As Caine charged towards him, Bernatto drew a small pistol from a concealed mount under the sofa. He raised it with a shaking hand and pointed it towards Caine. But he was too late. Caine was upon him. With a swift kick, he knocked the gun from Bernatto’s grasp.
Caine grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. He spun and tossed Bernatto sideways through the air. The older man slammed into the wall. His glasses flew from his face as the drywall behind him buckled and collapsed inwards.
Bernatto struggled to pull himself from the hole in the wall. Before he could move an inch, Caine’s forearm slammed into the older man's throat.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? How long I’ve dreamed of killing you?” Caine hissed, his eyes glowing with inner fury.
Bernatto struggled to speak, but Caine pressed his arm down harder. The older man clawed at his arm as it crushed into his larynx and windpipe.
“The White Leopards … they tortured me, Allan. For days. Weeks. I don’t even know how long. I lost track of time. And I never said a word. But none of that hurt as much as the truth. You burned me. You left us there to die. And then you framed me for the whole thing.”
Bernatto struggled to form words. “Not … supposed … to torture. You … were supposed … to die.”
Caine withdrew his arm, then drove the elbow forward into Bernatto’s nose. There was a sharp crack as the cartilage cracked. Blood streamed from the older man’s nostrils.
Caine grabbed the old man again and pulled him from the wall. Chunks of plaster and drywall exploded from the hole as Bernatto flew through the air again.
He slammed to the ground and immediately rolled over. His fingers clawed the carpet, searching for the gun Caine had knocked from his hand.
Caine pulled his pistol from his waistband.
“Don’t,” he hissed. He cocked the hammer of the Berretta PX4. The mechanical sound echoed through the still air.
Bernatto froze.
“Hands where I can see them,” Caine said. His voice was no longer angry. It was cold and emotionless. He kept his distance from Bernatto, making sure the older man could not reach him with his feet or hands.
Bernatto raised his hands and slowly turned around. He sat up on the floor, facing Caine. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath.
“The man outside, the one with the newspaper … he was with you?”
“Just a local I hired. I wanted you to see him.”
Bernatto nodded. “Made me waste time with a surveillance detection routine. Gave you a chance to get into position. Smart. Are you here on your own? Or did someone send you?”
“Your friends at the CIA finally realized what a snake in the grass you were. Rebecca saw to that. She’s shining a light on all your unsanctioned ops. Assassinations, bribes, drugs, arms deals … Christ, Allan, you tried to provoke a war between China and Japan. You’re an embarrassment now. A mess that needs to be cleaned up.”
Bernatto’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe on the dusty floor. “So Rebecca survived? Good for her.”
“You put her in a chair, Allan. You took her legs.” Caine took a step forward. His cold, green eyes glinted in a shaft of sunlight. “The CIA wants you dead or alive. But because of that, more than anything else … because of what you did to her, I’m thinking we go with dead.”
Caine leveled the pistol at Bernatto’s head.
“Wait, there’s something you need to know—”
“Goodbye, Allan,” Caine said. His finger wrapped around the trigger.
“Jack Tyler’s son is in danger!” Bernatto shouted.
Caine stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
Bernatto lowered his hands. Caine did not move the pistol.
“Jack Tyler, your old partner. He had a son, Sean. Sean Tyler. He’s in danger. He’s going to be killed. And I know where he is.”
“Bullshit.”
Bernatto picked his mangled glasses up off the floor. He twisted them into position and put them back on his face. One of the lenses was cracked. He squinted up at Caine with his dark, scowling eyes.
“It’s true. You promised Jack you would look out for him. But you never checked up on him, did you?”
“You son of a bitch. You were listening the entire time? You sold us out and listened to Jack die for your own fucking amusement?”
Bernatto shook his head. “I took no pleasure in what I did. It had to be done. You were wearing a mic, so I listened. That’s all.”
“Had to be done? Why, to line your pockets?”
“You know why as well as I do, Tom. You can’t requisition government funds to assassinate arms dealers. Or stage a coup to secure oil rights. Your unit, the missions we undertook, the work you did … where do you think that money came from? What do you think paid for your weapons and equipment? The informants, the bribes? All of it?”
“You’re telling me you funded unsanctioned operations with drug money and arms deals?”
“I did what had to be done. What the country needed but couldn’t admit was necessary. I’ve been at this for a long time, Tom. What you call ‘unsanctioned,’ three presidential administrations called ‘deniable.’ You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”
“I was a fool to trust you. To believe you were anything other than a two-faced greedy sack of shit. I should have known you would hang me out to dry at the first opportunity.”
“I betrayed you. That’s the past. It’s over. But killing me isn’t going to erase the blood on your hands. It’s not going to change who you are.”
“I am what you made me,” Caine growled.
“Is that really what you believe? Or just what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
Caine started to speak, then stopped. He stared at Bernatto.
“Sean. Where is he?”
“He’s in China. And that’s all you get until you let me go.”
Caine’s eyes glinted in the harsh light. His lips twisted into a grim smile. “I can make you tell me, Allan.”
Bernatto looked up. “Yes, I’m sure you could. But Sean doesn’t have much time. I know exactly how long I have to hold out for. And you don’t. That gives me the advantage.”
“So I’m supposed just let you go? And trust that you’ll tell me? That this isn’t a setup?”
“Yes. That is exactly what you’re going to do.”
“And why on earth would I do that?”
Bernatto peered up at Caine over the rims of his bent glasses.
“You risked your life in Japan, twice. First to save a gangster’s son. Then to save that girl, Hitomi. You barely knew those people. This is Jack Tyler’s son we’re talking about. And I swear to you, he’s a dead man unless you do as I say.”
Caine’s face was still, unmoving. His features looked as if they were carved from stone.
“You’re a killer, Tom, but you’re not the operative you once were,” Bernatto said. He had his breath now, and a trace of his old arrogance crept back into his voice. “Maybe it was Rebecca that made you soft. Maybe it was the torture. Or maybe you just burned out. Lord knows this life can do it to a man. But we both know the man you are now is not going to stand here and let Sean Tyler die. Not when there’s a chance, no matter how small, that you can do something about it.”
Caine gritted his teeth. His mouth twisted into a snarl.
He pulled the trigger.
The gunfire was deafening in the tiny apartment. A furious cry exploded from Caine’s mouth and he fired twice more.
Then there was silence. Smoke danced in the narrow beams of sunlight that cut through the room. The bitter smell of gunpowder filled the musty air.
Bernatto shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. He turned to his right and saw three smoking bullet holes in the dusty carpet.
He turned back to Caine. His lips curled into a sneer. “I take it we have a deal?”
Caine kept the pistol trained on Bernatto. “If you’re
lying to me, if this is a trick, there’s no place you can hide that I won’t find you.”
Bernatto lowered his arms.
“I know that.”
Caine lowered the pistol.
“Get your things. We’re leaving.”
Chapter Six
The Ministry of Land and Resources, like most government buildings in Beijing, was a nondescript slab of gray bricks and glass. Inside, the hallways were as cold and lifeless as the exterior. It was a sterile labyrinth of white walls and tile floors. The only decoration was the occasional propaganda poster. The smiling faces on the posters promised “A New China” or “One People, One China.”
As he walked down the hallway, David Fang slowed his steps, allowing Helen Wong, the Vice Minister, to keep pace.
“Madam Vice Minister,” he said, his voice warm and full. “This property we’re discussing … this is not some fertile farmland, providing rice and flour for the good people of China. This is a slum. The water is polluted, the local economy is stagnant. My proposed factory would increase the GDP of the region a hundred-fold.”
Helen glanced sideways at Fang as they descended a wide, steep set of stairs. David was tall, lean, and handsome. His skin was a deep tan, and his eyes were dark, lively, and intelligent. His hair was jet black, without a trace of grey. At forty-five years old, he looked younger than men ten years his junior. He wore a crisp, white suit and a black silk knit tie.
“Factories like yours are the main reason this area is so polluted, Mr. Fang,” Helen said. Her stern face twisted into a scowl. “This Ministry is already under intense pressure. I’m sure you’re aware, China is about to sign onto the Global Environmental Accords with the U.S. We've vowed to close down industrial sites and reduce pollutants in our river water. We’ve also committed to a twenty percent reduction of industrial land sales.”
As they moved through the busy lobby, they crossed over one of the few splashes of color in the building. The tile floor beneath their feet was inlaid with a massive red circle, the Ministry’s seal. The circle was wreathed in gold and contained five yellow stars. Like the Chinese flag, the largest star represented communism. The others stood for the various classes of Chinese people, all united under one political system.
Fang resisted the impulse to shake his head as he stepped over the enormous red circle. He knew no star on that flag represented him. No government or political system defined his destiny.
“I couldn’t agree more, Helen," he said. "That’s why Fang Industries has recruited the top environmental scientists in the country. Based on their recommendations, I'm sure we can reduce pollutants from my existing factories, given time to—”
“That’s too little, too late, Mr. Fang. This has become a hot button issue, and the Premier wants this agreement to go through. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Before you answer, please, allow me to demonstrate my respect with a gift.” Fang smiled as he held the door open for her. His teeth gleamed even whiter than his suit. They stepped out onto the gray marble stairs that led down to the street. Red paper lanterns hung above the building’s entrance, swaying in the breeze.
Helen shook her head. “Mr. Fang, I …” Her voice trailed off as she turned and stared at a commotion in the street.
Two white limousines blocked traffic at either end of the street. The blocked rows of cars honked their horns, and drivers shook their fists out the windows. A few bicyclists darted around the limos, but most took care to give the entire scene a wide berth. The last thing anyone wanted to do was attract attention outside a government building.
Fang smiled and gestured with an outstretched arm. Outside the Ministry, eight luxury automobiles were fanned out across the street. They formed a semi-circle of gleaming metal and chrome.
Each vehicle was a sparkling brand new Rolls Royce Dawn. The luxury convertibles were loaded with massive twin turbo V12 engines, leather interiors, and a host of other features. The fan of cars ranged in color from the darker grays and blues, to a bright canary yellow. Their eight silver angel hood ornaments sparkled in the sun, like a troupe of metal ballerinas.
David walked over to the center vehicle, a shimmering pearl white model. He opened the driver’s door. The door opened right to left, a so-called “suicide door,” to allow easier entry into the vehicle.
“For you, Madam Vice Minister. I didn’t know what your favorite color was, so I got you one of each. The yellow one is custom, by the way. There are only seven official colors, but I thought eight would make a more auspicious gift.”
Helen gasped. Each of the vehicles in the blocked street was worth more than three million Chinese Yuan.
“Hao jiahuo,” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Mr. Fang, one car is quite enough for me, and I already have that taken care of. Get these out of here. Now!”
“Ms. Wong, I don’t wish to be disrespectful. Your predecessor and I had an arrangement regarding the sale of this land. All I’m asking is for you to honor our agreement.” Fang’s voice dropped in pitch. “It’s the honorable thing to do. And it’s the smart thing to do. For everyone.”
“My predecessor was brought up on charges of corruption,” Helen snapped. “He is being transferred to a state prison as we speak. Unless you wish to join him, I suggest you clear the streets of this outrageous bribe and leave.”
She leveled a stern gaze at Fang. “But before you go, let me make one thing clear. I am well aware of your unsavory criminal connections, Mr. Fang. I‘ve ordered my department to perform a complete audit of all your factories. If I find a single yuan of Triad money in your books, I’ll shut you down in a heartbeat. Are we clear? Qingchule ma?”
Helen squinted at the vehicles and shook her head. Then she turned and walked back into the Ministry.
David slammed the car door shut. He appeared lost in thought for a moment. Then, he raised his hand over his head and shouted in Chinese, “Yidong ta! Let’s go!”
Men ran from the crowd and leapt into the expensive vehicles. The rows of blocked traffic struggled to back up and clear a path as the limos began to move. The growl of engines filled the air. One by one, the expensive, colorful Rolls Royces filed down the street.
One of the men opened the rear door of the lead limo, and Fang slid into the vehicle. He leaned back into the rich leather upholstery. The luxurious car drifted into traffic.
“Take me to the airport,” he snapped.
The driver nodded. “Shi de xiansheng. Yes sir.”
Fang pulled out his cellphone tapped the screen. A low-pitched male voice picked up. It was Lewis, his second-in-command. “Yes sir?”
“How is she doing?” Fang asked.
“I tried calling you earlier, sir. The doctors say she is still refusing to take her medicine.”
Fang gritted his teeth. “Then you tell the doctors I pay them to administer treatment, not to cower from an elderly woman! If they can’t do their jobs, I’ll fire them all, and find someone who can!”
“Yes sir.” There was a pause. Then, “Sir …”
“What is it?”
“One more thing. The American. The journalist that police arrested at your Shanghai building?”
“You said he would be taken care of in Tilanqiao Prison.”
“Yes sir, arrangements were made, but he is no longer in Shanghai. The Ministry moved him to Beijing. He is being held in a black jail, run by a government security contractor.”
“Why would they move him there?” Fang muttered. The voice on the other end of the call was silent.
Fang sighed. “Never mind. Send Lucky Si to take care of him. Wait until I leave Beijing. The Ministry has refused my proposal. We will move forward with Operation Dynasty. Tell Tan to be ready, I want do a test run tonight.”
He glared out the window at the bleak, gray building receding in the distance. “And I think I have the perfect candidate.”
“Yes sir. Shi pei le. I will make the arrangements.”
Fang hung up.
He stared o
ut the window as the limo turned onto the expressway. The air outside was a thick, gray smog. The city buildings behind them soon disappeared into the haze.
He reached into his pocket and removed three small white tiles. They made a soft clicking sound in his hand as he flipped them between his fingers. He thought back to his meeting with the Vice Minister. The arrogant bitch. Who was she to judge him? To stand in the way of his destiny?
She is nothing, Fang thought. I know my destiny.
And I know what happens to those who stand against it.
The black Hongqi L5 sedan sped through Beijing’s evening traffic. Its sleek, four-door frame and retro styling drew glances of both admiration and fear as it cut through a red light. Hongqi was one of the oldest car manufacturers in China, and the L5 was the most expensive vehicle in its lineup. It was also well known as the de facto mode of transportation for government officials. Other vehicles darted out of the way and gave the large black sedan a wide berth.
Helen Wong sighed and slumped into the plush rear seat. She tapped the screen of her cellphone, marking items off her agenda. She took particular pleasure in erasing her meeting with Fang from her calendar.
Up front, her driver kept his eyes on the road ahead. He kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and cut through evening traffic with skill and experience. He looked up at her in the rearview mirror.
“Duibuqi furen,” he said. Helen did not look up. Her eyes were glued to her phone, her face twisted into a scowl of distaste. The driver cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Vice Minster?”
Helen looked up. “Sorry, Cheng. One of my meetings today left a bad taste in my mouth. Can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”
“Sorry to bother you, but there’s an accident on the freeway ramp up ahead. Traffic on the G110 is backed up for miles. I can take surface but …”
“But I’d better tell my husband to eat without me,” Helen said with a smirk. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. He can tell the cook to make those chicken feet he likes so much.” She grimaced. “Disgusting.”
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 34