Red Phoenix: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 2)

by Andrew Warren

  If Sean was being held here, there would be no prison records, no transfer orders. Nothing to tie the Chinese government to him if anything went wrong. If the trade deal failed to go through, they could do whatever they wanted with the young man.

  A sudden commotion caught Caine’s eye, and he turned with the binoculars to catch a better view. One of the guards had opened the front gate and grabbed a woman near the entrance. The woman appeared young, perhaps in her early thirties. She was wearing a red hooded sweatshirt, with white lettering on the back. Caine zoomed in on the lettering. It read “HRN - HUMAN RIGHTS NOW.” That was the organization Bernatto said Sean was working for. Was it possible this woman knew him?

  Several protestors grabbed at the woman's clothes. They struggled to pull her from the guard’s grasp. Others rushed towards the open gate. They hurled glass bottles and rotten fruit at the guards inside.

  This is going to be a problem, Caine thought. He had seen plenty of unrest around the world. He knew it was only a matter of time before the protest below turned violent.

  Zooming out, Caine saw a group of six men leaving the compound through a side entrance. They wore civilian clothes, but they moved with the same military precision as the guards. Through the binoculars, he saw they were armed with security batons, clubs, and other makeshift weapons. They were moving around the outside of the building, making their way towards the crowd.

  Caine lowered the binoculars and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He knew he should stay away. If he got involved, he could find himself arrested, or worse. He was a foreign operative on Chinese soil. He had no legal authority to be operating in this part of the world. As far as Rebecca knew, he was still chasing Bernatto in Eastern Europe.

  But if the woman below knew Sean, perhaps she could confirm if he was in the building. And she might have information about the facility itself. He was operating completely in the dark, going only on Bernatto’s word. Any intelligence he could glean was critical at this point.

  He bit his lip, then turned and strode back towards the roof’s access doors.

  He had made up his mind. The time for doubt was over. Now, it was time to act. Things were about to get violent below.

  And Caine was no stranger to violence.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time Caine made it to the street, the scene had devolved into a small riot. Two more armed guards had exited the front gate. They were helping their comrade subdue the woman in the red hoodie. The angry voices of the protesters filled the air. Their shouting was a wall of noise. It drowned out all other sound as Caine pushed his way through the crowd.

  He could see the woman’s slender body thrashing on the ground, lashing out at the guards with a flurry of kicks. Two of the protesters tugged at her shoulders and tried to drag her away from the gate. One of the guards managed to grab hold of her ankle. He raised a security baton to strike, but as his arm lowered, the woman lashed out again with another kick. The heel of her suede boot slashed across the man’s wrist. He cried out and jerked back his arm.

  Caine was more worried about the group of men he had seen approaching from the other side of the building. The men at the gate wore uniforms. They were security guards: corporate employees with personnel files, military history, payroll records. They would limit their liability and operate within the confines of the law. The other men, the ones dressed in civilian clothes … they were the so-called “black guards.”

  They were the men who snatched protesters from their homes. They were known to beat and kidnap family members of troublesome petitioners. Recruited from the ranks of ex-cops, criminal muscle, and street hoods, they were nameless thugs looking to make a quick buck. Paid in cash, they appeared on no official employment records. And once they got their hands on you, you disappeared. Sometimes their victims were released after a short stay in the black jail. Other times, they were never seen again.

  The black guards moved closer to the crowd. Caine knew they would use whatever tactics were necessary to disperse the protesters.

  Caine pushed through the crowd towards the woman. Sweat dripped down his forehead. The sea of bodies pressed together, engulfing him. Their rage seemed to ignite the air like a crackling wildfire.

  He heard a scream. He shouldered through another layer of angry bodies. He saw the woman up ahead, struggling to stand up as the guard swung at her with the baton. Another guard clubbed one of the men trying to help her, driving him back into the crowd.

  Caine jogged to the woman’s side and extended a hand, as if to help her up. He turned his back to her attacker, but tilted his head to keep the man in his peripheral vision.

  The guard shouted at him in Chinese and swung the baton down again. Caine twisted his body and raised his right arm, allowing his shoulder to deflect the force of the blow. The forceful swing left the guard off balance. Before he could recover, Caine took a step backwards. He drove his right elbow into the guard’s abdomen. Even over the noise of the crowd he could still hear the man grunt in pain and surprise.

  Caine reached up and grabbed the man’s shirt collar. He yanked down, pulling the man’s head towards his left fist, which exploded upwards in a quick jab.

  Before anyone could even see what was happening, the guard reached up to cradle his broken nose. He stumbled backwards away from the crowd. As he stepped away, Caine grabbed a small pouch at the man’s belt and yanked as hard as he could. The thin leather straps tore free. Caine unsnapped the pouch, revealing a can of mace. He aimed the can towards the battered guard and covered his mouth and nose with his free arm. Then he depressed the nozzle.

  A stream of gray vapor hissed towards the guard and his compatriots. They dropped to the ground the instant the cloud surrounded them. Tears streamed down their faces. The burning mist stung at the mucus membranes in their eyes, nose, and mouth.

  A few protestors were also hit by the gas. One fell to the ground in front of Caine. He grabbed the man and dragged him backwards. He choked as he began to feel the effects of the gas, but he forced himself to push through it. Squinting, he saw the woman in the red hoodie stagger to her feet. She was coughing and gagging as the gas drifted towards her.

  Caine reached out and grabbed her arm. He started to pull her away from the crowd, but she resisted.

  “Let go of me! Who the hell are you?” she demanded. She spoke English with a high, lilting voice. A slight European accent tinted her words.

  “I’m here to help, but we have to move. Trust me, this is going to get worse any minute.”

  She looked up at him and blinked. He eyes were unusually large. Their deep brown irises looked warm and serene, even in the middle of the chaotic riot.

  After a moment, she nodded. “All right, I'll follow you.”

  Caine took her hand and pulled her through the crowd. He heard more screams up ahead. The sound of men shouting carried above the general noise of the crowd.

  “Hui jia! Go home! Leave the street, or you get hurt! Yidong!”

  Caine clenched his jaw. The black guards had entered the fray. The crowd ahead parted, and Caine saw the group of men surging through the protestors.

  They had tied bandannas over their mouths to hide their features. One was swinging into the crowd with his security baton, randomly striking protestors. Another wielded a handheld stun gun. Caine saw a burst of blue sparks flash from the silver diodes at its tip. The black guard prodded one of the protestors with the weapon, and the man collapsed to the ground. His body shook in a violent spasm as fifty thousand volts of electricity arced through his muscles.

  The black guard looked up and turned towards Caine. The corners of the man’s narrow eyes crinkled as he smiled. He held up the stun gun and depressed the switch. Another arc of white-hot electricity crackled from the weapon.

  Caine cursed and pushed the girl away from him. She yelped in surprise as she stumbled backwards. The guard stalked towards Caine. He held the crackling weapon in front of him, like a knife. Sparks danced and popped from
the device as he closed in.

  A group of protestors marched on Caine’s left side, towards the gates of the prison. Caine reached out and grabbed one of their signs, yanking it from an elderly man’s grasp as the group moved past him.

  The guard lunged forward, shoving the stun gun toward Caine’s chest. Caine spun the sign in front of him like a club, knocking the man’s weapon arm aside. The cardboard sign tore free, leaving a beam of wood clutched in Caine’s hands.

  With a quick snap of his wrist, Caine clubbed the man’s face with the wood beam. Using his free hand, he grabbed the wrist of the guard’s weapon arm, twisting backwards. He drove his knee up, slamming it into the man’s gut with all his strength.

  The guard dropped to his knees. Caine twisted the arm wielding the stun gun, forcing the weapon into the man’s chest. The guard gasped for breath. His eyes opened wide as he realized what was happening.

  Caine took a step back. His fingers found the weapon’s trigger.

  He pushed the button.

  A gurgling snarl escaped the guard’s lips as his body began to shake. He fell backwards and his head cracked against the pavement. His body was still trembling from the massive shock to his nervous system.

  Caine took a deep breath and scanned the crowd. One of the other black guards was battering a helpless protestor with a billy club. Blood gushed from his target's face as he slammed the club down over and over. He shouted a series of Chinese curses as the dazed man fell to the ground. The guard looked up and eyed Caine. He had a shaved head and a hairy black mole growing above his sneering lips.

  Caine turned to his right and saw the girl in the red hoodie standing a few feet away. She was staring back at him, her eyes wide with shock and fear.

  He grabbed her wrist.

  “Come on, let’s go!”

  The two of them burst out of the crowd. Caine heard sirens wailing in the distance. He looked back, over his shoulder. Mole Face, the black guard with the club, was pushing through the crowd. He struggled to follow after them.

  The girl gestured down the street. “This way, I have a car!”

  Caine shook his head. “Leave it! They’ll see the plates; it will lead them right to you. This way.”

  He pulled her across the street. They darted through a narrow alleyway between two buildings. The sirens grew louder behind them. The police finally arrived to break up the riot. Caine was sure any protestors left behind would be arrested. Those who were lucky enough to escape would have to keep a watchful eye over their shoulder. The black guards might choose to pay them a visit.

  They came to an intersection in the alley, where it split left and right. “We need a taxi,” Caine panted.

  “This way,” the girl said.

  He followed her to the left. The smell of roasting meat and ginseng filled the narrow passageway. They ran past a row of merchant stalls selling fresh vegetables, herbs, and dried noodles. Past the stalls, she stopped in front of a battered metal door. She threw the door open, and Caine followed her inside.

  They entered the kitchen of a small restaurant. A heavyset cook wearing a white apron was lopping the head off a roasted duck with a cleaver. Sweat streamed down his face as he looked up in surprise. They charged past him and ran through the tiny kitchen.

  “Gao shenme gui?” he shouted, waving the cleaver at them. “What the hell is this!”

  “Sorry,” she called back. “Qiwei da!”

  They burst through a plastic curtain into the dining room. An elderly man looked up at them, then shrugged and took a sip of tea from a small, round cup. Caine followed the girl as she darted between the tables. The front of the restaurant was open, and they stumbled out onto the sidewalk of a busy city street.

  Caine grabbed the girl and pulled her backwards. A group of men on bicycles just missed them, as they pedaled past the restaurant at high speed

  The girl raised her hand and whistled. “Chuzu che!” she cried. “Taxi!”

  A battered yellow and blue sedan darted from the rows of cars. It screeched to a halt in front of them. The sides of the vehicle were painted with red Chinese characters. Caine opened the rear door, and the girl slid in. He leapt in after her and slammed the door shut. The vehicle lurched forward.

  Caine looked back through the rear window. Behind them, the sun was beginning to set. Streaks of pink, red, and orange painted the sky. The stunning colors were a beautiful side effect of the smog-filled air.

  The cab driver, an older man wearing glasses and a hot pink t-shirt, looked back at them with a wide smile. “Happy evening! My name Zhang Wei! Most common Chinese name! Everyone in China named Zhang Wei! Qu na er?”

  Caine looked over at the girl and shrugged.

  “He wants to know where we’re going,” she said.

  “Right. First things first. What’s your name?”

  The girl tilted her head and examined him. She hesitated for a second, then said “Jia. Jia Zhao. And you?”

  “Call me Tom. I’m a friend.”

  He held out his hand. As she shook it, he felt a tremble run through her arm.

  “You’re shaking,” he said. “You might be in shock.” He looked out the rear window again. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

  Jia spoke in rapid Chinese to the driver. Then she turned back to Caine. “You’re right. I’m starving. I told him to take us somewhere. We’ll get some food, and you can tell me exactly what kind of friend you are.”

  Caine kept his eyes out the rear window, scanning the cars behind them. “I’m the kind who saves your life. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “That all depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  Jia’s large, liquid eyes darted over his face again, drinking in the details of his features.

  “It depends on what you want in return,” she said.

  Then she turned and looked out the window at the explosion of colors left behind them by the setting sun.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was dark when their cab jerked to a stop on Dianmen Outer Street. Zhang Wei, their driver, pointed to the narrow opening of an alleyway across the street. “This as far as I go. Streets too narrow. You walk that way.”

  “Xie xie,” Jia said, smiling as she handed the driver a slim stack of Yuan notes. She held the money with both hands, and the driver nodded as he collected his fare, also using both hands.

  They stepped out of the cab, crossed the street, and entered the alley. The narrow opening led to a larger pedestrian street. Caine looked around in surprise. A hidden little enclave of buildings, shops, and dwellings surrounded them.

  It was as though they had stepped back in time. Invisible from the street, the tiny buildings and narrow alleys looked like they had not changed in centuries. The streets were composed of alternating smooth tiles and patches of rough bricks. The buildings were small, built from gray stone and wood timbers. Their sloped, pagoda roofs rose up into decorative peaks and spires. They stood silhouetted against the dark, purple velvet of the night sky.

  A web of phone and power lines crisscrossed overhead. The mass of wires and antennas were a strange reminder of modern technology. They seemed crudely grafted onto the quaint streets and buildings below. Neon signs and electric lights were joined by the soft glow of rice paper lanterns hanging outside every shop and cafe.

  Caine had to force himself to focus. He kept an eye on the crowd of pedestrians as Jia led him farther down the narrow street.

  “Have you been to China before?” she asked.

  Caine nodded. “A long time ago, yes. I remember seeing the Great Wall, and the Forbidden City. But I didn’t see anything like this.”

  She smiled. “This is called a hutong. My country is famous for its beautiful temples and palaces, but the hutong are the true soul of China. Places like these are where the common people lived, on the outskirts of the larger cities.”

  She waved to an old woman pushing a cart of vegetables down the street. The woman nodded and smiled at her, and c
ontinued on her way.

  “Some families have lived their entire lives in these places. Every hutong has its own stories, its own gossip, and local characters. I love to come here and listen to the old timers talk. There’s a real sense of community, a sense of belonging. It can be hard to find that in a city as large as Beijing.”

  They turned and walked down an adjoining alley. Caine noticed the color red seemed to be everywhere. Red paper lanterns hung over the streets. Red lacquered wood framed the doorways of the shops and homes. Red ceramic tiles lined the roofs and archways that hung above their heads.

  “Is there a significance to the color red?” he asked, as they passed a row of parked rickshaws.

  She laughed. “Well, it doesn’t stand for communism, if that’s what you think. According to tradition, we attach great meaning to certain colors. Red is associated with the element of fire, and the vermillion bird. It is a symbol of prosperity, so red is a lucky color for us.”

  “Vermillion bird?”

  “It’s a heavenly creature. A spirit bird, whose body is covered by fire.”

  “Sounds like a phoenix.”

  Jia shrugged. “As you say.”

  They continued walking, and soon the street opened up to a wide lakefront walkway. Two dark expanses of water stretched north and south. The neon lights from the waterfront buildings reflected across the rippling lakes. The surface of the water was dotted with floating lanterns and tiny boats.

  Rickshaws and bicycles zipped back and forth along the waterfront. Their carriages glowed with twinkling lights and hanging lanterns. The tiny vehicles wheeled through the crowd like nimble fireflies, darting through a forest at night.

  The two lakes joined at a narrow canal, crossed by an arched stone bridge. As Jia led them over the bridge, a small, wooden boat floated beneath them. It drifted forward on the slow, lazy current. An elderly man sat in the stern, setting glowing paper lanterns afloat in the water. They left a trail of tiny flickering lights in the boat’s wake.