The Hermit Kingdom, page 2
The first man spoke again. “Hear us out. Our boss wants to have a conversation with you to convince you to help him. You don't even have to say yes."
Ten thousand dollars was an absurd amount of money for ‘just a conversation.’ He didn't trust these men, but they didn't seem like soldiers or mercenaries. They genuinely appeared to be some sort of assistants, lackeys who could be sent on an errand without threatening whoever they were meeting with. Either the boss had deep pockets or had a very big prize he wanted to acquire. It didn't matter.
Shane wasn't exactly looking for work, but it seemed like easy money. He had a decent stash of cash back at the small bungalow and even more in a safety deposit box, but cash always seemed to find a way to run down to a trickle.
And the first man's implication wasn't far off. His wife was down there, somewhere. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She had already waited a year. Eventually, her bones would settle, the car and body reclaimed by the ocean. Algae and dirt sediment would set in. A new coral system would form, animals would move in, and the circle of life happening beneath the waves would be in full effect.
But he had time. At least another six months, possibly even a year before the car became unrecognizable and his wife drifted away to dust. Even then, he could still visit her. Her body might not be there anymore, but the car would be a shrine to her memory. Once he marked the location, he could visit her resting place whenever he wanted.
Most of all, though, he was intrigued. He dropped back down into the water, thinking for a moment. He had left the spear lying between the two plank seats. It would be a final test of their hostility. If they reached for it, or even looked at it suspiciously, he would have his answer.
He bobbed in the water near his motor for another few seconds. They waited calmly, watching him.
Finally, he swam around the stern of his small craft and grasped the handles of their ladder. He popped his flippers off and tossed them back onto his own boat. Next, he rolled the tank off his back and let one of the men help him out of the water with it. He stood there on the back end of their boat, dripping wet and eyeing each man as they watched him.
"I'm just supposed to leave my boat here?" he asked.
The pilot smiled. "I'm thinking ten thousand dollars will be enough to replace that little guy."
3
SHANE
The men knew where they were going, but they didn't care to clue him in on where exactly that was.
They did, however, give him their names: Smith and Donovan. The pilot of the boat had been Donovan, his reddish auburn hair giving away his nationality, while Smith was of the more generic middle-aged white guy type.
He assumed both names were aliases, but as he had suspected, neither of the men seemed to be operatives. Smith was thin, with a pockmarked face and skittish personality. Donovan was a bit beefier and stoic, but Shane suspected it was not muscle from years of fieldwork and combat.
Both seemed harmless, and treated Shane well enough. They had obviously been told not to give away any crucial information like where they were going or who they were meeting with, but they were otherwise amicable. They reached the marina and got into a black SUV.
Donovan once again got behind the wheel, and they twisted and turned through the streets of Shane’s small town, even passing his bungalow before reaching a private airport to the west of the city.
Shane had been surprised to see that they were just going to cart him away immediately, without so much as stopping for supplies.
Smith seemed to sense his hesitation. "There's a packed bag for you in the back of the SUV," he explained. "A couple of changes of clothes in your size, enough cash to buy some snacks, and a phone. I wish we had more time, but our boss is under a lot of pressure."
Shane nodded, taking in the information, but looking out the window nonchalantly as he did. It was more gear than he was given for some missions, so that was good.
But this wasn’t a special operations mission — whoever was behind all of this was scared. Using these tactics was not normal. Usually someone who wanted him to find something was greedy and wanted it as soon as possible, but they would understand not to rush Shane or his work.
This person either didn't care about Shane's comfort or feelings, or they were terrified and reacting as such. They parked and walked him through the airport, then veered right and headed toward the offset, single-building terminal used mostly for postal and cargo delivery. Shane's eyebrows raised as he saw what they would be flying.
An expensive private jet.
So this guy isn’t sparing any expense. Whatever they were after, it must be worth a fortune.
"You do have time to grab a quick bite if you want it," Smith continued, "but the in-flight meals are actually quite good. If possible, we request you wait until we take off, and we'll have the in-flight crew whip something up for you if you're hungry."
Shane nodded again, not interested in any of the crappy, sugar-laden snack food in the small airport anyway. He boarded the plane and found a seat on the port side of the craft, about halfway back. It was luxuriously appointed – clearly a plane owned by a businessman or woman interested in impressing guests and acquaintances. He was greeted warmly by a female attendant, and the pilot and copilot waived in greeting as he sat.
Smith and Donovan sat near the front of the plane, giving him space. He placed the packed duffel bag on the seat next to him, not bothering to look inside just yet. This was all mysterious, and he had to admit — even a bit fun. He was going to meet the person behind all of it soon, and he wanted to build a good estimate of their persona before he did so. Within minutes, they were taxiing around the single airstrip airport and eventually were airborne.
Shane suddenly felt tired, the toll from his brief dive apparently enough to fatigue his arms and legs. He was about to close his eyes, yawning, when the flight attendant walked back up the aisle and offered him a small menu. She offered him a drink as well, but he declined. He chose a sandwich and she informed him it would be about 30 minutes.
He smiled, thanked her, then closed his eyes and laid his head back.
He knew Kate was waiting for him, knew that he felt the longing growing in him again. He pushed it back. I'll be there, Kate, he thought as the sound of the engine lulled himself to sleep. I'm coming to find you. Just hang tight for a bit longer.
It was not an adventure he had expected, but it was an adventure nonetheless.
And Shane Riley loved adventure.
4
SEONG
Seong Park was scared out of her mind. In fact, she had never been as scared as she was right now. She had watched her mother die a slow, miserable death from cancer, scared to see the light of their lives snuffed out.
That fear had been nothing compared to this.
They had grabbed her in the middle of the night, somehow sneaking into her apartment and creeping into her room, up to the edge of her bed while she slept. She had sensed it, felt their presence. They didn't even shake her awake; for all she knew, they could have been standing there for hours.
Watching her sleep. Watching her breathe soundlessly, nothing but her own dreams to keep her company.
And then when she trusted her subconscious to wake up, to respond to the danger it sensed, it was too late.
A hand slid over her mouth, the cold steel of a pistol barrel on her forehead.
Her eyes widened, her mouth curled into a scream, one that was snuffed out by the hand—cold and clammy—that had nearly strangled her.
She writhed on the bed, trying to break free of the man's grasp but never losing sight of the weapon aimed directly at her. Another man, another shadow, was there as well, appearing from the darker recesses of her room. It gripped her legs, held them down, forced her to lie still.
Then they had slid a gag over her mouth, a dark cloth bag over her head. She felt herself forcibly lifted from the bed, their strength incredible, as if she were a mere child.
They had marched her out of her room, out of her own apartment, then stuffed her into some vehicle.
Seong had cried the entire time, whimpering in fear. She heard no voices, no clues or signs as to who these people were and where she was going.
And that still had not been the most scared she had ever been.
No, she was now far more scared than that. Far more scared than she had been to learn that she was going to lose both parents in a six-month span.
This new fear was unbelievable. Palpable. Fear that sat over her like a cloud, thick and heavy, and holding her down like the man who had taken her had done.
She cried, knowing that the moisture in her eyes was all but exhausted. There was nothing left.
Now, she was strapped to a metal table. Her arms above her head, the gag still on. She couldn't scream, couldn't call for help. Her feet had been crossed and bound together, then they, too, had been somehow tied down to the table.
She could see only a single bulb above her head, brighter than the sun, piercing into her eyes. She knew nothing else about the room she was in, couldn't see anything but the light above her, darkness around that.
But the shadows moved. She knew she was not alone in the room. She lay, back on the table, arms above her head, as the shadows moved and danced and turned around her.
For hours the shadows had moved. She had been here at least that long, though it could be far longer. She didn't remember passing out, only that she had awoken like this.
Every now and then she heard a low chuckle, a laugh, and the fear would ratchet up the tension inside her once more.
Twice now, someone—just a hand, an invisible figure in the dark—had touched her when the light would dim and go dark completely. She would blink, seeing the greenish globe behind her eyelids, though there was no light beyond them. There, in pitch black, they would touch her.
She first felt a single finger, slowly sliding up her leg.
She was in some sort of gown, like a hospital gown that hung only to her thighs. It was thin and did nothing to keep out the cold table and the cold air from the room. It was split—two pieces, the shirt barely covering her breasts, her tummy exposed.
The finger slid all the way up her leg, slowly, menacingly. Over her calf, then past her knee, then up her thigh. And then… It had stopped.
She yelled, crying empty tears and hearing hardly any noise escape the sides of her gagged mouth, then eventually lay still once more. After a few more minutes of darkness, the light turned back on, and she tried looking around, still seeing nothing but the huge orb of light clouding her vision.
The second time the light had shut off, they had touched her tummy. A whole hand, warmer but still eerie. Disgusting. It felt her, stroked her. She was 34 years old and in great shape, and the hand that was touching her seemed to want more of her. It stayed around her exposed parts, never grasping, never threatening to squeeze or choke her. But it moved, tickling her.
The third time, she thought she even heard the sickening groan of a man's voice, obviously pleasured by the feeling of her body.
It was pure torture. She had no information, no knowledge of what was happening, and yet whoever had done this was groping her, asserting dominance over her.
Then the hand had stopped, falling away once more, and the light had returned. The blistering, excruciating light.
And there she had lain, for another indeterminate amount of time, silent and scared, closing her eyes to fight away the brightness and trying to forget the incredible fear and trepidation that racked her entire body.
5
SEONG
Seong Park heard the door open. As usual, she sensed no change in the air as someone entered. She heard soft and light footsteps, indicating the presence of a person next to her.
Suddenly, she heard a voice. It was the first she had heard in hours, besides the ominous chuckle of laughter from the person who had caressed her. She waited, listening to the words.
"We need information," the voice said. It was Korean and had the tinge of dialect to it she recognized from the North. "We need information on what you have been working on. What you have stolen and sold."
Tears returned, and Seong felt goosebumps all over her body. She didn't recognize the voice, but she suddenly realized what it was asking for as the voice’s owner ripped the gag out of her mouth.
Her work. Her life's work. She had sensed this might be the case — sensed this might be what they had taken her for. She had not wanted to believe it, wanting to assume that the people who had taken her in the night were just criminals, people who would kill her and discard her body.
That would have been better than this.
She would have much preferred that.
Now, as she felt prickliness in her arms that had long since fallen asleep, she knew this was far worse. They didn't just want her body, they weren't just after lust.
This was torture. This was all planned, strategic. They wanted information — specifically information about what she had been researching for the last year. Research she had thought she had kept hidden, research she thought would go unnoticed by her government.
Now, they would torture answers out of her. There was no one who knew what she knew, and somehow they had discovered that.
"I know you have this information, Ms. Park," the deep voice said. "And I know you are uncomfortable here. Tell me what you found and this will all be over."
She squeezed her eyes shut, biting back more sobs. "You will just kill me," she said.
"This is true," the man's voice said immediately. "You must understand, this is a matter of national defense now. We cannot let you live. But I hope you understand the situation clearly, Ms. Park. My soldiers here are not well-trained interrogators. They don't understand the finer nuances of extracting information from a victim."
She waited as the man explained, unable to argue or fight back. "My men are untrained, but they are hungry. They have little here for entertainment. As such, I thought it would be prudent to allow them a bit of... exploration. For now, I will keep them gentle, keep them from harming you. I'm sure it will be torturous enough to be strapped here all alone, but I've allowed each of them to come in every hour for a few minutes, for a little of this exploration."
She listened, horrified. She had been correct — this was a form of torture, one far more damaging than simple pain. Physical harm would certainly not be fun, but the mental and emotional damage these men would do to her if left to their own devices...
"Of course, eventually we will have to make you talk if you refuse to cooperate. Though they are not well-trained in interrogation techniques, there are plenty well-trained at removing skin, fingernails, entire fingers, perhaps."
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
He smiled, gesturing in the light. "I believe you know, Ms. Park. But in case you're considering leaving something out, how about we just start with everything you know regarding the research project on bio-weapons? How it came to be, how you got involved, and, of course, all of your known associates."
She jutted her chin forward. "You can try all you want, you will never get what you want."
"You have no idea what I want."
They eyed each other for another long moment, and finally, the man spoke once more. "Have it your way, Ms. Park. You're not the only leverage I'm holding. You, of all people, should know that. We can make this last as long as you'd like, and we can make it as painful as you prefer. Yes, you will die here. The speed, swiftness, and amount of pain you feel before that death, however, is entirely up to you."
He began walking away, and her startled eyes tracked him as he left the room. For the first time, now that the light had dimmed enough for her to see something besides the light itself, she could make out more of the space she was in. It was white, with subway tiles lining every wall. The space was dingy and dirty. It did not look like it had been cleaned recently, if ever. Dust collected in one corner, and a greasy line of rust fell from a crack in the wall.
The man stopped at the door, opening it but turning to face her. "Ms. Park, I am a very busy man. There is much I have left to do. I don't want to extend our little interaction any longer than it must be required. Please, for your sake and mine, start talking soon."
With that, he turned and left the room.
Seong was left alone in the dimly lit room, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that she had a choice to make: to give in and divulge the information they sought or to hold onto her secrets and endure the torture that would inevitably come. As fear and determination wrestled within her, she knew that no matter the outcome, her life would never be the same.
6
SHANE
Shane looked out of the wide windows of the apartment and took in the panorama of the city outside — Seoul, South Korea. He frowned and crossed his arms, realizing he had slept for quite some time. They had only traveled a few time zones away from where they had taken off, and he hadn't realized how long the trip had been.
"I purchased this suite for the view," a man's voice said from behind him. Shane turned around quickly, noticing a small Korean man entering the room from next door. The two assistants, Donovan and Smith, sat lazily on a couch up against the far wall, out of the way of the main area of business.
The apartment was every bit as Korean as he would have expected, with the man describing a stereotypical Korean house. It was clear this man had wealth. Art hung from the walls, and he recognized a statue in the corner.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," the man said.
Shane stood, his arms still crossed.
The man made a face and shrugged, then walked over and sat on another couch, facing two comfortable-looking chairs on either side of Shane. The couch itself faced the broad, floor-to-ceiling windows, and he imagined this man sitting at night sipping a scotch or Japanese whiskey while looking out at the city, or perhaps a nice view of the skyline.
