“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee. I’d give you one of my cards, but I’m fresh out.”
Lee nodded at the gesture. “It’s not necessary, Mr. Payne. We’ve been expecting you.”
20
The lobby glistened under the recessed lights; the black and gold pattern of the stone floor appeared three-dimensional due to a fresh coat of wax, giving it the illusion of depth. A circular atrium soared above the center lobby, interspersed with decorative black railings fifteen feet above the main desk. Several guests waited in line. But Mr. Lee ignored them all. The only people he cared about had just arrived. Jonathon Payne, party of three.
“I like the color scheme,” Payne said, trying to make small talk. Despite his large inheritance, he wasn’t comfortable with the trappings of wealth. He was more of a beer and burger guy than wine and caviar.
Mr. Lee nodded appreciation. “Did you know Hines Ward is South Korean? When he won Super Bowl MVP, we redecorated the lobby in Pittsburgh Steelers colors. We were very proud.”
Payne glanced at Jones, who stared back, both of them stunned by the statement.
Eventually Mr. Lee started to laugh. “I am just joking. The colors never changed. They have always been black and gold. I make joke since you are a Pittsburgh fan.”
Payne laughed at his own gullibility. “How did you know that?”
“Because Mr. Lee knows all.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Lee. Because I have a bunch of questions you could help me with.”
“And I have a bunch of answers. But first, allow me to show you to your room. Perhaps all you need is a hot bath and a gourmet meal to help you discover some solutions on your own.”
Payne’s room turned out to be a massive suite, three small bedrooms separated by sliding doors from the living area. It was equipped with a plasma TV, multiple couches, a wet bar, and a small kitchen. The parquet floor blended perfectly with the light stone in the only bathroom. A two-person sauna sat underneath a tinted bay window, offering sweeping views of the Yellow Sea, where waves crashed in the distance, barely audible yet somehow comforting.
Kia showered first, dying to wash the smell from her hair. While they waited, Payne and Jones went to the far end of the suite, turning on the TV to drown out their conversation.
Payne spoke first. “I’m sorry about all the fuss downstairs. Randy must’ve called the hotel and told them we were coming, just to make a point.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t be surprised if a hooker knocks on our door.”
“Yeah, a fat one.”
Jones laughed loudly, glad to have a moment of levity in an otherwise dreadful day. Back when they were with the MANIACs, they often relied on laughter to get them through the tough times. That’s one of the reasons the nickname suited their unit. No matter how deep the shit, the humor never quit. So much so that other squads thought they were crazy. Actual maniacs.
“So,” Payne said, changing the subject, “how do you want to handle this? Should we snoop around the hotel, asking about the father and son? Or is that a waste of time?”
“We can try. But we don’t have much to go on. All we have is the picture.”
Jones pulled out a photograph of the Park family that they’d taken from their house before leaving the village. They’d rummaged around a little bit, checking closets and drawers, trying not to step in any blood in case the cops were eventually called in, but the place was so small, so cramped, it was obvious that the Parks didn’t have much money. As far as they could tell, there were nine people living in a house that was built for four. No way they were staying there.
“What are the other possibilities?”
“There’s no guarantee the old man heard correctly,” Jones suggested. “Or maybe he mistranslated the term. Or the boy was just muttering about black stones he saw inside the cave. There are dozens of explanations that would make more sense than this place.”
Payne rubbed his eyes, half-regretting his seat on the couch. It was soft and plush and made him want to sleep. “Let’s go back to the cave for a sec. Let’s focus on that. What do we know about the operation?”
“Schmidt’s team consisted of himself and the three squad members who weren’t killed at the hospital. That means five of them in total. Dr. Sheldon said Trevor was in charge of the facility, doing torture or whatever. Forensics found three samples that weren’t in the system, probably from the prisoners or the men who killed Schmidt’s crew.”
“In other words, professionals.”
“Definitely. No way they got to Schmidt otherwise.”
Payne sighed, still trying to grasp the situation. “Professional soldiers mean one of two things: we captured a foreign official that was important enough to be rescued. Or—”