Sword of God(56)

“Crystal.”

“Good. My men will remain on board. Tell them where to dump the boat and it will be done.”



The United States and the Republic of Korea signed a Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) in 1966, guaranteeing the presence of U.S. military personnel to protect against external threats. Currently, there are more than thirty thousand American soldiers stationed in Korea, scattered around the country on several official bases. And several more that are unofficial.

Payne and his crew were taken to one of those, tucked in the rolling hills of Jeollanam-do Province, near the southwestern tip of the peninsula. On paper, the base was decommissioned a decade ago, yet it still housed enough soldiers to start a small war. From the outside, the facility looked abandoned—a series of dilapidated hangars and warehouses that should have been razed—but the inside was a different story.

It was buzzing with activity.

From the moment they got into the chopper until they were escorted to a small room on the northern end of the compound, the Parks were blindfolded. Kia sat next to them the entire time, whispering in Korean, assuring them that everything was being done for their safety. Her dedication continued once they reached the base. She refused to leave their side, even after their blindfolds were removed and they were locked in their holding cell, which had the feel of a cheap hotel room—equipped with a bed, desk, TV, and bathroom. A video camera was mounted in the far corner of the ceiling, allowing a team of guards to monitor them at all times.

Meanwhile, Payne and Jones were taken to a different building, this one in the center of the camp, where they met the senior enlisted adviser in a tiny office with cement walls and an American flag as its lone decoration. His name was Crawford, and his rank was command sergeant major. He wore a beige T-shirt and camouflage cargo pants that were recently ironed. His hair looked brown but was shaved so close its color hardly mattered. The type of guy who smiled so infrequently it looked like he had gas when he actually tried.

Payne recognized Crawford’s voice the moment he spoke—he was the man who’d called him on Jung’s boat. “I hope you realize the position you put us in, having to save your ass in the middle of the night. We didn’t appreciate the exposure.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. This is supposed to be a low-key operation.”

“Yeah,” Payne snapped. “I gathered that from your office decor. I meant the saving my ass part. I never asked to be saved.”

“That’s not what we heard from the Pentagon.” He opened the lone folder that sat on his desk. “At oh-oh-oh-two hours, we were notified of a possible medical evac on Jeju Island. Details to follow. At oh-oh-eleven hours, medical evac was changed to personnel evac. Three soldiers, two civilians. Aerial resources were diverted from a training mission in the Korea Strait, course south-southwest toward Seongsan. At oh-oh-seventeen hours, our rendezvous point was updated when your boat was tagged by satellite.” He glanced up from the folder and stared at them. “Shall I go on?”

Jones spoke first. “Can you repeat the part about medical evac? That was so exciting!”

“You think this is a joke?”

“No,” Payne said, “we don’t. But unless you have transcripts of an unauthorized broadcast on our part, I think it would be best if you dropped your attitude. Last time 1 checked, sergeant majors were several notches below captain in the chain of command.”

Crawford stood from his chair. “Maybe so. But last time / checked, you were retired.”

He walked toward his office door, then stopped. “Stay put. I’m calling Washington.”

Payne and Jones waited for Crawford to close his door before they spoke. And even then, they did it in hushed tones, trying not to be overheard.

Jones asked, “Did you call for evac when I was shot?”

“Are you crazy? I was running down the street, chasing a gunman. When could I call?”

“What about Kia?”

“What about her? She was taking care of you. Did she use your phone?”

Jones shook his head. She was busy, too. “Well, someone called.”

Payne nodded, confused. “Yeah, but the question is who.”





32


Twenty minutes passed before Crawford returned. When he did, he said nothing until he punched a series of buttons on his desk phone. Its speaker crackled to life.

He muttered, “Washington is on the line. Hang up when you’re done.”

Then he turned and left the room. No explanation. No name or hint of what was to follow. Payne couldn’t tell if Crawford was angry, embarrassed, or pleased with himself, because the bastard had no facial expressions. Like the ultimate poker player. Or someone with Botox.