“And what would that be?” Rebecca asked carefully.
“Before I hand over access codes to PLAN’s submarine navigation systems, you must do one more thing for me.”
“Go on?” There was an edge of annoyance in Rebecca’s tone. Caine knew she didn’t like surprises or people playing games with her. Even though this was the CIA, where every day was a game of deceit, half-truths and straight out lies.
“Zhao Jianyu,” Su said forcefully. “I know where he’s going to be… the day after tomorrow.”
Caine, surprised by this revelation, raised an eyebrow. “Su, I thought you said he already had the cocaine. If that's true, Zhao won't surface until he reaches U.S. waters."
Su shook her head. “I lied then. Now I am not lying.”
“If you have something to say, now's the time,” Rebecca snapped. “We’ve already reported to Langley. We told them what you told us, about the Hai Long, attempting to bring cocaine into America."
Su Liao shook her head. “That's all true, but there's more. I know exactly where Zhao will be. Remember, he forced me to fake the Hai Long’s routes across the Pacific, to match the navigation logs when they are checked later. It was Zhao who had my parents arrested. It was Zhao who…” —she paused, as her eyes teared up— “He ordered their deaths.”
No one said a word. This, at least, they knew was most likely true.
Su continued. “Zhao doesn’t have the drugs yet. I faked his travel plans, but to do so I had to know his real route, in order to change the coordinates. I know when he will pick up the shipment of drugs, in the waters off Tumaco, Colombia.”
“Why are you telling us this now?” Caine asked.
She looked away, bit her lip and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She was clearly nervous and scared. “If you want me to help you, I need you to kill him. I will never be safe while Zhao is alive.”
“That's impossible,” Rebecca countered. “If we attack Zhao, the Chinese will know that their nav system is compromised. They’ll close the backdoor, and we’ll lose any chance on gaining real intelligence on PLAN’s operations.”
“It's worse than that,” Caine added. “A direct attack on a Chinese submarine will be interpreted as an act of war.”
Su shook her head in disbelief. “You would let ten tons of pure cocaine into your country without lifting a finger to stop it? That’s an act of war in itself.”
“We have to think of the greater good here, Su!” Rebecca said, raising her voice in anger. “What did you think we’d do? Drop some depth charges and be done with it?”
“I don't care about the drugs," Su cried. "I don't care about the submarine! Just kill Zhao. You must! If you cannot, then send me back to China. I’d rather face a quick death there than spend the rest of my life living in fear. Wondering each day when Zhao’s assassins will find me.”
Rebecca sighed. She made no attempt to mask her frustration. “You will be safe in America, Su. I promise. No one will touch you there. You’ll have a new identity. A new life. Everything.”
Su stared back at her. Her eyes were cold and determined. “Do this, or I won’t give you the codes.”
“Su!” Rebecca exclaimed through gritted teeth. “We’ll send word to the Drug Enforcement Administration. They’ll intercept the cocaine after it has been offloaded and brought into America.”
“But Zhao will still be alive. And rich! With all that money, nothing will stop him from coming after me.”
Caine squinted at the girl. Something was off… He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he sensed there was still more Su Liao wasn’t telling them. But one thing was clear… the girl was scared. Really scared. But about what exactly, he wasn’t sure.
“There may be a way,” Caine said.
“Tom, are you crazy?” Rebecca snapped, turning her angry glare towards him.
“We don’t need to attack the submarine," he continued. "Just the cocaine. If we can destroy it before it gets to Zhao, he won’t get paid…”
Rebecca considered his plan for a moment. Then her mouth formed a reluctant smile. “That could work. But it would have to be completely off the books. You’d have to make it look like a rival cartel hit.”
Caine nodded. “Tyler’s operated in Colombia for years. He and I could fly up there in time for the delivery. Destroy the shipment before it even reaches the submarine.”
“What about Zhao?” Su demanded, almost in tears now. “You have to promise me this!”
“That ship has sailed, Su,” Rebecca said firmly. “But think about it. This is a good plan. To pull off something like this, Zhao must have promised payoffs to a lot of dangerous people. When it fails, he won’t be able to make good on those promises. He’ll have so many enemies coming after him, he won’t have time to worry about you.”
Su looked ready to argue, but her determination seemed to drain from her features. She looked down and sighed.
“What do you say, Su?” Rebecca was firm. “You want to tell us where and when this is going down? Because if you want to take down Zhao… this is the best shot you're ever going to get."
Chapter Sixteen
TUMACO, COLOMBIA
Jack Tyler expertly handled the Cessna 172 Skyhawk on its final decent into La Florida Airport. The tiny airport grew larger by the second beyond the cockpit windows. The vast, blue ocean ran along one side of the narrow landing strip, and dense mangrove forests surrounded the area. A single bridge connected the airport to the main peninsula city of Tumaco and the rest of Colombia.
Beyond the mangroves to the south, lush jungles carpeted the landscape. Winding rivers and their tributaries cut through the verdant land like veins. Caine considered the water depth. Would it be possible to pilot a submarine up one of the twisting, reed-choked rivers? He doubted it, but he couldn’t say for sure.
“Lieutenant Julia Valencia is my contact in Colombia,” Tyler explained. He banked the small plane left as they prepared for their final approach. “Sweet lady. She’s with DIRAN, Direccion de Antinarcoticos, a.k.a. Colombia’s Anti-Narcotics Directorate. Based in Cali.”
“She drove all this way, to meet you?”
Tyler nodded. "Like I said… Sweet lady."
“Is she on anyone’s payroll?” Caine asked in a matter of fact tone. In his experience, corruption in Latin America was as common as coca leaves. It wouldn’t have surprised Caine if Tyler had said yes.
If Tyler took offense to the question, he didn't show it. “No way,” he said, and chuckled. “Julia's as dependable as they come. When I explained what we were up to, she couldn’t resist. A bust this big will make her career.”
“Did you tell her it was a Chinese submarine shipping the drugs?”
Tyler grinned. “Not a chance. She’d think I was loco if I let that slip.”
“You trust her?”
Tyler nodded. “Julia saved my life once, after an operation in Bogota went south.”
“Do I want to know?”
Tyler grinned, lowering the flaps on the Cessna to slow their final approach. “Probably not.”
Caine reflected on the last couple of days. The Cessna was a former drug smuggling plane impounded in Peru. Tyler obtained it by making a few quick calls to the local DEA office in the capital, Lima. After clearing things with the Peruvian Anti-Narcotics Agency, they secured the plane and registered a flight-path. Luckily, the aircraft was fitted with long-range fuel tanks, a remnant of its drug running days.
After ensuring Rebecca Freeling and Su Liao were safely on their flight to Miami, Caine and Tyler had taken their own path. It was a two and a half thousand mile journey from Arequipa to Tumaco. They flew low over the harsh deserts, then between the snow-capped peaks of the Peruvian Andes. Next they sped along the vast stretches of the western Amazon rainforest, and across the Ecuadorian Andes. The views had been spectacular, and the scale of the Andean range and the Amazonian rainforest had impressed Caine.
Tyler knew where all the secret airfields were from h
is former assignments. They touched down on obscure runways in the Amazon jungle, where he negotiated refueling and some hearty meals in exchange for U.S. dollars. They’d spent the previous night in an Indian village on Peru’s Maranon River, a tributary of the Amazon itself. They slept under mosquito nets in a bungalow with thousands of bugs crawling on the ceiling. The owner’s pet, a python named Alberto, curled up on the floor under Caine’s bed. The old man who owned the bungalow told them it would keep the rats away while they slept.
True to the leathery old man's word, no rodents disturbed their slumber.
Now they were finally in Tumaco, Columbia. The airport was coming up fast and soon the wheels touched the old bitumen runway.
As they taxied towards the airport's terminal, Caine mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead. News of two westerners flying in unannounced on a former drug plane would spread fast. The wrong kind of people would take notice. Caine and Tyler had to be out of the airport and in a safe house as fast as possible.
After they parked their plane, they stepped out into the hot, muggy air. Caine felt under prepared. They were armed with nothing more than side-arms and knives. That didn’t seem enough for what they were about to do. But Tyler seemed confident Lieutenant Valencia would provide them all the equipment they needed.
“There she is,” Tyler said as a slim woman in her early thirties approached through the heat-rippled air. She wore skin-tight cargo pants and a crisp t-shirt. Like most Latin American women, she had dark hair and coffee-colored skin. She smiled and waved at Tyler. He waved back, but Caine squinted at the woman as she walked closer. Her movements seemed stiff, unnatural somehow.
“I don’t like this,” Caine muttered to Tyler.
“Would you relax? I trust Julia with my life. Not many people I can say that about.”
The hairs on the back of Caine’s neck tingled. His instincts sent jolts of adrenaline through his nerves. His hand hovered towards his waistband. He trusted Tyler's judgment, but he knew something wasn’t right. “Are you sure?” he muttered.
The smiling Julia Valencia was within ten meters of them when she froze in place. “Tyler," she shouted. "You crazy perro son of a bitch—” As she spoke her hand darted behind her back and drew a pistol.
She moved fast, but Caine was faster. Before Valencia could aim her weapon, Caine’s SIG Sauer was in his hands and trained on the woman.
She continued swinging the pistol up, drawing a bead on Tyler.
Without conscious thought, Caine squeezed the trigger. The muzzle exploded with fire and noise as he put a bullet through her thigh. She fell to the tarmac, gasping in pain.
Caine sprinted over to her. With a swift kick, he sent her Jericho 941 semi-automatic clattering across the runway. He aimed his pistol at her head.
Tyler came up behind, his Beretta Px4 Storm at the ready. “What’s going on?” he said, his question directed as much at Caine as at Valencia. He looked down at the woman, his face filled with shock and anger. "Julia, why—"
“I’m sorry Jack!” the woman cried out. “My family… They threatened my family.”
Caine guessed what had happened. But he had no time to react. He heard a loud hiss… a trail of smoke streaked towards them from a nearby hanger.
Rocket-propelled grenade, he thought.
He ducked as the rocket shot over them. A split second later, he realized they were not the projectile's targets.
The Cessna exploded in a fiery inferno. A thousand fragments of burning metal screamed past them through the air. Then the concussion wave hit. The burning hot wind rippled through their clothes and hair, then threw them to the ground.
The tarmac rushed up at Caine.
He hit the ground hard. The fire and heat were replaced by a cold, black darkness.
When he came to he was still lying on the pavement where he had fallen. His ears rang. His head felt like it was clamped in a vice. He tried to move but his body wouldn’t respond. A bright light shone in his eyes.
He blinked, then realized the blinding orb was the sun.
A tall, wiry man stared down at him. His features were a blank silhouette… The light fell from behind him, casting a shadow over Caine.
He leaned closer. Caine recognized the man instantly.
The sicario with the face like a grinning skull. The man he had scared off in La Paz.
Whoever he was, the man didn't look scared now. He smiled, then stood up straight. His leg lashed out in a swift kick. The blow struck Caine's head.
For the second time in as many minutes, Caine lost consciousness.
Chapter Seventeen
Caine's eyes shot open and he gasped for breath. He was awake again, conscious. This time he was sitting upright, bound to a wooden chair by his wrists and ankles. He was naked, his skin covered in sweat. His own sweat.
He glanced around. The room was dark, but after a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The place looked old and industrial, like a warehouse or an abandoned factory. The heat was stifling. The air carried a musty smell… dirt, trash, rotting food. There was an underlying odor of animal feces, and mangy animal fur. He strained against his bindings, but after a few minutes he had to stop struggling. His head throbbed, and his body still ached from the concussion wave of the explosion. His flesh was covered with tiny burns, and bruises where he had bounced on the tarmac.
Could be worse, he thought. Nothing broken, at least.
He blinked a couple of times and tried to focus, taking in his surroundings. The empty warehouse was constructed of wooden walls and rafters. He noticed a spattering of brown stains on the floor.
Dried blood, mixed with feces…
Whatever this building was, it didn't take Caine long to figure out its purpose now. This was a slaughterhouse. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his own blood joined the old stains on the floor.
He flexed his hands and wrists. They were bound tight behind his back. So were his ankles. The rough cord bit into his flesh.
A man stepped out of the shadows. It was him… the skeleton-faced sicario from La Paz and the airport. He wore dark pants, polished dress shoes and a white business shirt. The clothes fit loosely on his thin frame. But his arms weren’t frail or thin. They bulged with lean, taut muscle. As the man moved into the light, Caine saw a cold glimmer in his coal-black eyes. He knew the look well. He had seen it many times, staring back at him in the mirror.
This man was a killer. But unlike Caine, his vicious grin suggested that killing was a pastime he enjoyed.
“Thomas Caine,” the man said in a low, rasping voice. “Bienvenido al infeierno… welcome to Hell.”
Caine glared back at the man. He forced himself not to tremble, not to show fear. He knew few people could hold out for long when faced with torture, and he was no different. It would only be so long before he broke. But until then, he refused to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him cower.
He glanced around the room again. He saw no sign of Jack Tyler. Caine was alone.
The sicario took another step closer, then stopped. Caine grit his teeth. The man was just far enough away that Caine couldn’t reach him with a head-butt.
“You and I are both professionals, no?” the man hissed through yellowing teeth.
Caine merely stared at him with his burning green eyes. He did not answer.
“I know you are, Caine. So let us not waste time. If you cooperate, I will make your death painless. On the other hand, if I have to draw the information out of you… Well, then I'm afraid your death will be slow. Slow, and so very painful.”
Caine gave his best impression of a confident grin. He knew what was coming. He had been trained for this. But there were some things no training on earth could prepare you for…
“Now that we are clear on the rules, Caine, let me explain what I need—”
“Trust me. I know exactly what you need,” Caine snarled through gritted teeth.
The man grinned. His jagged teeth and wide grin made his
resemblance to a human skull even more pronounced. “A funny man, no? But believe me, soon it will be I who is laughing.”
Caine tugged at his restraints again. They had been expertly knotted. He was only getting free if he could find a means to cut them. He let his head loll forward, his eyes searching the floor for anything sharp.
The man grabbed Caine’s chin and jerked his head up. “I only want to know one thing, Caine. Can you guess what that is?”
Caine remained silent. He knew it didn’t matter what he said. The sicario would torture him whether he talked or not.
“Tell me where Su Liao is.” the man whispered. "That’s all I need to know. Nothing more. Nothing complicated.”
Caine eyeballed his torturer. He tensed his muscles against his bindings again. His wrists throbbed as the cords bit deeper.
The man stepped back. He paced around Caine, drumming his fingers against his lips. “What to do? Where shall we begin? Electricity? It’s simple, leaves no lasting damage… at first.” He looked at Caine closely. When he saw no reaction, he shook his head. “No. Not electricity. That doesn’t scare you, does it?”
He disappeared into the shadows. The room fell silent, and Caine thought that he was alone again. Then he heard a large object, scraping across the floor. The skeletal man reappeared in the light, dragging a wooden table from some dark corner of the building. The surface of the table was littered with filthy, rusted tools. Hammers, saws, wrenches… common items in any handyman's shed. But here, in this dark, stinking warehouse, Caine knew they had a far more sinister purpose.
The man studied Caine again. “Now, where were we?"
Caine took a deep breath. It was coming. The first pain would be inconsequential, but it would build. If he didn’t find a means to escape soon, the tortures would reach a point where his body would be broken, damaged. Then there would be no chance for escape. He had to act now.
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