He pushed himself through the hole and crawled forward. Shards of rock scraped against his head and shoulders. He felt a sharp edge slice though his knee as he pulled himself forward. The glow stick's soft green light revealed that the tunnel was even narrower up ahead. Caine wedged himself deeper into the tight space.
He would make it out. Or he would die trapped in a tiny dark hole in the ground.
If he survived, he vowed that he would find those who had betrayed them. And he would keep his promise to Jack.
The glow stick flickered and died. Caine forced himself deeper and deeper into the darkness ahead.
Chapter Two
THE PRESENT…
A cool breeze cut through the night and sent ripples across the dark water of Victory Harbor. Han Sui-Yen shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He hunched his shoulders as he walked along the waterfront. He was a young man, in his late twenties. His face was round and soft, and his eyes glinted with a sharp, intelligent glow.
He stopped for a few minutes and stared at the lights across the harbor. In the distance, the jeweled spires of Hong Kong Island East thrust up into the dark night sky. The building's lights twinkled in the evening mist like a second set of stars. Flashing neon lights and signs reflected in the dark, rippling water of the harbor.
Han paid no attention to the stunning city panorama that played out before him. Instead, he glanced left and right, scanning the waterfront for any sign that he had been followed. He saw no one.
He took a deep breath and waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. For all its glamour and modern innovation, Hong Kong was China now. And the People’s Republic of China would take a dim view of his activities this evening.
Satisfied that he was alone, he continued his lazy walk along the promenade. A lone cargo freighter cruised between him and the city lights, blotting out the horizon like an enormous dark shadow. Its horn sounded a deep, mournful tone into the darkness.
Up ahead, Han saw the famous Kwun Tong Promenade sculpture. The erratic stack of glass cubes was lit from within by pulsing neon lights. The cubes symbolized stacks of paper, a testament to the area’s history as a shipping yard. Now that the city planning council had built an upscale planned community in the area, the land had been repurposed as a park.
Han watched as the lights in the sculpture pulsed and changed color. They shifted from a soft purple glow to a deep, almost hellish red. To the left of the promenade, a freeway overpass rose up, towering over the sculpture. A few cars streaked back and forth, but the hour was late, and traffic was light.
Han moved towards the glowing cubes. His footsteps echoed through the cool night air. Another figure rounded the sculpture in front of him.
It was a Chinese man, in his early fifties. He was wearing a charcoal business suit and a black wool topcoat. His face was only half-lit by the pulsing red light. The rest of him was hidden in shadow.
Han fished in his pocket and removed a crumpled pack of Furongwang cigarettes. He walked over to the older man. “Hei, you guang ma?” Han asked in Chinese, as he slipped a cigarette in his mouth.
The man reached into the inner pocket of his coat. He held out a cheap plastic lighter. He lit Han’s cigarette, cupping his hands around the flame to block it from the breeze.
“You’re not the usual guy,” Han said in a low voice.
“We rotate. Keeps our exposure low. Safer.”
Han looked around, but the area still seemed deserted. The sculpture’s lights pulsed again, bathing them in an icy blue glow. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few guys. Just never you.”
“You’ve been busy,” the man said in a flat, bored voice.
Han nodded. “Saving up for a flat, island-side. Gonna move my girl in with me next month.”
The older man smiled. “Very nice. Moving up in the world. You have what I want?”
Han slipped his hand in his pocket and removed a small plastic case that contained a memory card. “Here. The project folder is called ‘Yu Jian,’ but its specs are basically an updated CX-1 missile. Based on the same Russian tech, but better guidance systems. Targeting margin of error has been reduced by seven percent.”
The older man reached out for the card. Han handed it to him, but did not let go. “Deng yixia, hold on. The file’s encrypted. You get the decrypt key when I get paid.” He let go of the drive.
The older man nodded. “Of course.” He slid a smartphone from his coat pocket and opened an application. He tapped a code on the glowing screen.
Han pulled his phone from the rear pocket of his jeans. He opened his banking app and watched as his bitcoin value ticked up. The virtual currency was anonymous, private, and untraceable. He would transfer them later into a hidden account on the dark web. There, they would be laundered into hard currency, for a small fee.
Han sent a text message to the other man’s phone. A string of letters and numbers filled the small screen.
“There you go. Decrypt key. The files prove China Aerospace Corporation based their new guidance technology on Unites States designs. Pleasure doing business with you.”
Han turned and began to walk away. In the distance, he saw another figure walking towards him, along the promenade. He frowned. Something felt off. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the area a few minutes ago.
“Han Sui-Yen,” the man behind him called out.
Han spun around. The older man was holding a gun, a small QSZ-92 pistol. Han heard the figure behind him speeding up, running towards them.
“Ministry of State Security," the older man sneered. "Afraid you’re gonna have to change your real estate plans. You’ll be moving to a different location.”
Han barely heard the man’s words. His brain flooded with panic-induced adrenaline. He darted left and ran as fast as he could.
“Han,” the man shouted behind him. “Tihing dai, stop! Don’t make this worse!”
Han charged towards the freeway overpass. He heard echoing footsteps and men shouting behind him. His mind succumbed to the frenzy of fear.
Maybe, he thought. Maybe I can get to the freeway, get a car. Maybe I can get away.
As he raced beneath the overpass, he saw dark forms moving ahead of him. A group of three police officers in Hong Kong SWAT gear emerged from a black unmarked van parked on the other side of the promenade. They charged towards him, wielding Benelli M1 shotguns and batons.
Han jogged left and tried to run around them, but one of the SWAT team members leapt towards him. The officer tackled Han, and the two men tumbled to the ground. Han moaned as his head struck the polished concrete with a loud crack. His vision went blurry, and he felt the warm sting of blood trickling down his face.
The SWAT officer spun Han’s body over and zip-tied his hands together behind his back. He lifted Han to his feet and dragged him back out from under the freeway.
The older man was waiting for them. Another man had joined him. He wore dress pants and a black windbreaker that said HONG KONG CIB in large white letters on the back. He walked up to Han.
“I’m Detective Yen, and this is Special Agent Chan. We have you on tape selling state secrets.” Detective Yen, a lean, fit man in his forties, looked Han up and down with disgust. “Mo ming qi miao,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Jesus, kid, how old are you, twenty? Twenty-four? You traded your whole future for a fucking flat?”
Special Agent Chan shrugged. “Kids are the same everywhere these days. Nothing matters if you’re not rich. Money is all they care about.”
Han glared at the detective and spit blood on the ground. “I want my lawyer.”
The SWAT officers clustered behind him. Special Agent Chan slipped his gun into a shoulder holster and grinned.
“Lawyer? Who said you were under arrest? No Han, first we’re going to go somewhere nice and quiet. You can tell us all about your American friends and all the money they gave you.”
Chan looked over Han’s shoulder at the SWAT team officers. He nodded. “Take him away.”
Suddenly, a high-pitched whine echoed through the air. Han saw a burst of blood spray from the detective’s forehead. It glowed pink in the pulsing light of the Kwun Tong sculpture.
As the detective collapsed, Special Agent Chan spun around. “What the hell!” he shouted. He drew his pistol and aimed up at the dark stretch of freeway that loomed over the park.
Again Han heard the strange, whining sound. A dark circle opened in the center of Chan’s head. Blood and brains sprayed behind the special agent as he fell backwards to the ground.
One of the SWAT team raced over to Chan’s body. As he checked for a pulse, Han felt something soft brush against his arm. He looked up and saw a black rope dangling from the freeway overhead. With a loud hiss, a dark figure slid down the rope, descending towards them at rapid speed.
The SWAT team swung their weapons up towards the sound, but it was too late. The figure crashed into the middle of the tight group, knocking Han down in the process.
As soon as he hit the ground, Han rolled away as far as he could from the SWAT team. He could hear the sounds of a struggle. He stopped rolling and looked back. The dark figure wore black tactical gear. A hood and pair of night vision goggles covered their face completely. Knives, pistols, and other equipment hung from clips and pouches on the figure's harness.
The black-clad figure exploded into action. Han could barely follow the blur of motion. The attacker lassoed their rappel line around one of the SWAT team member's necks and yanked it tight. One of the other SWAT officers moved in behind the assassin and looped their shotgun around the dark figure, going for a chokehold.
Without letting go of the rope, the assassin drove an elbow backwards. The SWAT officer stumbled back, loosening the grip on the shotgun.
The third heavily armored policeman raised a pistol and aimed at the shadowy figure. He fired, but his shots streaked through empty air. The figure flipped up and over the shoulder of the SWAT team officer, landing behind them. Reaching forward under the man’s arm, the assassin grabbed the shotgun. The weapon’s barrel swung towards the pistol-wielding officer.
The shotgun fired. The semi-automatic weapon chugged as it sent a hail of AP-20 armor-piercing shells into the air. The arrow-shaped projectiles slammed into the SWAT team officer. He stumbled backwards, blood seeping from multiple punctures in his body armor.
The officer trapped in the cord reached down to his belt and unsheathed a knife. As the cord bit deeper into his neck, he raised the blade and slit the line. The noose went slack and he dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.
The assassin kicked the shotgun-wielding officer forward. He recovered his balance and spun around, swinging the shotgun in front of him like a club. The assassin ducked under the blow and exploded forward, just inside the officer’s reach. The man grunted and stumbled back as the black-clad figure’s head crashed up into his chin. The assassin launched a flurry of punches into the officer’s chest and abdomen, then drove a knee into the man' groin.
The gasping officer, now free from the rope, rose to his feet. He fired his shotgun, but the assassin was moving again, dropping to the ground and rolling. The shots sparked off the concrete a few inches away from their target. The dark figure popped up and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, yanking it forward over their shoulder. Before the officer could pull the trigger again, he felt a white-hot pain in his chest. He looked down and saw the glint of a blade protruding from his ribs. His face went white, and he collapsed.
The assassin grabbed the shotgun from the officer's hands as he fell, and whirled around. The remaining officer had just recovered from the savage flurry of blows. He staggered forward and raised his weapon.
He was too late. The assassin fired.
The semi-automatic shotgun barked three times. The officer fell to his knees, then collapsed face forward to the ground. For a moment, there was silence. The boat in the harbor once again sounded its mournful wail.
Han’s eyes were wide with fear. He stared at the assassin. Whoever was under the black tactical garb, they stood motionless, panting. The ground around them was littered with the bloody corpses of the SWAT team, along with Yen and Chan.
The figure turned to face him. Han found himself staring into the twin green lenses of their night vision goggles. He felt like he was looking at a robot, some kind of unfeeling killing machine.
The figure walked towards him with quick, purposeful steps. Han scrambled backwards, but his back slammed into something solid. He saw lights flashing over his shoulder. He realized he had backed into the towering sculpture. A harsh green glow illuminated the figure as it stalked towards him.
Han looked up as the assassin kneeled in front of him. He saw his reflection in the electronic eyes of the goggles.
“Who … who are you?” he gasped.
The figure said nothing.
Ted Lapinski leaned back in his chair. He swirled his vodka tonic, listening the ice clink against the glass. Then he sipped the clear, fizzing alcohol as he stared at the images on the computer screen in front of him. The vodka was a cheap, store band. Not top shelf, but it got the job done.
The image on the computer’s screen panned over to look at the kid, his asset. Han Sui-Yen. It was the assassin’s point of view. A digital camera built into their night-vision goggles transmitted the image to Ted's monitor. The rig also sent back encrypted GPS coordinates, so Ted knew they were in Hong Kong. The signal placed them on the Kowloon side of the city, at the Kwun Tong promenade. The display on the top left of the screen showed local time as 2:00 a.m. Hong Kong was twelve hours ahead of Virginia time. The screen showed a dark, grainy image, even though it was a warm, sunny afternoon outside the window of Ted’s home office.
Ted took another sip of his drink. His bright, aqua-blue eyes squinted as he watched the POV move towards the cowering Han.
The assassin spoke. “Red Phoenix reporting. Resistance neutralized. Proceeding on mission." The communication system scrambled their vocal tones as a security precaution. The killer's voice sounded cold, electronic, and artificial.
Unidentifiable.
Ted leaned forward and spoke into a microphone connected to his computer. “Yeah, I see that. Nice work. Do you have the package?”
The assassin held up the memory card. Ted could see it through the grainy green video signal of the night vision goggles. “Package is secure.”
“Nice. Leave it at the usual drop point.” Ted checked his watch. “You have twelve hours to get to Beijing. I have a matter that requires your attention there.”
The image on the screen did not move. The assassin was still staring down at Han.
“I want to speak to her. That was the deal,” the killer said. The strange electronic voice echoed from the speakers of Ted’s computer.
They did not move. Han looked up at the camera. “Who the hell are you talking to?” he asked. Ted could hear his voice through the microphones on the assassin’s comm system. It was clear, undistorted, and quavering with fear.
“You’ll speak to her in Beijing," Ted answered. "Don’t push me on this.”
The POV on the camera looked down. “Fine,” said the voice. “What about your asset?”
Ted took another sip of his drink. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He could see cobwebs forming on the white blades of the fan that hung over his desk. Well, he thought, it’s not like I can let the maid come in here.
Han had been a stellar asset. His position at China Aerospace made him a godsend for Ted's counter-intelligence efforts. It granted him access to detailed information regarding the PRC’s aerospace and cyber-warfare capabilities. Once they had whetted his appetite for cash, and the finer things in life, he had supplied them with a steady stream of valuable intel.
But he was blown. The Chinese authorities were onto him. Tonight’s operation proved that.
Ted doubted the kid could evade the Ministry of State Security for long. And even if he could, there was no way he would be in a position to provide any more information.
For Ted, Intelligence was a business. Like all businesses, it came down a simple equation of risk versus reward. After tonight, Han was a variable that leaned towards the risk side of the equation.
Ted sat up and spoke into the microphone. “He’s compromised. You know what to do.”
He watched as the silenced barrel of a pistol rose into the frame. Han screamed. The gun fired twice.
Ted closed the video monitoring program. Then he opened a secure chat program and typed a message into the small black window on the screen.
SECURE CONNECTION REQUEST. RF-90038. STATUS: DIAMOND
He waited, watching the text blink as the person on the other end of the connection typed their response.
A new message blinked in the window. SECURE CONNECTION INITIATED. DR-22441. STATUS: PICASSO
Ted began typing his reply. HONG KONG OPERATION CLEAN. RED PHOENIX ENROUTE TO BEIJING. PLEASE CONFIRM DEPLOYMENT STATUS.
There was a pause, then; BRIEFING TOMORROW WILL DETERMINE RED PHOENIX DEPLOYMENT. STAND BY.
He was about to type a response when a knock at the office door interrupted him. The door swung open, and a pretty blond woman in a yellow sweater leaned into the dim room.
“Ted! Your son has been moping around in the front yard for the last twenty minutes. Stop chatting on the computer and help him set up that stupid remote control helicopter thing. Hell, you bought it for him!”
Ted looked up and smiled. “Jillian, I told you I had some work today. Almost done, I promise. And it’s not a helicopter, honey. It’s a mini drone.”
Jillian brushed a lock of hair from her face and tilted her head. “Well whatever it is, it’s out in the front yard, not in here.”
Ted raised his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. Tell Teddy Junior five minutes. I swear.”
Jillian smiled and pointed her finger at him. “Five minutes, Mister. The clock is ticking.” She shut the door.
Red Phoenix: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 2) Page 3