Thomas Caine series Boxset

by Andrew Warren

  Caine stepped through the door, pushing the blinded guard in front of him. Inside the dark room, he spotted a third Tokyo Black member. The man was looking up, entranced by the overwhelming music and a bright light hovering in the room. He whirled around as the two guards stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. “What the hell?!” He reached for his gun.

  Caine dropped to his knee, the guard’s pistol in his hands. Behind him, he heard the sound of Koichi kicking the door shut. Caine tuned out the chaos assaulting his senses. Then he fired.

  Six tiny explosions crackled through the room. His bullets found their targets, two in each enemy. The three Tokyo Black members lay on the floor, blood seeping from fatal wounds.

  Koichi surveyed the carnage. “I enjoyed that,” he confessed with a sheepish grin.

  Caine stood up and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

  Koichi looked surprised. “I wasn’t joking.”

  Caine looked through the glass windows. There was no sign that anyone had heard the gunshots over the thumping bass of the concert. He then turned his attention to the rest of the room, a small, luxurious box seat.

  Dim lights set into the ceiling illuminated several cushy chairs perched on a sloping platform, overlooking the concert below. A small bar ran along the wall, and various bottles of liquor sparkled in the shifting light. A laptop sat open on the bar, a colorful screensaver dancing across the screen.

  In the center of the chamber was a circular table, its top slanted at an angle and covered with a strange, shimmering material. The hovering light that had so engrossed the third guard beamed down from the ceiling.

  There was no one else in the room.

  Caine turned to Koichi. “Okay, where the hell is she?”

  “Maybe they got to her first.”

  “No. I am here.” A voice echoed through the room.

  It was an artificial, robotic chirp. It sounded familiar. Caine turned back to the table. The lights in the ceiling had rotated and pivoted. They were projecting an image down through the hazy air. The shimmering film on the table reflected the image upwards, giving it the illusion of a three-dimensional object. Caine stared in surprise. He was standing face to face with Masuka Ongaku herself.

  He reached out, letting his hand drift through the image. It looked solid, real, but his hand passed through it as if it were a reflection in the still water of a pond. Masuka’s head seemed to turn and follow his movements, as his hand cut through her incorporeal body. The image laughed, a squeaky, girlish giggle. “You can’t touch me. I’m a digital ghost.”

  Koichi drew his pistol and stood next to Caine. “They must have installed these projectors in the box seats for the concert. Anyone could be using the Masuka software.” He did not take his eyes off the glowing image as he spoke.

  “It’s not anyone,” Caine answered back. “It’s her.” He turned and looked at the laptop on the counter. “Hitomi Kusaka? Is that you?”

  The Masuka hologram brushed a shimmering strand of neon green hair from her face. She looked up at him with huge, luminous eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. Who are you?”

  “Hitomi, please listen. We’re here to help you. There are dangerous men looking for you.”

  The image of the girl spun around in the air, her short, black skirt twirling around her. She looked back at Caine over her shoulder. “You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I downloaded this software? Where is Naka-san? He was supposed to help me.”

  “Naka is dead, Hitomi. The same people who are after you killed him. We have to find you. We can help you; we can keep you safe.”

  “I doubt that. Those men you just killed. They are the ones who killed Naka?”

  Koichi stepped to the door and stood guard as Caine followed the hologram with his eyes. “Yes. Or other men like them. They call themselves Tokyo Black.”

  The image of Masuka turned back to face him and nodded. “Hai. I know who they are. They work for my father.”

  So that was it ... the missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Arinori Kusaka was linked to Tokyo Black. And this girl, his daughter, could somehow tie him to the group’s activities. But what could Bernatto’s angle be in all this? Rebecca said Kusaka was a CIA asset. Was Bernatto simply protecting a valuable source of intelligence? No, Caine thought. It had to be more than that.

  Caine forced himself to silence his racing thoughts. He could untangle the whole mess later. First, he had to find the girl. Before Tokyo Black did.

  “Hitomi, please listen to me. We can talk about all this later. Mr. Naka is dead, and these men have tracked you this far. They won’t stop now, and you can’t run forever. Please, let me help you.”

  “You never answered my question,” the cute voice chirped. “Who are you?”

  Caine paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer. It had been so long since he had told anyone the truth. He was surprised how difficult it was.

  “My name is Thomas Caine.” Koichi looked at him in surprise. Caine shrugged and gave a half-smile, then turned back to the hologram. “I realize you don’t know me, but you saw what I did to these men. I have skills, training, and I have friends we can trust. I’m your best shot at getting out of this alive. Please, let me help you.”

  The hologram paused. For a moment, it seemed frozen, unmoving. Caine wondered if the projection software had suffered a glitch. Then a flicker of light ran through it again. Masuka’s long neon hair bobbed and drifted with life. Her eyes blinked. She sighed, and her petite shoulders slumped. The effect of the artificial character acting so human was unnerving.

  “Very well. I’m tired of running anyway. You can’t outrun my father’s money. It just goes on and on, forever.”

  “Hitomi, where are you?”

  “I’m in Shinjuku. I rented a room at a karaoke bar called The Space Age. I logged into the laptop in the box seat remotely.”

  She gave him the address. Caine committed it to memory and turned to Koichi. “Twenty minutes away,” Koichi muttered.

  Caine nodded and looked back at the hologram. “Okay, we’re on our way. Stay where you are. Don’t open the door for anyone else. Not police, not your father, nobody. Wakarimasu ka?”

  “Hai.” The image of Masuka nodded, indicating she understood. Caine found the cute bobbing head and swirling green hair a bizarre contrast to the gravity of the situation. “Please hurry,” she chirped.

  The projector lights hummed and dimmed, then shut off with a click. As the image disappeared, Caine grabbed the guns from the bodies on the floor and handed one to Koichi. The old yakuza stared at Caine as he jammed it in his waistband. “Thomas Caine, eh? That your real name?”

  Caine nodded.

  “Why did you tell the girl that? You didn’t have to say it in front of me.”

  Caine’s green eyes blazed as the shimmering lights from the concert danced across his face. “It’s like she said. I’m tired of running.”

  Koichi gave a thin smile and opened the door. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re through running for the night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Koichi’s face twisted into a frown as they navigated the labyrinth of service corridors back downstairs. “Wait ... Caine-san, is what that girl said true? Is Arinori Kusaka behind this Tokyo Black group?”

  At every bend, Caine scanned the deserted hallways warily. “Your guess is as good as mine. I knew something was wrong about this job. I guess this was it.”

  “If that’s the case, then this girl ... she is not missing. She is running. And Kusaka wants her back for some reason. A man like this ... you have made a powerful enemy.”

  Caine curled his lips in a grim smile as they pushed through a set of swinging doors. “Yeah, I seem to have a knack for that.”

  The older man shrugged. “At least this enemy is one we share. Once Isato learns Kusaka is behind the attacks on the Yoshizawa clan, he will throw the full weight of his empire against him.”

  “Just what
I need ... a gang war on top of everything else.” Caine halted as they reentered the sloping service corridor. Several cleaning carts were tipped over in the hallway. He turned and spotted a dark puddle seeping out from under the door of a maintenance closet.

  “Get down!” Caine shouted. The words formed on his lips before he even realized the puddle was blood.

  Caine slid to the ground and rolled behind one of the overturned service carts. The doors ahead of them swung open. Two Tokyo Black men with KG-9 machine pistols stormed into the corridor. A hail of bullets ripped through the air. The short, perforated barrels of the machine pistols glowed with muzzle flash as they pumped out round after round. Koichi fell to his knees and scrambled for cover. He grunted in pain as a gash of red ripped open across his thigh. Once tucked behind a cart, he drew his pistol and returned fire.

  Caine popped up to join in the barrage, firing a quick double tap towards the men at the end of the hall. They fell back behind the swinging doors.

  “Is there another way out of here?” Caine asked.

  “Back the way we came. From the concert floor, we can get to another exit.”

  Another hail of bullets exploded through the hall. One struck the cart inches from Caine’s face. A shard of plastic shrapnel sliced across his cheek, opening a bloody cut. He blindly returned fire, hoping to keep the men from advancing further.

  He turned to Koichi. “You okay?”

  “Daijobo desu. I’m fine; it’s just a scratch.”

  Caine heard the mechanical clicking of the men reloading behind the doors. “Okay, look, we have to split up. One of us has to get that girl and get her back to Isato. It’s the only place she’ll be safe.”

  Koichi shook his head. “I’m not limping back to lick my wounds. We go together.”

  Without warning, another barrage of bullets burned through the air above them. Chips of paint flew off the walls and fluttered to the ground like snow.

  “Very noble,” Caine snapped. “But if we both stay here, it’s over.”

  A strong, chemical smell filled the air. It smelled familiar. Caine examined the cart he was using for cover. He rummaged through the cleaning supplies and stuffed garbage bags. Finally, he located the source of the odor: a punctured bottle of bleach leaking across the floor.

  Caine glanced over at Koichi. “Cover me!”

  Koichi sat up and fired a stream of bullets into the doors. The Tokyo Black men ducked back.

  “We can’t hold this position much longer, Caine-san.”

  “Just give me a few seconds!” Caine grabbed the bottle of bleach. He tore open the closest garbage bag and searched through the debris that spilled onto the floor. Grabbing an empty plastic water bottle, he removed the cap and filled it a quarter full with bleach. He mixed the bleach with a few more cleaning chemicals from the cart. The caustic liquid sloshed into the bottle, stinging the scrapes and cuts on his hands.

  The Tokyo Black men reached around the doors, blindly firing into the hallway. Bullets ricocheted through the passage. The air filled with a fine cloud of dust as the walls began to crumble. Koichi popped up and blasted another round of bullets at their attackers. “Caine-san, I’m almost out! Whatever you are doing, it better be quick!”

  “Just a few more seconds,” Caine muttered through clenched teeth. Moving back to the garbage, he found a foil wrapper, clinging to the uneaten remains of a hot dog. He tore the foil into small pieces, crumpled them into balls, and dropped them into the bottle of chemicals. He sealed the cap and shook the bottle.

  Nothing happened.

  The Tokyo Black men opened fire again. The bullets thudded into the cart, sending a spray of cleaning supplies and debris into the air.

  Caine shook the bottle again. “Come on, damn you!”

  Caine focused his eyes on the bottle with laser-like intensity. Inside, the cloudy liquid was still, unmoving.

  Then he saw it.

  The sodium hydroxide in the bleach began to react with the aluminum. The liquid churned and foamed, filling the clear water bottle with a thick white smoke.

  “I need cover now!”

  Koichi leapt up, firing a wild series of shots towards the partially open doors. As the Tokyo Black men ducked for cover, Caine rose up and took aim. He threw the bottle towards the doorway. It arched through the air, crashing down just in front of the doors. It rolled down the slope, behind the two gunmen.

  For a split second, Caine saw the bottle swell and distort. The thin, clear plastic struggled to contain the expanding gas and heat generated by the chemical reaction. Then, with a loud crack, the bottle exploded.

  The two men turned, startled by the sudden noise. Within seconds, they were surrounded by a white cloud of noxious, burning vapors. Coughing, they stumbled backwards, desperate to escape the makeshift tear gas that stung their eyes and lungs.

  As they crashed through the doors, Caine and Koichi stood up and fired. The Tokyo Black men’s bodies jerked and twisted with each bullet hit. Then they fell to the ground, dead.

  Koichi coughed and fanned the air as the burning smell drifted towards them. “Nice trick.”

  “Something I picked up in Afghanistan.”

  They checked their pistols. The magazines were empty. They moved forward to search the dead bodies. The KG-9s were almost empty as well, but each man carried a Beretta pistol in a shoulder holster. Caine and Koichi armed themselves, then passed through the swinging doors.

  The loading dock was a stunning scene of slaughter. Workers’ bodies littered the ground, and the stench of blood was thick in the air. Koichi gaped at the carnage. “These men ... they are insane! To kill like this, all to find this girl?”

  Caine shook his head. “There’s more going on here. Kusaka’s not just involved with Tokyo Black. He has ties to the CIA, China ... whatever he wants, it’s bigger than Hitomi, maybe even—”

  The familiar explosion of gunfire cut Caine short. Four more Tokyo Black men came storming down the corridor behind them. Caine dropped to one knee and took aim. As the men poured through the doorway, he opened fire.

  His rapid shooting dropped two of the men, but the survivors surged into the room. One took cover behind a metal freezer. The other charged Caine, screaming and opening fire.

  Caine rolled behind a steel rack of serving trays for protection. Koichi stood his ground, raised his arm, and fired. A bright red hole opened in the thug’s forehead as he fell.

  Koichi nodded his head towards the freezer. Caine nodded back and began to creep towards the edge of the room.

  Koichi called out to the hidden assailant. “Any more of you parasites crawling around? No? Just you then?”

  The Tokyo Black man leaned out, but in the split second he needed to take aim, Koichi opened fire. Bullets sparked off the metal freezer, and the man ducked back without getting off a shot.

  Caine crept along the dark, shadowy edge of the room. He could just make out the furtive movements of his target, wedged between the wall and the freezer.

  Koichi fired off another pair of shots, the sound echoing in the tiny metal canyon behind the freezer unit. The shots had the desired effect, keeping the thug’s attention focused forward. Caine aimed his pistol. He had the man in his sights.

  Before he could fire, the man lurched forward. Caine squeezed his trigger, but the shot clanged off the metal pipes of the freezer. He cursed and spun around, moving back towards the center of the room. Before he cleared the freezer, he heard two sounds: the clanking metal of the loading dock door echoing through the room. And then a single, lonely click.

  The sound of a gun jamming.

  As he ran out from behind the freezer, he saw Koichi, struggling to pull back the slide on his pistol. The Tokyo Black man fired from the hip, sending a spray of bullets through the air. Koichi spun and dove to the ground, but he was too late. Bright splashes of red tore through his body as he hit the ground and rolled. He did not get up.

  Caine darted over to him. “Koichi!”

  He brough
t his pistol to bear on the Tokyo Black soldier, but he knew in his heart he had made a mistake. The other man would pull the trigger first, and his life would end on this cold, dark loading dock floor.

  But instead of the spray of a submachine gun, he heard three single shots ring out in rapid succession. The Tokyo Black man crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  A woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Security Bureau. Drop your weapon. Put your hands on your head. Do it now, please.”

  Caine turned and saw a woman staring back at him over the barrel of a pistol.

  He blinked. He recognized her. She was wearing a slim pair of jeans and a leather jacket, instead of a fancy cocktail dress. But he was certain it was the girl he had met in the bar.

  “Mariko Smith?”

  “Officer Murase, if you please. Do as I say, Mr. Wilson. Or Mr. Waters, or whatever you’re calling yourself now.”

  Security Bureau, Caine thought. Japan’s version of the FBI. He dropped his pistol to the ground and turned to Koichi. He felt the older man’s neck. There was a pulse, but it was weak.

  “He needs medical attention.”

  She nodded. “I’ve already called it in. Paramedics will be here any minute, along with the police. We have to leave. Now.”

  Caine squinted at her. “Why is that, Officer?”

  Mariko ignored his query. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her jacket with one hand. She used the other to keep her pistol aimed at Caine’s head. She pulled out a set of plastic wrist cuffs and tossed them on the floor in front of Caine.

  “Put those on, please.”

  “Officer Murase, I’m getting the distinct sense you don’t trust me.”

  “Small wonder. Just about everyone you’ve encountered in Japan has ended up dead. Now stop wasting time. One way or the other, you’ll be leaving here. It will be better if you leave with me than the Tokyo Metro Police.”