“Wonder how they’re getting on?” Drake said yet again.
“That Mai, she’s something else, man. Where the hell did you find her?”
“She found me,” Drake answered obtusely.
“What’s her story?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“We’ve got hours, dude. Try me.”
“It involves black assassins. Kidnapping. Ninjas. Clan warfare. Child trading. And the end of something legendary. Are you sure?”
“Damn. Wish I had some butter popcorn and a bag of Twizzlers. Sounds entertaining.”
“And that’s why you’ll never know. We’re talking Mai Kitano’s life here.”
“Aww, dude, I didn’t mean anything disrespectful.”
Drake nodded. “I know. But the Japanese, they take these things ultra serious. Family? History? If Mai heard you talk that way about her past, she’d kill you, mate. Colleague or not.”
Romero opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, they both felt a sudden change in the ship’s momentum. Drake shifted again. “Is it slowing down?”
Romero nodded. “Better eat and drink up, Englishman. It’s time to bug outta this bullshit cruise.”
They rose, stretching. Drake checked his jacket and supplies, his weapon. They crept around the stacks of rubbish and paused by the unlocked cell door.
“Clear.”
Romero inched his way out, still shrouded in darkness. The crew hadn’t ventured down to this level during the entire voyage. No need to, Drake guessed. No need to assault their senses with the feral stink of unwashed bodies mixed with strain, fear and hardship that permeated the place.
Above, they heard the sound of boots hurrying around the deck. Something was definitely going on. The two men retraced their steps of earlier. With a gesture Romero signaled that they should wait for the sudden activity to die down. Drake nodded and the two men crouched for a while, not speaking, not moving, seemingly unfocused and oblivious, but in reality, coiled and fully tuned in, listening intently in the way only Special Forces soldiers can for that unwanted footfall or creak that would tell them they had company.
It never came. After about half an hour, the commotion subsided. Romero looked at Drake. “You ready? I’m gonna gamble on this one. A dollar bill says we’re docked outside Monaco.”
Drake smirked. “I’ll take that bet, pal. My pound’s on Saint Tropez.”
Romero cracked open the hatch and peered out. It was full dark outside. Lightning flickered across the horizon. A light drizzle infused the air. As Drake climbed higher, the surroundings began to piece themselves together, inch by inch.
Romero let out a breath. “This sure ain’t Europe, bro.”
The dark curves and jagged edges of high mountains encircled them. Both land and sea rested in pitch-blackness, apart from several rows of static lights to the left that appeared to mark a nearby town or village.
“That there.” Drake pointed. “That’s dry land. Nothing matters more for now.”
A cold wind sent a shiver through Drake’s bones as he clambered out onto the deck. But that was nothing compared to the sudden ratcheting of a gun being cocked and the sharp bark of command at their backs.
“Jeongji!”
Drake turned slowly, raising his arms. “And the same to you, my friend.”
A lone soldier stood there, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to his skull as if he’d been using superglue for hair gel. Drake guessed he’d been left behind to guard the ship, a solitary man in a lonely port where there was no enemy.
Romero stepped away so the man would have to shift to see both of them. “We’re port security, dude. And please keep the noise down. We don’t want the entire port to hear you jabbering away like that.”
The Korean jabbed the air with his rifle. “Ani iyagi!”
“Yeah, yeah, I like Psy too.” Drake glanced at Romero. “If we start dancing Gangnam Style, do you think it’ll fool him?”
“Not really.” Romero looked horrified, as if he thought Drake was serious.
The Englishman drifted forward another half-step whilst talking to his colleague. The Korean, angry, gestured again, stepping into range…
…straight into a palm thrust, which sent his head back until his neck creaked. Blood sprayed from his broken nose. Drake twisted the rifle away instantly from his grasping fingers and Romero stepped in to finish the job. The Korean went overboard with barely a splash.
Drake scanned the horizon. “Looks good. See across there?”
Romero nodded. “A group of seamen walking toward a…barracks, I think. Soldiers going home.”
“We’ll follow them,” Drake said. “And select one lucky fellow to explain where on Earth we are.”
Drake was feeling bone tired by the time the pair had reconnoitered the barracks area and pinpointed a likely victim. The target was one of only a handful of soldiers who spoke English and came across as a leader of sorts. Romero grabbed him in the middle of a leisurely cigarette break and the two of them hauled him, kicking and mumbling, away from the barracks.
Romero trained a gun on him whilst Drake took the lead. “Hey,” he said. “Hey! You tell me where we are. You tell me!”
“Changjon. Near.”
“Where in the world?” Drake thought it appropriate to punctuate his request with a punch and watched the man’s head slam back into a tree.
“Korea.” The man gasped. “Kangwon-do province.”
Drake considered that. “How far from China?”
“Five hundred miles.”
“Alright,” Romero muttered as if realizing he’d just won the bet. Drake ignored him.
“And this?” Drake waved at the barracks, the warship, the faraway island. “What’s the story?”
For the first time, the Korean looked scared. The guns hadn’t scared him, neither had Drake, Romero or the punch in the face. But this question sent a shadow of fear blooming across the man’s features.
“I… don’t know,” he said haltingly.
“That’s a big fucking gun, pal.” Drake made sure the Korean saw it. “Rammed anywhere, it’s gonna hurt. Question is — how much pain can you take?”
“I have a wife,” the Korean mumbled suddenly. “I have a child. Please don’t kill me.”
Drake stared, taken aback. Romero chuckled. “Who gives a fuck?”
But Drake waved the American away. He stared at the Korean soldier as if seeing him for the first time. “You’ll see them again,” he said. “If you tell me what I want to know.”
“Just a base.” The man’s arm trembled as it pointed toward the barracks. “For soldiers. The ship takes us to patrol. Sometimes we are at sea, sometimes in another province. And sometimes…”
“The island?”
“Yes. We take on board many prisoners and deliver them to the doctors. Then we leave. That is all I know.”
“You don’t collect them later?”
“No. I have never seen one leave.”
“They must have another way off the island,” Romero said.
“There are graves,” the Korean volunteered. “All over the island. We are ordered to bury many bodies. Most of the prisoners, I think, never leave.”
“How long?” Drake asked quietly. “How many years has this been going on?”
The Korean searched his memory. “Past my time. I don’t know.”
The man looked thirty plus. Maybe older. Drake thought hard. “How do they get these people?”
“They use the Russians. There is some kind of chain across Europe. A child is kidnapped in Spain. Within hours, he has been swiftly transported through a handful of checkpoints — houses situated in Germany, and then Russia. From there to China and, later, to Korea.”
Romero whistled. “That’s sophisticated stuff, my man. An op that big…we’re talking serious brass, and serious leadership.”