Thomas Caine series Boxset

by Andrew Warren

  “What the hell is that? Smells like rotten eggs!”

  DuBose tipped the box and a ream of old papers cascaded to the floor. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a sensitive nose?” He looked up. More identical boxes were piled high in the center of the warehouse. The stacks almost reached the second-level catwalk. The same brown dust covered every flat surface. Particles shimmered in the air, caught by the beam of Zavala’s flashlight.

  The special agent picked up one of the crumpled sheets of paper. She unfolded the sheet and studied it.

  “Numbers. It’s just rows and rows of numbers.” She held the sheet out to DuBose. “It must be some kind of code.”

  DuBose swept the brown dust off another box and dumped it to the floor. “Same here. More numbers.” He lifted up another sheet. “There’s a letterhead on this one. AHA.”

  “Let me see that!” Zavala snatched the sheet of paper and held it under her flashlight. “Tienes Razon. You’re right. AHA … African Hunger Alliance.”

  “What’s that?”

  Zavala stood up and coughed. The particles of dust swirled around them. “African Hunger Alliance is a nonprofit organization. They just began operating in the last couple years or so. Here's a list of donors."

  She ran her finger down a typed list of company names. "Clayton … all of these companies showed up in the Financial Investigation of Blackwing Capital. They've each been making regular monthly donations.”

  DuBose dumped another box of papers to the floor. He looked up at Zavala. “So Blackwing is behind AHA? But why? What are they doing with all that money?"

  She flipped to another page. "According to this report, AHA was founded to provide relief and support to the people of South Sudan, and other African nations. They’ve been making monthly food shipments there since they opened their doors."

  DuBose stood up. "South Sudan?"

  She nodded. “Yes, there’s a terrible famine there.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Come on, we have to go.”

  “What? We still need to search all these boxes!”

  He pulled the special agent towards the door. “Remember when I said Caine was out of the country, on mission?”

  “Yes?”

  DuBose looked her in the eye. “I’ll give you three guesses where he is.”

  Zavala tilted her head. “Wait … you don’t mean—”

  “Yeah. South Sudan. This must be connected. We have to get to the director, let her know AHA is involved somehow.”

  A loud crash echoed through the dark building. The metal doors shook as if a great weight had slammed into them.

  “Ajay, run!” DuBose sprinted towards the exit. He smashed into the doors with all his weight. They buckled slightly but would not open.

  Zavala ran next to him and added her weight to his, throwing her shoulder against the rusty metal.

  “Damn, they’re stuck!” she said, gasping for breath.

  DuBose kicked at the door knob one more time. It shook and rattled, but the door remained closed. “Not stuck. Something’s blocking them from the other side. Something big. A car or a truck. Someone's trapped us in here!"

  “Shhhhh.” Zavala spun around and swept the darkness with her flashlight. They heard the tinkling of breaking glass. A soft buzzing sound filled the air.

  “What the hell is that?” Her flashlight swung around the room.

  “Point it up,” DuBose hissed as he drew his pistol. “Show me the skylights.”

  The beam swept up. A small, dark form flew into the circle of light. It swooped towards them, whirring like a giant mechanical insect.

  DuBose fired. Sparks flew from the object as his shots hit home. It dropped from the sky and crashed into the concrete a few feet away.

  “Cover me!” DuBose whispered.

  Zavala drew her pistol as he stalked towards the wreckage.

  In the shifting beam of her light, he caught a glimpse of smashed blades and twisted mechanical arms. The machine looked like a mechanical spider, suspended beneath miniature helicopter rotors.

  “It’s some kind of drone,” he called back to her. “It’s carrying a payload.”

  He pried a small silver cylinder from the mangled claw mounted beneath the tiny machine. “Come closer with the light, I can’t see.” He turned the object over in his hands.

  Zavala moved closer and stepped aside so her body did not cast a shadow over the cylinder.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  More glass fell from the ceiling. The buzzing sound returned, louder this time.

  DuBose stuffed the object in his pocket.

  “The stairs!” he shouted. “Run!”

  The two of them charged toward the metal stairs. “What the hell is going on,” Zavala said, panting.

  “It’s an incendiary grenade. The powder on the boxes … it’s not dust. That smell, the rotten eggs? It’s sulfur. This whole place is covered with thermate powder! It’s like thermite, but the sulfur makes it burn even hotter!”

  Three more drones dropped through the skylights. DuBose and Zavala raced up the staircase. Their footsteps clanged against the metal. As she neared the top, Zavala spun around and opened fire.

  Her gun barked three times. One of the tiny drones sparked and fell from the sky.

  The other two swooped low. DuBose grabbed her and pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs.

  “There’s no time,” he shouted. “We have to get out of here!”

  There was a click, and one of the silver canisters fell from the drone. It struck the piles of boxes. Zavala shielded her eyes, as a blinding red flash erupted from the debris.

  Within seconds, white-hot flames raced across the concrete floor below them. The glowing pyre of papers and boxes crumbled to ash, and the flames began to lick at the walls.

  DuBose and Zavala ran down the catwalk, choking and gasping as smoke filled the air. The metal catwalk jerked and began to sway. Zavala screamed as she stumbled and fell to her knees.

  DuBose spun around and held out his hand. Zavala reached out, but the catwalk was tilting, bending down towards the floor. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear and panic. The flames were consuming the metal stairs behind them. The metal rods and planks glowed red hot, liquefying in the intense heat. The glowing metal dripped to the floor, forming pools of molten steel.

  The catwalk groaned and dipped lower. It tore away from the wall as the white-hot flames licked at the metal support beams. Zavala began to slide toward the hungry inferno below.

  “Ajay!” DuBose threw himself after her and grabbed her hands. Sweat dripped down his face as the heat continued to rise. Digging his heels into the metal floor of the catwalk, he pulled her back up to safety. The narrow platform shook again. Gasping for breath, the pair continued to run around the edge of the building.

  The second drone dropped its payload. Another bloom of fire exploded beneath them.

  They reached the door that led to the offices and threw it open. Coughing and gagging for breath, DuBose pushed his way forward. Thick white smoke filled the beam of Zavala’s flashlight. The windows that overlooked the inferno outside cracked and shattered. Another blast of heat billowed up from the floor.

  DuBose squinted at a dim red light that shimmered through the smoke and heat.

  “Fire escape!” he shouted. He pointed towards the light. “That way!”

  They raced through the burning haze. Particles of glowing ash drifted in through the broken windows. Flames burst to life and began to eat at the molding industrial carpet beneath their feet.

  They reached the emergency door. DuBose yanked at the handle.

  The door wouldn’t budge.

  “Damn it! It’s locked! You still got that snap gun?”

  Zavala covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve and bent down to examine the lock. She shook her head. “No good,” she shouted. “It’s a deadbolt!”

  DuBose removed the canister from his pocket. “Okay, step back! Cover your eyes!”r />
  He wedged the grenade into the door handle and pulled the pin. He took a few steps back. Behind them, the flames grew higher. A wall of fire roared up the walls and across the ceiling.

  WHOOSH!

  An orange lance of flame hissed from the incendiary device. It cracked and sizzled as it melted through the steel door.

  DuBose grabbed Zavala’s arm. “Okay, when I open this door, there’s going to be a rush of oxygen heading straight outside. The fire is going to follow, and I mean fast. So we have to be faster. Got it?”

  She nodded. “Got it!”

  “Okay … go!”

  DuBose charged forward and kicked the door open. They continued running as the flames howled and roared even louder behind them.

  They found themselves perched on a fire escape high above the Black River.

  DuBose moved without hesitation. He grabbed Zavala, charged forward, and jumped off the metal platform.

  As they fell toward the water, a burst of flame exploded out the door behind them. The water lit up orange, reflecting the bright light of the inferno. They struck the river with a loud splash and sank beneath the glowing water.

  DuBose surfaced first. He wiped his eyes and spit water from his mouth. He looked left and right. “Zavala?”

  He heard a splash. He spun around, treading water. Zavala surfaced behind him, gasping for breath.

  “Zavala!” DuBose paddled over to her. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah … yeah, I’m okay.” She was pale, and her pupils looked dilated. She gave him a nervous smile. “You worried about me?”

  DuBose grinned. “Well, you did call me handsome. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They swam towards the riverbank. The remains of the warehouse crumpled into burning rubble, leaving behind a glowing skeleton of steel and iron beams.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sign for the Harmony Inn towered over the dirt road that ran through the center of Malakal. It looked like a motel sign from 1950s America, but its neon bulbs had been reduced to a mosaic of shattered glass and hanging wires. The inn itself looked more like a military bunker than a guesthouse. Coils of razor wire topped the two-story building's stark concrete walls. The entrance sat a few yards back from the main road, hidden behind a weed-infested courtyard and a shattered stone fountain.

  Caine parked the truck around the back of the building. He left the shocked doctor in the vehicle, then walked around the corner and stepped under the archway that led into the hotel.

  Inside, he found himself standing in what appeared to be a large sitting room. The curtains were drawn, and the blazing sun outside was reduced to a dim, soft glow. A TV was mounted to one of the walls, and a local newscaster reported on the upcoming peace conference.

  A Turkish carpet covered the concrete floor. Old, threadbare sofas sat against three of the walls. Five girls, dressed in cut-off shorts and miniskirts, reclined on the couches. They were fanning themselves with rolled-up newspapers and sipping tea from glass cups. A pair of them looked up at Caine and smiled.

  Caine ignored the invitation and walked over to an older woman who sat in a chair behind a desk. She was draped in a colorful sarong, and she looked up at Caine with a knowing glance.

  “You like room, sir?”

  “Two rooms, please.”

  The woman clucked her tongue and nodded towards the girls. “Two rooms? You here with friend? You want pretty girl to stay with you? Or you here with your wife?”

  “No, I’m here with my doctor,” Caine said with a smile.

  The woman squinted and gave him a confused look. Caine slid a hundred dollar bill across the desk.

  “Two rooms please, close to each other. And no questions.”

  The woman shook her head. She handed him two keys and gestured towards a shadowed staircase at the rear of the building.

  “Whatever you say. Rooms upstairs, to the right. Good rooms, good view.”

  Caine took the keys, thanked her, and went back to the truck. He carried what little baggage they had, and led Nena to the hotel, keeping an eye on the foot traffic in the sprawling dirt road. As they walked up the stairs, she glanced at the young girls lounging in the front room and bit her lip. She was silent as she followed him up to the second floor.

  A pair of squat potted palms flanked the end of the staircase. Caine looked left and right down the hallway. It was empty and quiet.

  “Are we the only ones here?” Nena asked.

  “I doubt they get much tourism. I think the working girls downstairs are the primary source of revenue.”

  He opened the door to one of the rooms. Nena started to walk in, but Caine held her back. He drew his pistol and made a quick sweep of the tiny chamber’s bathroom and closet. They were clear. He drew the curtain aside and looked out the window. True to the old woman’s word, the room had a view of the street and the colorful, rickety buildings that surrounded the town square.

  “It’s clear. Come in,” Caine called to Nena. She followed him into the room, collapsed onto the bed, and moaned.

  Caine looked over at her, then glanced around the room. It was a tiny, cramped square, with a white tile floor and a stained wood door that led to a toilet and shower. The bed lay in the center of the room and was covered with a faded floral sheet. White mosquito netting hung from the ceiling overhead. It fell around Nena’s body like a veil.

  “Hope the room is okay,” Caine said. “I doubt we’ll find much better here.”

  “I have lived in tents and UN refugee camps,” Nena said. “This is paradise to me.” She propped herself up on her elbows and gave Caine a suspicious look. “But where do you plan to sleep?”

  Caine smiled and dangled the other key in his fingers. “I’m right next door. I have to make a call. You should get some rest. We can’t stay here long. We should leave after dark.”

  “Leave for where?”

  “That depends,” Caine said as he walked towards the door.

  “What does it depend on?”

  “On my call. Try to get some rest. Lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.”

  Nena lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes. “Don’t forget that shower,” she said in a playful voice.

  “Doctor’s orders?”

  “A personal request … I am going to be stuck next to you in that car again, after all.” Her voice faded as exhaustion took over.

  Caine smiled and quietly shut the door behind him.

  Caine’s room was almost identical to Nena’s, with the same furniture, and the same view out the window. The only difference he could spot was a torn, faded poster tacked to the wall. It was a photograph of the South Sudan flag; black, red, and green stripes, and a single star in a blue triangle. Below the flag, the words ‘Happy Independence Day!’ were written in English. The bottom of the poster was ripped off, leaving only the top halves of the letters.

  He sat down on the bed and ran his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. His instincts were buzzing, sending adrenaline through his jangled, road-weary nerves. Takuba, Galloway, Nena … Like the poster on the wall, he felt like something had been torn away. A piece of the puzzle was missing. Every muscle in his body felt taut and alert. The old familiar tingle on the back of his neck was a constant, muted presence.

  They were in danger here. He was certain of it.

  He tuned on the satphone Rebecca had given him and dialed her number.

  A series of long, intermittent beeps sounded from the earpiece. The satellite network encrypted the call’s signal, preventing others from listening in. Finally, he heard a click, followed by the soft, buzzing static of an international connection.

  “I was wondering when you’d call.” It was Rebecca. She sounded tired, strung out. Just like he felt.

  “You sound exhausted. You okay?”

  “I’m better than Lapinski.”

  “What? Did something happen?”

  Rebecca paused. “Whoever is behind this … Bernatto, Blayne, someone els
e … They made their move. They took him out. Tom, I … I’ve never seen anything like it. Georgetown was a war zone. They had men, weapons. They had goddamn EFP devices on a public street."

  “What?” Caine’s voice snapped like cold steel over the phone. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “It was close. I … I'm in the hospital now. But I’m fine, honestly. I was lucky. Once they hit their target, they disappeared. The FBI is looking for them, but there’re no leads so far. The men left behind … they're ghosts, their records have all been doctored. My guess is they're connected to Delta Blue, but so far, we've got nothing conclusive."

  “Firepower like that can’t be too hard to trace.” Caine thought for a moment. “Lapinski must have known something. Something big.”

  “I spoke to him before … before it happened,” Rebecca’s voice crackled back. “He swore he didn’t know who was blackmailing him. I believed him.” She was silent for a moment. “Tom, he did have one name. It was a code name. An asset, someone involved in an old operation of yours.”

  Caine clenched his teeth. It can’t be, he thought. But he knew what she would say before the words left her mouth.

  “Puff Adder.”

  You should know better, he thought. You should have told her!

  He silenced the guilt that slinked through his mind. “Rebecca, I—” He froze. He had no idea what to say.

  “You knew, didn’t you? Before I sent you, you knew. Did John Blayne tell you?”

  Caine said nothing. Empty static crackled over the phone.

  “Tom, answer me!”

  “Yes. Blayne told me. When I found him, he was in a meeting of some kind, a video conference call. I didn’t see who was on the call. I think Bernatto was one of them. And I think ‘Puff Adder' may have been on as well. His real name is Simon Takuba. He's a rebel leader in South Sudan."

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? After all we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

  “It’s like you said. I trusted you. I didn’t trust myself.”

  “Trust yourself to do what?”

  “You sent me here to find Josh. I know … I know what he means to you, and I meant what I said. I want you to be happy. But Takuba … we have unfinished business.”