual effect, as if the entire stadium were slowly being pulled across the terrain and into the nearby sea.
Minutes later they were stopping at Cheonjaeyeon Falls. Flanked by a thick forest of trees, three waterfalls cascaded from one pond to the next until the water reached the ocean below. Legend claims that the falls were named after seven nymphs who descended from the heavens to play in the crystal-clear water. They are still honored at the site, their images carved into Sonimkyo, a large bridge that arches across the pine-strewn valley, passing near a small pavilion that overlooks the main pond.
After parking the SUV, Jones dropped to his knees and glanced under the dirty frame, checking for tracking devices. He found one near the front left wheel and quickly pried it off. He handed it to Payne, who attached it to a nearby tour bus that was filled with a group of singing Germans, who either didn’t notice him or were having too much fun to care. Jones kept searching, eventually finding a second device, stuffed under the base of the dashboard. This one was used for listening, not tracking. The military’s way of keeping tabs on their investigation. Payne took it as well, this time pitching it into a nearby ravine.
“For the time being, let’s assume we’re still not clean,” Jones said as he walked over to the guardrail. “If we need to talk, we should do it away from the car.”
Kia nodded, realizing the comment was for her benefit. “Since we’re outside, does that mean I can ask a question? Because I’m really curious about something.”