Thomas Caine series Boxset

by Andrew Warren

  The roaring engines grew louder. More vehicles were approaching.

  “Condor One to Condor Two,” Caine shouted. “Sit Rep.”

  “Sit Rep is, things just went to hell in a handbasket, over.” Tyler replied. In spite of the sheer terror he felt, Caine grinned. Jack Tyler was not known for his radio protocol. “Nest is offline, and you’ve got multiple unknown vehicles converging on your position.”

  Caine spun around the landing gear and returned fire. One of Sayed’s men dropped to the ground, thrashing in pain. Caine’s triumph was short-lived, as the other men sent a hail of bullets his way.

  Caine ducked back behind the wheel. He saw a cloud of dust moving from behind the ridge in the distance. “Whoever they are, they’re closing in fast,” he said. His earpiece picked up his vocalizations and transmitted them to Tyler.

  “Copy that, I’m making my way to your position. I don’t care what Nest says, this op is officially SNAFU. We are aborting.”

  Caine watched as five armored military vehicles converged on the airfield. They looked like Force Protection Inc. Cougars, heavily armored trucks designed for off-road use. Their thick armor plating was resistant to landmines and other improvised explosives.

  The vehicles were painted a light khaki tan. They bore no official markings, and their windows were tinted dark black. The trucks charged across the airfield and pursued the fleeing White Leopards convoy.

  The truck's mounted 50 cal machine guns opened fire. The heavy weaponry tore through the sheet metal of the convoy vehicles as if it were tissue paper. Two of the fleeing vehicles swerved off the road and rolled as their drivers were perforated by dozens of metal slugs.

  Sayed’s men turned their attention from Caine to the new threat. They retreated towards the tractor trailer and opened fire. Their AK47 rifles launched a barrage of automatic fire towards one of the trucks. The bullets sparked and ricocheted off the vehicle’s heavy armor. The gunfire didn’t even scratch the paint.

  The Cougar returned fire with its machines guns. The Afghan men danced and jerked in the air as the rapid-fire weapons swept across their position.

  One of the Cougars screeched to a halt next to the plane. Men dressed in black tactical gear leapt out and began loading the gun cases into the rear of the vehicle.

  Another team of men charged up the ramp into the plane’s interior. Their faces were covered by goggles, balaclavas, and black helmets. Caine couldn’t make out their features beneath the layers of headgear. More gunfire shrieked from inside the fuselage of the aircraft. Caine crouched lower behind the landing gear.

  “Condor Two, who the hell are these guys? Should I engage?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. If it comes down to you or them … you know what to do.”

  A hydraulic whine cut through the air, drowning out the gunfire and roaring vehicles. The cargo ramp was closing. The four gigantic engines mounted under the aircraft’s massive wings sputtered to life.

  The plane was taking off.

  Caine leapt from behind the wheel as it started rolling down the tarmac. Two of the men in black were loading the last of the gun crates into the back of the truck. Others had swarmed over the tractor trailer. They had taken over the vehicle and tore off down the dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

  There go the guns and the drugs, Caine thought. Turel and Sayed dead … this doesn't look good.

  Caine emptied the rest of his clip into one of the men in black. The man staggered backwards into a stack of crates. The containers toppled over and spilled open. Rifles cascaded across the sand. One of the other men whirled around and opened fire.

  Caine ran as fast as he could to the edge of the airfield. He dove behind a crumbling stone well as bullets nipped at his heels. He reloaded and racked the slide on his pistol. Footsteps pounded across the rocky ground towards him. Like Tyler said … it’s them or me, he thought.

  He popped out from behind his cover and fired. His pistol barked twice. His shots dropped one of the men, although from the looks of them they were wearing body armor. He doubted the wound would be fatal.

  He pivoted and fired another double tap, sending another man tumbling to the ground. Then he ducked back behind the well. Chips of rock cut his face as bullets tore through the crumbling stone walls. A relentless barrage of gunfire assaulted his position. He was pinned down.

  Two more of the black-clad men advanced towards him. They carried MP-7 submachine guns, a weapon Caine had used many times. He knew he was outgunned. Another hail of bullets skimmed the top of the well, just over Caine’s head.

  Caine leapt up and fired again, sending four shots into one of the men. He dropped back down behind his cover.

  Caine heard the massive cargo plane roar overhead. He looked up as it soared above them. The plane banked east and grew distant in the bright blue sky.

  He and Jack were now trapped. Even if they survived this fight, they had no way home.

  “Don’t move!” a voice shouted at him.

  Caine turned and saw another of the black-clad men standing behind him. He cursed. The noise of the plane taking off had masked the man's approach.

  With slow, smooth movements, Caine set his pistol down on the ground. The man kept the submachine gun trained on Caine as he stood up. “I’m sorry about this,” he said, his voice hollow and muffled behind the balaclava.

  Caine stared at him with unblinking eyes.

  CRACK!

  A single gunshot echoed through the mountain valley.

  The man in black stood still for a second, then pitched forward and fell to the ground. A gaping wound had exploded from the back of his head. Jack Tyler knelt on a ridge of rock in the distance, a sniper rifle held at the ready. He jogged over to Caine.

  “Nice shot,” Caine said.

  “You kidding me? That’s nothing. My grandma couldn’t miss from that range.”

  Tyler stared down at the man on the ground. “Let’s take a look at these jokers.” He yanked off the corpse’s goggles and balaclava. The face underneath was young, maybe twenty-five years old or less.

  It was also Caucasian.

  Tyler whistled. “Not a local.”

  “What the hell? Who are these guys?” Caine asked.

  Caine spotted a burst of motion from the corner of his eye. He whipped around, but he was too late. One of the men on the other side of the well rose up from the ground. Caine raised his pistol, but the other man fired first. The gunshot echoed across the desert.

  Tyler spun around and fell to the ground.

  Caine returned fire. The enemy stumbled backwards and collapsed into the sand.

  “Jack, you okay, man?” Caine rolled his partner over. A huge patch of red spread across the man’s chest. Tyler’s breathing was a rapid wheeze.

  “Fucker hit a lung,” he gasped.

  Caine frisked the corpse of the man Jack had shot. “Maybe this guy has a first aid kit or …”

  He spotted a small green light flashing on the man’s belt. A tiny plastic device was chirping. The noise grew louder and louder.

  “What the hell is that?” Tyler gasped, as Caine forced him up to a sitting position.

  “Target beacon,” Caine muttered. “This guy painted the airfield. Missile must be inbound. We have to get out of here.”

  Tyler shook his head. “No way, kid. I'm dead weight; you’re not gonna make it with me. Just go.”

  “No. We go together.”

  Caine stood up, dragging Jack to his feet. The older man grunted in pain.

  “Tom, it’s no good, I can’t walk.”

  Caine looked up. A white trail was streaking across the sky, moving closer and closer to them.

  “No time to walk anyway. Come here!”

  Caine dragged him over to the well. Tyler was wearing a rappelling rig. That was how he had gotten down to the ground so fast. Caine clipped one end of the rope to the wooden bracket that held the well’s winch.

  “This is gonna hurt.”

&nbs
p; “Well,” Tyler muttered, “if it does, that means I’m not dead.”

  Caine heaved his body over the edge. Tyler plummeted down into the dark well. The rappel rope hissed as it slowed his descent. He struck the bottom with a soft thud and groaned.

  Caine wrapped the rope around his foot and stepped into the well. Using his hand, he was able to slow his descent as he slid down into the dark shaft.

  Overhead, he could hear a high-pitched scream fill the air. The noise grew louder and louder. It rose to a shriek. Then it became a deafening roar.

  Caine leapt off the rope and tumbled onto the damp floor of the well. He threw his body over Tyler. A monstrous thump filled the air around them, louder than anything Caine had ever heard.

  After that, he heard nothing else. The world collapsed on top of him. A cascade of crumbling rock and dust buried Caine and Tyler, as a bloom of heat and fire eclipsed the sky above.

  Caine coughed as his eyes fluttered open. Darkness surrounded him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a haze of dust hanging in the air, pierced by an occasional sliver of light. He looked up. The well had collapsed in upon itself. A mass of crumbled rocks and wood beams blocked the opening of the shaft.

  They were trapped.

  Caine heard a soft, wheezing gasp echo in the darkness. He blinked and spotted the outline of Tyler’s body in the shadows, lying on the ground. He was half-buried in rock and debris. Caine forced himself to sit up and brushed the rocks and dust from his chest.

  “Jack, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just peachy. What the—.” The rest of Tyler's words were drowned in a fit of coughing. His breathing was rapid and shallow. Caine removed more rocks from his chest. He felt a slick of warm blood soaking through the man’s clothes

  “Try not to move. You’re hurt.”

  “Not a problem, not moving any time soon,” Tyler said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

  Caine felt along Tyler's side until he located a series of pouches. He opened them and rummaged around, wrapping his fingers around a plastic cylinder. He snapped the plastic and the stick lit up with a green phosphorescent glow. The sickly green light cast looming shadows across the walls of the dark well.

  Caine held the light in one hand and examined Tyler’s wound. The man’s breath had sped up more, and his skin was cold and clammy. Caine tore off a section of his shirt.

  “This is gonna hurt. Again.”

  Tyler nodded and looked away. Caine pressed the cloth down on the gaping hole in Tyler’s abdomen. The bleeding man sucked in a deep breath.

  Within seconds, the cloth became saturated with blood. It looked black in the green light of the glow stick.

  “Tom,” Tyler said, his voice weak but calm. “Tom, it’s no good. Forget it.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I know. You’re not leaving me. I’m leaving you.”

  Tyler reached up and grabbed Caine’s hand. He pressed a scrap of paper into Caine’s palm, then wrapped his fist around it.

  “You need to do something for me. You have to promise me.”

  Caine looked down at the man who had saved his life. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Tyler shook his head. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Just promise me this. Tell Sean … tell him I did everything for him. I know, it sounds like bullshit. It’s not what he would have wanted. But it’s true.”

  “Who the hell is Sean?”

  Tyler closed his eyes. “Why do you do it, Tom?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This job. There’s only a few reasons guys like us do what we do. You do it for money. You do it for your country. Or you do it for someone else. You look at the world, and you see bad things in it. And you just want to make it better for that person. Because that person is more important than everything else.”

  “Jack, I—”

  “If you’re not doing it for one of those reasons, Tom … you’re fucked. You hear me? So for God’s sakes, you find him. Look after him. And you tell him. Tell him I did it for him.”

  Caine nodded. He had no idea what the man was talking about. But he knew Tyler was slipping. There wasn’t much time left. “I will," he said. "I’ll tell him.”

  Tyler's lips settled into a peaceful smile. His eyes remained closed. “Good. That’s good. Thank you.”

  The wounded man's hands fell to the ground. His breathing slowed to a heavy pant. His chest rose and fell in slow motion. Then it stopped.

  Caine sat down and leaned against the wall of the well. He wiped the dirt from his face. His fingers left a crimson streak of blood on his cheek.

  He looked down at the paper Tyler had thrust into his hand. It was a small picture, a crumpled, faded photograph of a young boy. Caine turned the picture over. On the back, in Tyler’s handwriting, was a single word.

  "Sean."

  Caine stared at the picture. He didn't know that Tyler had a son. In their years working together, the man had never mentioned it. After a few minutes, he folded the picture and slipped it into his pocket.

  He heard the trickling sound of running water. Using the glow stick, he searched the floor of the well. He found a trickle of water flowing from the pile of rocks.

  Caine tore into the rocks, digging and scraping with his fingernails. He heaved piles of sand and debris over his shoulder. His efforts uncovered a small hole in the side of the well. Beyond the hole lay pitch-black darkness. He continued digging until the hole was large enough to fit through. An underground stream flowed through the bottom of the well.

  Caine knew the airfield wasn’t far from the Helmand River. If this underground stream connected with the river, it had to come up to the surface somewhere.

  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 buildings’ 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 th
e 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.