Sword of God(45)
Matthew spoke. “I think I see it.”
John punched a few buttons and zoomed in closer on the room that Matthew was pointing to. He spotted another keypad, just to the left of the metal door, but couldn’t read the sign since it was written in Arabic. The walls were reinforced with extra concrete, plus there were no windows. From his perspective, it seemed like the right place.
Why add extra protection if this room wasn’t important?
“Thoughts?”
Matthew looked back at the camera and shrugged.
“Can you hear anything?”
He put his ear next to the door. Not a sound.
He dropped to the floor and looked under the door. But the room was dark, at least from his limited perspective. From his knees, he shrugged again.
“While you’re down there, say a prayer to Allah. Because if we punch in the wrong code, we might sound an alarm.”
Matthew looked at the camera and flipped it off.
“Was that to me or Allah?”
He ignored the question. “Listen, there’s no way this system is one-and-done. There has to be a margin for error. People hit wrong buttons all the time.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Then give me the code. I’ll try it once. If it doesn’t work, we can try something else.”
John nodded and glanced at his list. He read the numbers aloud.
Carefully, Matthew entered them into the keypad, each sounding a tiny beep.
One. Beep.
Nine. Beep.
Eight. Beep.
Seven. Beep.
Then, as if by magic, the door popped open with a quiet click.
26
Yesterday, Kia had warned Payne and Jones about the threat of speeding tickets. Traffic cameras and detection units were spread evenly across Route 12. But on this day it wasn’t a concern, not as long as they followed the old man and his truck, which smoked and wheezed more often than a fire-breathing dragon with asthma. It was simply unable to speed.
Jones drove, once again, while Payne studied a road map of the island. Kia hovered over his shoulder, answering questions and explaining the significance of certain areas, including the Jungmun Tourist Complex, which sprawled for several miles along the southwestern coast of Jeju. It featured several dozen attractions—including Cheonjaeyeon Falls, where they had stopped the day before—with Americanized names that he could barely read let alone pronounce.
Yeomiji Botanical Garden was reputed to be the largest in Asia, growing more than 2,000 varieties of tropical and subtropical plants in 150,000 square yards of indoor and outdoor fields, all of it centered around an observation deck that stood more than 125 feet high. Down the road was Jusangjeolli Cliff, a series of 60-foot stone pillars that formed when lava from Mount Halla poured into the raging sea. Jungmun Beach lined the nearby shore, filled with white sand that contrasted sharply with the surrounding black hillside, home to Haesikgul Cave, a natural sea cave featured in dozens of movies because of its scenic beauty.
Unfortunately, none of these sites could be seen from the highway; they were blocked from view by parasitic volcanoes and thick blankets of trees, a surreal mix of pines and palms sprouting up through the black core of the island. Payne followed their progress by watching road signs, tracing their route with his finger, looking for auxiliary routes in case they needed to escape.
They continued their journey along Route 12 until the old man approached the exit for Daeyu Hunting Ground. He eased his truck onto a secondary road and started driving north to the base of Mount Halla, its snowcapped peak rising six thousand feet above the rocky shore.
Jones stared at the mountain and sighed. “Bet you ten bucks he doesn’t make it.”
Payne laughed, even though it contradicted the anxiety he felt for the first time since they’d left the resort. To him, hunting grounds meant guns. Lots of guns. People legally armed, carrying weapons in full view. And there was nothing he could do about it. No time for advanced scouting. No way to secure the perimeter. It was three of them against an entire lodge of potential threats. Never knowing where a fatal shot might come from.
He turned toward Kia. “What do you know about this place?”
“Not much. I’ve never been here before.” She flipped through her tour book, hoping to find something useful. “It says it’s the only official hunting range in all of Asia. There’s bird hunting, clay shooting, target ranges for pistols and rifles. You can rent guns. And guides. And even bird dogs. Plus there’s a breeding farm with more than fifty thousand pheasants.”
“Damn!” Jones said. “That’s a lot of birds.”
“I’m more concerned with the guns.”
“Me, too. But still, that’s a lot of birds. I’m talking Hitchcock?”