Thomas Caine series Boxset

by Andrew Warren

  He dropped the empty fire extinguisher, letting it clatter to the floor next to the unconscious bodies of Mole Face and the guard. Then he advanced towards the stairs. He checked his watch.

  Six minutes to go …

  Sean Tyler crouched next to the door of the small, concrete room. He put his ear to the door, listening to the commotion outside. He heard faint noises above the screeching siren that echoed through the complex. Men shooting, glass breaking, screams and shouts. The lights in the room had gone out, and there were no windows. His face was lit by flashes of red light, bursting from the crack under the door.

  Alton paced back and forth on the other side of the room. “This sound bad, no good! Dangerous out there!”

  Sean reached up and gripped the door lever. “It’s dangerous in here too. You know better than anyone, people don’t leave here. They come in, and they disappear.”

  “But not you! Some big shot from Ministry of Security comes to see you. Moves you to private room, moves me in here too … who are you? Why you so special?”

  The young man shrugged. “I dunno, man, I just thought it was ‘cause I was American.”

  Alton shook his head and ran a hand through his tuft of black hair. “Typical. Trust me, they want you for something. Something special. Otherwise, they just leave you in Tilanqiao Prison.”

  “Well, I have no idea what that something special is, okay?" Sean said. "But I do know I have to get out of here. There’s something I have to do. You can stay here if you want. Maybe that’s safer.”

  Sean pulled the lever. It clicked open. The door was no longer locked.

  He looked back at the short, nervous man. Alton stopped pacing and sighed. “Screw that! I go with you. Maybe your luck rub off on me.”

  Sean shook his head. “I’m under arrest for industrial espionage. I'm locked up in a secret jail that no one knows exists. And I’m about to walk into a prison riot. You call that luck?”

  Alton smiled. “Could be worse.”

  “Jesus, I hope not. Okay, we go on three. You ready?”

  Alton cleaned his glasses on his shirt, then set them back onto his face. He nodded.

  Sean tightened his grip on the door. “Okay, one … two … three!”

  He opened the door and stepped into the hall.

  The wail of the siren was even louder on the other side of the door. A few other doors along the corridor hung open. Several of the older inmates shuffled back and forth in a confused daze. Sean saw a stooped, elderly man look up at the flashing emergency lights and shake his head. The man crept back into one of the rooms and shut the door behind him.

  "Kind of quiet up here," Sean said.

  "They keep most inmates on first floor," Alton hissed behind him. "You one of the special ones they move up here!"

  A long panel of square windows ran along the right side of the corridor, overlooking the first floor. Crashing furniture and shattering glass rang out from below. The angry shouts of guards rose above the chaos as they ordered the inmates back to their holding area. Sean moved over the windows and looked down. A throng of prisoners surged through the double doors of the cafeteria. They exploded into the halls of the facility, screaming in rage.

  Alton hung back in the doorway. He peered around the corner, beads of sweat dripping from his brow.

  “It sounds bad …” he said, his voice trailing off. He turned as heavy footsteps echoed towards them. A dark figure jogged down the corridor, heading their way.

  “Sean, look, we’re busted!”

  Sean turned and looked down the hall. He took a step backwards. A prison guard in a camouflaged jumpsuit emerged from the crimson glow of the lights.

  “Huilai!” he shouted as he worked the pump of his riot-control shotgun. “Get back in your room; it’s not safe out here!”

  Sean froze. The flashing lights, the piercing wail of the sirens … it was overwhelming. The guard pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired. Sean’s face twitched as the light fixture above them exploded, raining a fine shrapnel of plastic and glass down onto the floor.”

  “Move it guilao!” the guard shouted.

  “Sean, get back here, come on!” Alton shouted. “It’s not worth it!” He ran out into the hall and grabbed Sean’s shoulder. “Get back inside!”

  As he shook Sean, the guard moved closer to them. “Get back inside mashang, or I—”

  The guard’s words were replaced by a wet, choking sound. His eyes bulged, and his face flushed bright red. His body fell forward, and he slammed face first into the floor.

  A fire ax was buried in his back. A pool of blood spread from the twitching body.

  Alton’s eyes widened behind his glasses. His mouth gaped. “What the—”

  Another figure emerged from the shadows. As he stepped into the spinning circle of light, Sean’s trance seemed to break. “Who the hell is that?” he asked.

  The man was slim and of average height. He was Chinese, but his skin was pale, almost stark white. His eyes glowed a strange, rat-like pink in the crimson emergency lights. His hair was blond, cut in a short, sweeping, modern style.

  He marched towards them and stopped at the corpse of the guard. He reached down and wrapped his slender, pale fingers around the handle of the ax. Grunting with exertion, he pulled the weapon from the dead man’s body.

  He looked up at Sean, and his mouth stretched tight into a wide grin.

  Sean took a step back. “Get back in the room,” he said in a low voice.

  “Huh?”

  “Back in the room! Go!”

  The pale, albino man charged towards them, swinging the ax up and over his shoulder. He wailed a battle cry as Sean and Alton scrambled back into their holding cell.

  They slammed the door shut and threw their weight against it. The door buckled as the man on the other side slammed into it.

  “Lock it! Lock the door!” Alton screamed.

  “I can’t!” Sean shouted back. “The power's out, it’s an electronic lock!”

  The door buckled again. They heard a heavy crash, followed by the sound of splintering wood.

  “Get the bed, push it over here!”

  Alton slid the metal bunk towards them. Together they pushed both their beds up against the door, then pushed their shoulders against them, bracing their feet against the floor.

  The crashing and splintering continued behind them as the madman pounded against the door.

  “Who the hell is that guy?” Sean shouted.

  “I don’t know," Alton gasped. "I never saw him before!”

  The head of the ax crashed through the splintering wood panel of the door. The thick blade sliced through the thin mattresses of the bunks as if they were paper.

  “You were right!” Sean grunted.

  Alton panted from exertion as they struggled to keep the door closed. “About what?”

  “Things just got worse!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caine made his way back upstairs and was surprised to find the first floor of the black jail almost empty. The double doors of the large cafeteria were smashed into jagged fragments of splintered wood. Caine coughed, and his eyes began to tear. A thin, bitter-smelling haze drifted through the air. He recognized the smell. The guards had used tear gas to quell the surge of inmates as they rushed to escape the holding area.

  He walked past the battered body of an unconscious guard. A few men in plain clothes lay on the ground as well, moaning and twitching from their injuries. Caine wasn’t sure if they were detainees, or more black guards like Mole Face. Either way, it appeared most of the inmates had managed to escape the building after the power went out. He could hear the muted shouts and screams of guards outside.

  Jia … is she still safe in the garage? He forced the thoughts from his mind. No time for that now.

  He grabbed a pair of tear gas grenades from the unconscious guard’s belt. A few feet away, he spotted a discarded shotgun lying on the ground. He picked it up and examined the weapon, recognizing it a
s a Hawk Type 97-1 pump action. Based on the reliable and time-tested Remington 870 design, the weapon was a favorite of the Chinese police. He checked the tube under the barrel and found it still held three of its five loads.

  He slipped his revolver into the inner pocket of the jumpsuit. Then he pumped the shotgun and proceeded to the next set of coordinates on his mental map. He turned the corner and moved towards the main stairs. Another domed security camera was mounted next to the stairwell. Caine assumed that China's Ministry of State Security had a file on him and his past activities. I’m sure that operation in Macau raised a few eyebrows, he thought, remembering an old mission. Such a file would include photographs, and he could not afford to be recognized now.

  He had not yet been debriefed by the CIA. His file still listed him as a traitor, KIA. That was the narrative Bernatto had pushed after betraying him in Afghanistan. To the rest of the world, he was dead. Killed in action while trying to sell the contraband that had disappeared after Operation Big Blind. But he doubted the Chinese government would put much stock in that. Not if they identified him on video assaulting a building in the middle of Beijing.

  He ducked behind a corner wall as the camera rotated in his direction. Popping a gas grenade off his belt, he tossed it under the camera. The grenade detonated with a loud pop, and a cloud of white vapor exploded into the corridor.

  Caine took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He charged forward into the cloud, covering his mouth and nose with his arm. The burning vapor licked at his skin, but he pushed forward. He had experienced the gas many times before. He was trained to push through the pain and discomfort.

  After he ascended two flights of stairs, he opened his eyes and exhaled, then coughed and gagged. His eyes were swollen and watery. He pushed forward.

  He heard a series of crashes on the floor above. Each impact echoed through the vertical shaft of the stairwell. The loud noise cut through the incessant howl of the siren.

  There was no more time to waste. Caine sped up his pace and jogged up the remaining stairs.

  He emerged on the third floor and took a deep breath. The dank, mildewed air was like a fresh summer breeze compared to the stinging haze of the lower level. The crashing was louder now. Whatever was making the noise was just around the corner.

  Caine held out the shotgun and paced down the corridor. He swung around the corner and found himself staring down another long, dim hallway. A series of large glass windows broke up the wall on his left. They looked down on the cafeteria, the makeshift central holding area. A row of doors stood to his right. Most of them were open now that the electronic locks had disengaged.

  As he advanced down the hall, Caine squinted. The spinning red lights illuminated a figure at the end of the hall. It was a slim, lean man, swinging something over his shoulder.

  As he got closer, Caine realized the man was wielding an ax.

  The man threw the heavy weapon forward, striking the door with another loud crash.

  Caine did a quick mental check of the building’s floor plans. The room up ahead was where Sean was being held. This man, whomever he might be, was trying to force his way in.

  The assassin … Red Phoenix!

  Caine raised the shotgun. “Move away from the door! Now!” he ordered. His voice boomed down the corridor.

  The man whirled around and Caine stared in disbelief. Lit by the spinning, crimson pools of light, the figure looked like a ghost.

  The pale, albino man cursed in Chinese. Uttering a high-pitched scream, he raised the ax and charged towards Caine.

  Caine did not hesitate. The shotgun bucked and roared in his hands.

  The man uttered a short bark of pain. He jerked to a stop and looked down at his chest with a curious expression.

  Caine took a few steps forward. Something was wrong. The man was still standing.

  Caine pumped the shotgun, ejecting the old shell to the ground and loading the new one. He fired again.

  The explosion of gunfire echoed through the corridor. The albino stumbled backwards as the slug struck him in the shoulder. His hand shot up and rubbed the point of impact, but again, he did not go down.

  He looked up and stared at Caine. His eyes seemed to glow a hellish red in the overhead emergency light. His thin, pale lips twisted into a smile.

  Caine looked down. In the dim light he could see the spent shell casing of his last shot rolling across the floor in front of his feet.

  Normal shell casings were red. The one on the ground was blue. He couldn’t read the Chinese markings on the side, but he knew exactly what they must say …

  Non-lethal, he thought. Rubber bullets. Should have checked. Stupid, careless …

  Caine debated reaching for his pistol, but there was no time. The albino man charged forward, screaming in Chinese. His stark white skin and shrieking cries were unnerving. They made him seem even more like some kind of malevolent ghost or spirit. He raised the ax above his head in a double-handed grip.

  Caine raised the shotgun horizontally in front of his face, blocking the downward swing of the ax. The metal blade clanged against the barrel of the gun, just inches away from splitting his skull. The pale man was stronger than he looked. The force of his swing knocked Caine back a few steps, and it took all his strength to hold the blade at bay.

  Recovering from the force of the blow, Caine thrust the gun forward, knocking the ax back. He snapped the butt of the gun towards his attacker’s face.

  The albino ducked his head down. As he evaded the blow he pivoted his body, launching a powerful side kick into Caine’s left knee.

  Caine staggered backwards again and felt his leg wobble. If I could just get clear, he thought. Get a shot at a vital organ. At this close range, even a rubber bullet would incapacitate his foe. But the albino didn’t let up in his assault. A forward thrust kick slammed into Caine’s abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground. He gasped for air, struggling to replenish the oxygen that had been forced from his lungs.

  His vision cleared. He saw the ax once again swinging towards him. He rolled to the side, and the blade clanged against the concrete floor. The blow sent a shower of sparks into the air.

  Caine rolled to his feet as the albino wailed his strange battle cry and swung the ax again. Caine thrust with the shotgun, blocking the swing. His attacker pushed Caine forward. He felt his back slam into one of the plate glass windows that ran along the hall.

  Dropping the ax, the albino grasped the shotgun in both hands. He pushed forward, digging the weapon into the flesh of Caine’s throat. Caine threw up a knee towards the man’s groin, but his attacker blocked the blow with a raised leg.

  The albino grunted with exertion. Caine could see the long, slim muscles in his white forearms rippling with strength. His attacker forced the gun down. The cold metal bit into Caine’s throat, crushing his windpipe. He tried to shift the gun left or right, struggling to lift it even a fraction of an inch off his throat. He needed a second to catch his breath.

  But his attacker was relentless. More cords of muscle seemed to burst from the pale skin of his neck and shoulders. No matter how hard Caine struggled, he could not force the gun back. Despite his slim frame, the albino seemed inhumanly strong for his size.

  His vision began to blur and fade. Looking down, he noticed something strange about his attacker’s hands … he could see the man’s fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun. He counted six fingers on each of the man’s hands.

  Must be hallucinating, he though. Lack of oxygen …

  From the corner of his eye, he could see through the thick glass window. He could make out the shattered remains of furniture far below them on the first floor. Prison guards swept through the large room, checking for survivors amidst the debris.

  A sudden reflection moved across the glass. Caine saw a beam of splintered wood swing through the air. It smashed across the side of his attacker's face.

  The albino’s head snapped sideways from the force of the blow. He did not rele
ase his grip, but Caine felt the pressure on his throat loosen. It was just enough … he sucked in a lungful of air, and his vision began to clear.

  Caine twisted the barrel of the shotgun, pointing it over his left shoulder.

  He slipped his right hand down to the trigger guard and pulled the trigger.

  The gun fired. Caine clenched his teeth in pain as the deafening blast sounded a few inches from his ear.

  At point-blank range, the rubber slug was powerful enough to shatter glass. The window exploded behind him. A barrage of glass shards fell forty feet to the ground, shattering on the floor below.

  Caine dropped to the floor and pulled his attacker forward. As his back slammed into the ground, he kicked upwards, rolling the albino up and over the window frame.

  The man screamed as he summersaulted over Caine and flew through the shattered window. He plummeted down to the cafeteria and slammed into a broken table. The table had been snapped in two, and jagged shards of wood lanced upwards. As they punched through the albino’s back, he coughed a fine spray of blood and his eyes fluttered closed.

  The guards on the ground looked up at the shattered window in surprise. “Ni zai nali! Don’t move!” one of them shouted as they charged out of the room.

  Caine staggered to his feet, gasping for breath. His eyes were still bloodshot from the tear gas, and his ears were ringing from the shotgun blast. The albino’s strangulation attempt had left a savage red bruise on his neck.

  Standing before him was a young Caucasian man, panting with exertion. He was clenching a broken beam of wood in his hands. His eyes were wide, blue, and frightened.

  “Jesus, dude, are you okay?” he asked.

  Caine recognized him at once. He had seen Sean’s picture on the HRN website. But the eyes … he remembered seeing those eyes in a small, crumpled photograph, years ago.

  “Sean,” he croaked. “You’re Sean Tyler.”

  Sean looked him up and down. “You know me?” he said in an uncertain voice.

  “I knew Jack. Your father," Caine said, his voice returning to normal.