Sword of God(57)

Payne pulled the speaker closer. “This is Jonathon Payne. Who am I speaking to?”

There was a lengthy delay before a gruff voice filled the line. “Randy Raskin. Pentagon.”

Jones started laughing, happy to hear from his friend. “Damn, Randy, you scared the hell out of us. We thought you were someone important.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I love you, too.”

Payne said, “You know what he means.”

“I know, I know.” The ever-present clicking of Raskin’s keyboard could be heard in the background. He was the quintessential multitasker. “I’m guessing your host is out of the room.”

“Yeah. We’re clear.”

“Thank God! That guy is an idiot. I’ve been forced to sound official for the past three hours. No matter what I did or said, he kept quoting rules and regulations. Blah, blah, blah. Even when D.J. was shot, he gave me flack about evac.”

Jones leaned forward. “I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, now I get it,” Raskin teased. “You don’t consider me important, yet you want me to care about your health? Sorry, fellas. You can’t have it both ways. .. . Besides, I already knew you were fine. I’ve been monitoring your progress all night.”

Payne frowned. “How so?”

“The amazing thing about Korea is their technology. They’re way ahead of us when it comes to implementation. It’s actually kind of creepy. Sorta like Big Brother.”

“Meaning?”

“Did you know Jeju has more than six thousand traffic cameras? With a touch of a button, I tapped into their mainframe and followed your movement all over the island. I’m telling you, it was great. Just like a movie! When you got attacked by ninjas? Man, that was awesome! You were like, kick, punch, shoot! And that guy was like aaaaaaaagh! Only I couldn’t hear him scream because there’s no sound on their cameras.”

“Are you done?”

“Not yet. If you want, I can burn you a copy on DVD. You know, like a home movie.”

“I’d like one,” Jones said. “Please send it to—”

But Payne cut him off. “Actually, I’d prefer if you deleted all traces of us from their system. If Korea sees that footage—”

“1 know, I know. Don’t worry. I already took care of it. I wiped out the entire feed from Seongsan. Their computers will interpret it as a power surge, but we know the truth.”

“Thanks,” Payne said. “You’re the best.”

“I know that, too.”

“So,” Jones said, “was there a reason you called? Or were you just calling to brag?”

“Damn! The guy gets shot one time, and now he’s all business.” Raskin pounded away on his keyboard until the correct file filled his screen. “You asked me to do more research on Dr. Ernie Sheldon, and I found some interesting nuggets. Is there somewhere I can send them, or will I have to go through Crawford?”

“Fill us in now,” Payne said. “You can send it through him later.”

Raskin scanned the data. “Don’t crucify me on this one, but I gave you some misleading intel the last time we talked. Turns out, Dr. Sheldon might not be dead. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. His main file lists him as deceased. Yet I tracked him through some back doors and found a fairly recent posting. For the past three years he’s been working as a special projects coordinator at Fort Huachuca.”

Fort Huachuca is a major military installation in Arizona that became home to the U.S. Army Intelligence Center and School in 1971. Since then, its post has changed several times, yet in the past three decades one thing has remained constant. If a soldier wanted to be certified as an interrogator, he went to Fort Huachuca—where they taught all the necessary skills to become a 97E (pronounced 97 echo), everything from the art of interrogation to the rules of deception.

Payne and Jones were quite familiar with the installation, a place both of them endured while prepping for the MANIACs. At times their training was horrific, bordering on inhumane.

But it prepared them for what they’d face in the Special Forces. And how to handle it.

Payne said, “Define special projects.”

“Everything from the latest torture techniques to mind-control experiments. Plus I hear there’s been progress with gamma-aminobutyric acid. Combining GABA drugs and physical exhaustion to extract confessions.” Raskin cleared his throat, as if catching himself before he revealed too much. “Of course, that’s probably just hearsay. I have no specific knowledge as to what Sheldon was working on.”

“And these projects,” Payne wondered. “Are they being used in the field?”