Laiwai scuttled away from the albino and turned to face Fang. “Are you crazy? What are you doing? This is forbidden!”
“You did say I would need an army,” Fang replied. “The blades these men wield are known as Dai Dao. They’re a favorite of the Vietnamese drug cartels that have been causing so much trouble on the border lately. Tonight, witnesses I have paid will say they saw a gang of Vietnamese men enter one of your warehouses. A shipment of their methamphetamine was stolen. It will be located at your building. The Dragon Father will accept the police report. He may favor you, but he will not go to war against me without more proof.”
He snapped his fingers, and Lewis handed him a fresh glass of mijiu wine. He took a sip, then kneeled down before the panting figure of Wei Laiwai.
“I still owe you a toast. I gave you a chance, old friend. I allowed Iris to show you the hand of fate. I would have accepted a different result. I believe in destiny, in the I-Ching. But your reading confirmed what I already know. You could have risen with me. Now, you must fall before me.”
Fang took a long drink of his wine, then spit it in Laiwai’s panicked face.
“Fate leads those who are willing, but must push those who are not.”
He stood up and watched as Laiwai scrambled to his knees. “David, don’t do this … you win, I will withdraw. I withdraw!”
Iris slinked over to Fang and draped her arm around his shoulder. Her long, dark hair trailed behind her in the breeze. The lights from the Pearl Tower cast an eerie red glow across her face. “Fate is calling, Mr. Laiwai,” she cooed. “Your time has come.”
Fang nodded. The albino raised his sword.
The blade sliced down. This time, nothing halted its descent. A spray of crimson spattered through the air. Laiwai collapsed to the ground.
The albino surveyed his handwork, then removed a white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his blade clean on the cloth.
Lewis hurried over to Fang. “You should go, sir. We will move the body after …"
Fang gripped Lewis’s shoulder. “Clean this up when they’re done. And call me when you've dealt with the American.”
Lewis nodded. Fang took Iris’s hand and led her to the exit.
Behind him, the pack of men descended on the corpse of Laiwai. They hacked and cleaved at the body like a pack of wild dogs. Within minutes, the concrete floor surrounding them was awash in blood. The color was the same as the lips of Laiwai’s corpse, stained red by the remnants of his sweet, dark wine.
Chapter Fifteen
Caine winced as the old van white bounced over a pothole in the crumbling city streets. He was lying in the back, under a filthy moving blanket that stank of sweat and old food. Every bounce and shudder of the van’s suspension rattled through his bones. The impacts sent tremors of aching pain through his body.
He lifted a corner of the blanket. Even in the dim light of early morning he had to squint his eyes. After a second or two, they adjusted to the harsh glow outside the windows of the battered van. He prodded the flimsy upholstery of the driver’s seat with the barrel of a Chinese Number 5 revolver. He felt Mole Face shift in the seat as he guided the van around a corner.
“Tell him to take it easy,” Caine muttered in a low voice.
Jia sat in the passenger seat. She angled her body to put as much distance between herself and the driver as possible. Her eyes darted between Caine's face and the gun in his hands. She gave him a pensive frown, then turned to the driver.
“Jiansu,” she snapped in a harsh voice. “Slow down.”
“Hao ba, hao ba,” the driver muttered back. Mole Face glanced back at Caine, then returned his eyes to the road. For that brief second, Caine saw a familiar expression in the man’s face.
Fear.
Good, he thought. That means he still wants to get out of this alive.
Caine knew it was the people who had given up hope, who no longer cared if they lived or died, who were the most dangerous. Men like that had a different look in their eyes. Not fear, but a hollow, empty gaze. He had seen that look many times staring back at him in the mirror.
The van slowed as they approached the grounds of the old hospital. Ironic, Caine thought. A building devoted to healing now serves as a black jail for the city’s lost and disenfranchised. Peering out from under the blanket, Caine looked through the front windshield. He saw the gray, desolate structure looming ahead of them.
The other black guard was still bound and gagged back at the apartment. After confirming the location where Sean was being held, Mole Face had led them to the van. He and his partner had left it parked outside the hutong the night before.
A quick search of the vehicle revealed the tools of the black guard's trade: some plastic zip cuffs, a mangy black hood, and the revolver, all stashed in the glove compartment.
The serial numbers on the gun’s frame were filed off. Caine guessed the weapon was stolen from a police officer, or confiscated from a crime scene. The People’s Republic of China enforced some of the strictest gun control laws in the world. It was unlikely the man could have legally purchased the firearm.
A rapid-fire series of doubts began to flash through his mind. What if the other guard escaped, or was discovered back at the apartment? What if Mole Face betrayed them to the guards? What if there was a signal, some code or passphrase he didn’t know about?
And Jia. What about her?
Every fiber of his mind screamed that bringing her on this mission was foolish. A civilian, a humanitarian, a woman he barely knew … but the simple truth was, he needed her, at least for now. His Chinese was not good enough to monitor Mole Face. He needed someone to alert him if the man tried to warn the guards at the gate.
You’re doing what you always do, he thought. You're putting her in harm’s way and justifying it to yourself.
He took a deep breath and clamped down on the surge of adrenaline-induced nerves. Enough, he thought. There were a million things that could go wrong, but it was too late for doubt. They were approaching the gate. Once they were through, there was no turning back.
“Jia,” Caine said. “I need you to translate. Tell him you’ll be listening. If we’re not through this gate in fifteen seconds, I start shooting. Whatever happens to us, he dies first.”
“Tom, I—”
“Tell him!”
Jia hesitated, then rattled off the words in Chinese to Mole Face. A tremor ran through the man’s body. He nodded and answered back.
“He understands,” Jia said.
“All right. Follow my lead. If anything goes wrong, take cover back here as fast as you can.”
Jia looped her hands through a set of the guard’s plastic cuffs and brought the tab to her teeth. She pulled them tight, but left just enough slack to allow her to slip free if needed. Then she slumped down in the seat and let her body go limp. She appeared unconscious.
Caine ducked under the blanket and lay still on the floor. He kept the barrel of the revolver pressed firmly into the back of the driver’s seat.
The van slowed to a stop. Caine was engulfed in the darkness under the blanket. He could hear a tapping sound as the guard rapped on the window with his baton. Mole Face rolled the window rolled down. The men spoke to each other in rapid Chinese.
Caine had no idea what they were saying, but his muscles tensed. Mole Face’s voice cracked. The man sounded nervous. He began to stutter. Caine pressed the pistol forward deeper into the seat.
"Lai ba, tingshi langfei wo de shijian!" Mole Face spat out.
The guard laughed. “Crazy lanzui … Rang zhege piaoliang de nuhai lai chull.”
Caine heard the metal clank of the gate opening. The van lurched and began to crawl forward. He remained still, his senses on fire. His fingers flexed, grasping the butt of the pistol tighter.
He heard Jia’s voice. “These men are disgusting pigs. But we’re past the gate, heading into the garage. I don’t see anyone …”
Caine flipped up the blanket and sat up. Peering
out the front windshield, he watched as they pull into a dark, cavernous garage. A few other vans and service vehicles were parked in random spots throughout the space. Puddles of spilled engine oil stained the concrete floor. They shimmered a reddish-black in the dim light, like crusts of dried blood over a wound.
The van jerked to a stop.
“There’s one guard, in uniform,” Jia whispered. “I see him … He’s walking this way.” There was a quiver of fear in her voice.
“Tell our friend to call him over,” Caine said.
“What? Are you crazy … What if he sees you?”
“He won’t.”
Caine cracked open the rear door of the van and crouched. Jia whispered to the man in Chinese.
Caine pointed the revolver at Mole Face and cocked the hammer back. The metal click echoed through the van. “Do it.”
The man rolled down the driver’s side window. “Hei, guolai!” he shouted, waving his hand. “Come here a sec!”
The guard ambled over. Caine could smell the faint odor of cigarette smoke drifting through the air as the man got closer.
“Ni xiang yao shenme?” the guard asked. “Don’t tell me the van has another leak!”
As the guard approached the window, Caine slipped out the rear door of the van and dropped to the ground. His movements were quick and silent. He scanned the garage, looking for any signs they had been noticed. If another guard entered the area, at this particular moment …
He saw nothing. They were alone in the chamber, with only the lone guard.
The man looked in the window, leering at Jia. “Well, well, zhei shi shui de? Who’s this then?”
Caine crept up behind the guard, using his thumb to lower the hammer on his revolver. As he approached the man, he saw Mole Face’s eyes track his movement. His mouth opened, and his eyes hardened. Caine processed all this in less than a second, but he knew exactly what the man was going to do.
He was going to try to warn the guard.
The uniformed man stiffened as he caught the strange, determined look in Mole Face’s eyes. He straightened up and began to turn around. But he was too late.
Caine slammed the butt of the revolver down, striking the guard’s skull with a crushing blow. As the man staggered from the impact, Caine grabbed the back of his head. He slammed the guard's face into the doorframe of the van.
He heard a loud pop as the guard’s nose broke. The man uttered a brief, guttural snarl of pain. Before he could make any more noise, Caine looped his right forearm around the man’s throat and squeezed down. The pressure of the hold cut off the oxygen supply to the guard’s brain. He struggled at first, but his thrashing soon slowed to a lethargic pace.
Caine looked over the guard’s shoulder and saw Mole Face twisting in his seat. He heard the click of the driver’s side door opening.
Caine held out his left arm, still grasping the bloodied revolver. Mole Face looked up and saw the black circle of the barrel aimed directly at his face.
“Don’t,” Caine said, his voice a harsh rasp from exertion.
The man froze.
Keeping his gun aimed at Mole Face, Caine lowered the unconscious guard to the ground. He watched as Jia slipped a hood over Mole Face’s head, then zip-cuffed his arm to the steering wheel.
Caine dragged the guard to the back of the van and pulled him inside. Working quickly, he unzipped the man’s jumpsuit. Then he began to strip off his own clothes.
Jia looked back. Her eyes traveled over the hard lines of Caine’s lean, muscular torso. His body was decorated with a series of lines and ridges … a dark mosaic of scars, left behind by long forgotten wounds. One scar stood out from the others, a small circular patch of pale, white skin, just below his shoulder.
“What on earth happened to you?" she asked. "Where did you get all those scars?”
“Kind of a long story,” Caine muttered as he slipped into the guard’s uniform. It was a tight fit, but he managed to tug the zipper closed. He grabbed the man’s cap and put it on, pulling the brim down low to cover as much of his face as possible.
“So much pain,” Jia said. “What are you? Some kind of policeman? Or a soldier?”
“I’m here to help. That’s all I can say. The less you know about me, the better. Do you trust me?”
Jia nodded. “Perhaps I shouldn’t. But I do.”
“Good. Now cut him loose.”
Jia remove a pair of wire cutters from the glovebox and cut the zip tie that bound Mole Face.
Caine walked over to the driver’s side of the van, brandishing his revolver. He opened the door, grabbed Mole Face, and yanked him out of his seat. As the hostage stumbled to the ground, Jia slid over into the driver’s position. She looked down at Caine and bit her lip.
“What if you need my help? You don’t speak Chinese, what if—”
“I’m not going to be doing any talking. And no offense, but I’ll be faster on my own. Wait here, and keep your head down. If anyone sees you, or if someone starts checking out the van, haul ass. Just go, ram through the gate if you have to.”
Caine fastened new zip cuffs around the black guard’s wrists. He turned the man around and bound his hands behind his back.
Jia brushed a long strand of hair from her face and looked down at him from the driver’s seat. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Not exactly this, no. But I’ve been in similar situations.”
“Similar? What the hell is similar to this?”
Caine looked her in the eye as he pulled the zip cuffs tighter. “You said you trusted me. I’m telling you, we can do this. Keep your head down and stay quiet. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, things didn’t work out. If that happens, you have to bail. Get as far away from here as you can, ditch the van, and run. Don't go back to your friends' apartment, leave Beijing. Got it?”
The girl nodded.
Caine jabbed the revolver into Mole Face’s back. The man shuffled a few steps forward. Caine stopped and looked over his shoulder. Jia stared back at him, her eyes wide with fear.
“And Jia … thank you.”
“You want to thank me? Be back here in fourteen minutes.”
Caine nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I will.”
He turned and prodded Mole Face with the gun. “Let’s go,” he hissed. He tilted his head down, and the two men made their way across the garage into the shadows.
Chapter Sixteen
The hallways inside the black jail complex were long, narrow, and dark. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, bathing the peeling, white walls in a sickly, dim glow. Many of the bulbs in the fixtures appeared broken, and some were even shattered. Fragments of broken glass glittered among the piles of dust and refuse that lined the corridors.
As Caine and Mole Face moved forward, they passed several supply rooms and medical offices. The doors were all fitted with key card locks. The cleanliness of the electronic hardware indicated the locks were a new addition to the building. Probably installed after the facility had been re-purposed as a detention center, Caine assumed.
Caine maneuvered Mole Face past the doors, down the long, empty hall. They came to a T-intersection, and he turned right. He had memorized the blueprints of the hospital provided by Jia’s hacker friends. He couldn't read the Chinese signs on the walls, but he knew they were heading in the right direction.
As they walked down the new hall, Caine spotted a security camera. It hung in the northwest corner, and its smoked dome lens rotated towards him. He kept his head turned down and pulled Mole Face in close to block his face from view.
“Stairs,” Caine said in a low voice. “To your left.” Caine knew Mole Face spoke just enough English to understand the simple directions. He pivoted the man left and swung open a gray metal door. His captive stumbled down the dark, narrow stairwell. Caine followed close behind. Their footsteps echoed in the darkness as they descended to the basement level.
They emerged into another hall. After the pitch-
black of the stairwell, the dim fluorescent lights seemed white-hot. Caine blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Then he gave Mole Face a shove, and they continued marching forward.
The passage was narrow, lined with industrial pipes and valves. Caine heard men laughing up ahead. He pushed Mole Face forward past an open doorway. Next to the door, an old, dented fire extinguisher hung lopsided from a broken bracket on the wall.
As they moved in past the open door, he saw two more guards, their uniforms unzipped to their chests. They were smoking and playing a game of cards. One of the men laughed and blew a cloud of smoke from the corner of his mouth.
“Ma de ka!” he shouted, throwing his cards down on the small table that sat between them. “What a shit hand!”
The men didn’t even look up as Caine marched past the room. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Up ahead, left turn,” he muttered, tightening his grip on Mole Face’s shoulder. They turned and moved down another dark, narrow corridor in the cramped basement.
They came to a large door, this one painted a shocking, bright yellow. The sign on the colorful door was in Chinese, and Caine could not read it. But there was no mistaking the lightning bolts and other warning symbols on the sign.
This was the right place.
He pulled on the door’s handle, but the giant yellow slab wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Caine fished in his pocket and removed Mole Face’s key ring. Jingling through the keys, he tried them each one by one. Finally, he heard a click as the deadbolt cleared the lock. He swung the door open and pushed his captive inside.
The door shut behind him with a loud thunk. He kicked Mole Face forward, knocking him to the concrete floor. The man grunted in pain as he struck the hard surface.
“Don’t move!” Caine growled.
His eyes scanned the room. Three tall, metal cabinets surrounded him, one on each wall. An array of thick wires and pipes ran into each cabinet. A symbol decorated the face of each metal door. It was a yellow triangle surrounding a black lightning bolt. The international symbol for high voltage power lines.
Red Phoenix: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 2) Page 12