He walked past a kiosk that displayed a map of the mall’s second floor. His trained eyes darted over the floor plan, noting the building's exits and choke points. He headed towards another set of escalators that led back down to the first floor. If he could get to the other side of the parking lot, he could steal a car. Then he could put some distance between himself and his pursuers.
Up ahead, a service corridor split off from the mall, and a sign noted the location of restrooms and an elevator. To the right of the corridor, a janitor stood in Caine's path. He wore a pair of headphones and swished a mop in a lazy circle. The wet strands of the mop wiped pink splatters of melted ice cream across the polished floor. The janitor nodded his head in time to the music as he swung the wet mop, sloshing it into a yellow wheeled bucket filled with dirty gray water.
As Caine moved closer, he could hear the muted sound of rock music blasting from the man’s headphones. He watched as the janitor looked up and turned his head towards the service corridor. His eyes widened in surprise, and his jaw dropped.
Caine knew the look well … It was a gasp of fear.
They’re here!
Caine surged forward, charging towards the janitor at full speed. By the time the janitor turned away from whatever had caught his eye, it was too late. Caine barreled into him at full speed, knocking him to the ground. As he fell, Caine grasped the mop and wrenched it from his flailing hands.
He spun around, facing the corridor. He saw exactly what he expected to see … armed men, storming out of an elevator and rushing towards him. There were three of them, all wearing green camouflage tactical gear, helmets, and Kevlar vests. Smoked goggles covered their faces, and white FBI patches marked their arms.
They were FBI SWAT. An enhanced team, trained to take down high-level threats.
Each member of the SWAT team was carrying an MP5 submachine gun. A variety of other small arms hung from their tactical harnesses. They were only a few feet from the exit of the service corridor. In a fraction of a second, Caine analyzed his situation. He was outnumbered and outgunned. If the men made it out of the tight confines of the corridor, they would flank him and take him down.
Caine moved without hesitation. He kicked the mop bucket forward. As it rolled across the floor, he stamped down on the mop, snapping the wet, soggy head off with a loud CRACK!
The bucket crashed into the lead officer, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, then raised his automatic weapon towards Caine. But Caine had already closed the gap between them.
He darted left with the makeshift staff, knocking aside the barrel of the lead man’s MP5. The SWAT officer pulled the trigger. A spray of gunfire erupted through the air, shattering the glass barrier that ran along the edge of the second floor.
Patrons screamed and rushed away from the area. Caine continued moving, slamming the tip of the staff up into the lead man’s chin. As he stumbled backwards, Caine swung the staff in a tight, controlled arc, striking the side of the man’s neck. The SWAT officer grunted and tried again to raise his weapon. Caine spun the stick to his left, cracking into the man’s forearm. The weapon dipped down, and another spray of gunfire ricocheted off the concrete floor.
Caine felt chips of shattered flooring strike his neck and face as the gun continued firing. He thrust the tip of the staff forward, slamming it into the man’s Adam’s apple. Even through the Kevlar, the blow was strong enough to make him drop his weapon. His hands clutched at his bruised throat.
As the other men tried to push their way around their stunned comrade, Caine dropped the staff. He drew the Glock 23 from his waistband, aimed low, and squeezed off two quick shots. The muzzle flash lit up the dim corridor as the gun roared in the confined space. The bullets tore into the officer’s right leg, just above the knee.
He barked in pain and fell down, blocking the other officers as they tried to maneuver around him.
Before his target hit the ground, Caine turned and charged towards the escalators. Leaping over the stunned janitor, he sprinted forward, panting for breath. He could hear the shouts of men behind him, their boots stomping across the tile floor.
The escalator was only a few feet away. Caine heard more gunfire explode behind him, felt streaks of hot air rushing past his cheek. A fire alarm rang out, the warbling siren echoing throughout the confines of the mall. Below the escalators, he saw more clusters of shoppers rushing towards the exits. They were fleeing from the violence that had erupted above them.
Sparks exploded to his left as a burst of gunfire hit the escalator. Smoke rose from the machine, and the smell of burning rubber stung his nostrils. Caine grabbed the handles of the moving stairs and vaulted up into the air. He landed on his back on a narrow strip of metal that ran between the up and down sides of the escalator.
Caine slid down the smooth metal surface, gaining speed as his momentum carried him forward. He flew off the end of the slide and landed on his feet. He charged forward, keeping his body low as the officers above fired down at him. Bullets sparked at his heels as he darted into another large department store.
The ringing fire alarm sounded even louder within the store. Moving in a fast crouch, Caine tore through the aisles. He pushed through the racks of clothes, heading towards the back of the empty store.
The alarm must have driven everyone outside, he thought. So much for losing myself in the crowd.
At the back of the store, he found a metal door marked ‘Employees Only.’ He guessed it would lead to the loading dock, where merchandise was brought into the store. He hoped he could find a vehicle there, or at least access to the parking lot.
He kicked open the door, sweeping left and right with his pistol. An alarm bell sounded, but it was drowned out by the wail of the siren. Charging forward, Caine found himself in another dim service corridor. He moved on, turning a corner, following a red arrow on the wall that pointed towards a set of swinging double doors.
He crashed through the doors and once again smelled the hot, humid Louisiana air. He was outside, standing on a raised concrete platform. The enclosed loading dock was about six feet off the ground. The garage was empty, and the parking lot beyond seemed devoid of cars. All the shoppers and employees had fled. He heard honking horns and police sirens from the other side of the mall. The dragnet was closing in.
Caine took a deep breath and sprinted out of the dock and into the parking lot. He heard the double doors crashing open. Gunfire erupted behind him, ricocheting off the pavement.
“Federal agents … Stop now!” the commanding voice boomed behind him.
Caine glanced to his left and right. He was out in the open, no cover. The vehicles at the edge of the parking lot were too far away. The next burst of gunfire would not miss.
They had him.
Caine stopped running. He knelt to the ground and set down the pistol. Then he stood up, placing his hands on his head. He turned around.
A three-man team was moving into the loading dock. The lead officer raised his hand in a fist, and the two others fanned out behind him. All three kept their weapons trained on Caine.
“Stay where you are, do not move,” the officer commanded. “Get on your knees. Now!”
Caine paused for a second, considering his options. As far as he could see, he didn’t have any. His emerald eyes glared at the lead officer, then he lowered himself to the ground.
As his knees touched the pavement, he heard footsteps racing above them. He looked up and saw a tall, athletic man wearing black jeans and a dark windbreaker. He was running along the roof of the loading dock. As the officers neared the edge of the dock, he dropped down and tossed something in front of them. There was a hiss, and a burst of white smoke filled the enclosed area.
The men stopped moving. They coughed and gasped for breath as the dense cloud of gas surrounded them.
Caine scooped up his pistol as the man on the roof drew a weapon. The man in black fired several shots into a gearbox mounted at the edge of the roof.
Sparks exp
loded from the gears. A heavy garage door rolled down and slammed into the ground with a loud clank. The barrier closed off the loading dock, sealing the FBI team inside.
As the man on the roof threw down a rappel line and slid to the ground, an engine roared towards them through the parking lot. Caine turned and stepped aside as a silver Land Rover SUV sped around the corner of the building. The SUV screeched to a halt as the man jogged over to him. Caine aimed the pistol at him.
“That’s close enough,” he snarled. He looked the man up and down. Something about him seemed familiar. African American, tall, slim … he realized he had seen him before.
Rebecca’s security detail, the last time you saw her, in DC. He was working under Josh Galloway …
“Thought you’d show a little gratitude,” the man said. He stared at Caine with cool brown eyes set in a rugged but youthful face.
“You thought wrong,” Caine replied. “Tell your man to get out of the car.” The window of the SUV hummed down, and the driver eyed him with a sullen glare.
“Not gonna happen,” the other man said, shaking his head. “Now, you’ve got about five seconds to make up your mind. You want to come with me? Or take your chances with them?”
Caine heard the FBI agents banging on the metal door from inside the loading dock. His lips twisted into a grim smile. “Funny. I told someone the same thing yesterday.”
“They make the right choice?”
Caine stared at him over the barrel of the gun. “Depends on how you look at it. Who are you?”
“Name’s Clayton DuBose. I work for your boss. Remember her?”
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah. She’d like a word.” The banging inside the dock grew louder. The metal door groaned as the trapped SWAT team tried to force it up along its track. “Now you got three seconds,” DuBose warned.
Caine lowered the pistol. “Fine. But they’re going to have check points at the exits. They'll search your vehicle.”
DuBose opened the passenger door as Caine slid into the rear seat.
“We’re making our own exit. Hold on and stay down. Ride’s gonna be a little bumpy.”
The engine roared to life. Caine felt a thunk in the transmission as the driver shifted the vehicle into four-wheel drive. The Land Rover charged over the curb of the parking lot and climbed up a steep, grassy hill. The heavy-duty tires tore through the brush and shrubs surrounding the mall and gouged long track marks into the grass behind them.
The SUV skidded into a turn, exploded from the underbrush, and pulled onto the freeway. Other cars swerved and dodged out of the way, their horns bleating like a flock of angry geese. The noise died down as the battered SUV merged into traffic and sped off down the road.
Caine sat back up in the seat and looked through the rear window. A few cars had fishtailed to a stop and pulled over to the side of the road.
“With attention like that, won’t take the FBI long to find us.”
DuBose grinned back at him. “Not long at all.” A radio on the dashboard squawked to life. Caine listened as a description of the Land Rover and its occupants blared over the airwaves.
“Police Band,” Caine muttered. “You’re getting the FBI’s signal. So that’s how you found me.”
“They were following you, we were following them. They have a helicopter inbound, ETA is three minutes. Which is why we have a switch car waiting two minutes down the road. And I've positioned three identical decoy vehicles at various exits. Don't worry, this isn’t my first time on the dance floor. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Mr. Caine. Oh, and you get any ideas about ditching us, maybe think you’re better off on your own? You go right ahead. Just tell me where to pull over and we’ll drop you off curbside. The director did you a solid. You want to throw that back in her face, that’s on you. But there’s no more second chances after this. You got me?”
Caine stared out the window. “Yeah, I got it.”
Rebecca … the last time he had seen her, things had not gone well. He had promised her that he would come in, that he would give up his hunt for Bernatto, and revenge. He had broken that promise, as he knew he would. He had lied to her, used her to help an ally escape custody.
It was all to protect her, to free himself to hunt down the men who had hurt her. But he knew she was hurt. Angry.
She had sent DuBose to free him from the clutches of the FBI. But Rebecca was the Director of the CIA’s Clandestine Service. Her professional pride would be on the line, and he didn’t know how much she had told the agency. Did they know he was alive? Did they still believe he was a traitor? Either way, he had a feeling it would make life easier for everyone involved if he disappeared again.
Which led him to wonder … had his situation improved? Or was he even worse off than before?
Chapter Ten
The warehouse was dark and stank of mold and animal feces. Collapsed wooden hulls and rotting canvas sails lay in musty heaps along the walls. Caine guessed the place had been a boat storage facility, or a marine impound lot for local police. But years of wind, and rain, and the infernal Florida sun had taken their toll. Whatever the place had once been, it was now a decayed skeleton of metal and concrete. It stood in a vacant lot, perched on the edge of a weed-infested field.
A few fluorescent tubes flickered overhead. Caine leaned back in his chair and stared past the intermittent lights. He gazed through the rusted holes in the ceiling. Stars twinkled in the distance, their flickering lights set against a pitch-black sky. Droplets of water fell down to the concrete floor, marking the passing of time like a metronome.
They had driven straight for thirteen hours, taking the I-10 along the Gulf Coast. Then they headed south on FL-64. They switched cars several times along the way, but they never stopped for more than a few minutes. They kept their speed just above the legal limit, blending in with the other traffic as they skirted the southern edge of Alabama and Georgia. They drove past Orlando and Tampa, but Caine had no idea what small town they might be in now. The last sign he remembered seeing read ‘Manatee County.’
Their long road trip finally ended at this abandoned warehouse. Once they arrived at the crumbling old building, Caine took a seat at a small table inside. He did not say another word, and DuBose did not seem inclined to make small talk. For a time, the falling droplets of water were the only sound echoing through the cavernous space.
DuBose filled out a series of reports with an aluminum tactical pen. From time to time, he glanced up and watched Caine with an unblinking, dead-eyed stare. Then he returned to his writing. Caine eyed the silver pen. He knew its hardened metal body could make an effective weapon, if need be.
DuBose's partner was a younger man with straw blond hair and brown eyes. He reluctantly answered to the names Danny, Danny Boy, and Junior. He stood away from the table and practiced a series of martial arts strikes against one of the metal beams that rose from the floor.
Caine turned away from DuBose’s hawkish gaze, and watched as the younger man executed a rapid flurry of punches. He finished with a dramatic spin kick that clanged off the metal beam. The blow sent a vibrating hum through the air.
“Leg’s too high,” Caine commented. “Leaves you open.”
Danny rubbed his calloused knuckles and huffed for breath. He strutted over to the table where Caine and DuBose sat. “What was that?”
Caine looked up at him. “Your kick. It’s flashy, but it leaves you exposed. If it doesn’t connect, your opponent will exploit that, use it to take you down.”
Danny wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and brushed back his damp hair. “Good thing I’m fast enough to connect.”
Caine shook his head and looked away. “Yeah. Faster than that pole, anyway.”
DuBose looked up from his reports and glared at him. Then he glanced at Danny. “Let it go, Junior.”
The younger man puffed out his chest. “It’s all good, dog. Hell, I hear this guy’s supposed to be some kind of legendary badass, right? Maybe he can
give us a demonstration.”
“I don’t do tricks,” Caine growled.
Danny squatted low on his knees and stared into Caine’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re an old dog, huh? But what about that trick you pulled in Afghanistan? Couple million worth of guns, big heroin score, and it all goes up in smoke. Poof … disappears. Your partner? Dead. Your asset? Dead. But you manage to walk out of there, not a scratch on you.”
“Danny, I said let it go.” DuBose’s voice cut through the air like cold steel. He set his pen down on the table.
The younger man’s eyes darted towards him, then returned to Caine. “Do you know what happens to us if the FBI finds him here? Why the hell are we risking our jobs? Hell, why am I risking my ass to babysit this prick?”
“’Cause the Director said so,” DuBose replied, enunciating each word. “Now go outside, get some fresh air, and cool down. I’m not asking again.”
A brief chuckle hissed through the young man’s lips. He stood up straight and sneered at Caine. “The Director? I hear things about her too. First this asshole, then Galloway. Guess she’s got a taste for the wild side. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you. She must have been pretty hot, before the chair.”
Caine’s lips curled up, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Why don’t you show me that kick again, Junior? If you think you’re fast enough, that is.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. He grunted and launched into motion, spinning his body around. DuBose leapt to his feet, but there was no time to speak, let alone stop his partner’s attack.
Caine’s smile never left his lips as his body made a series of small, precise movements. He angled his left foot forward, pressing down on his toe. Then he shifted his body towards his attacker. As Danny’s leg swung around, Caine’s left arm rose up, and his right arm crossed in front of his body, palm facing out. His head dipped down, tucking into his shoulder.
Danny whipped around and the blow struck. Caine’s left arm deflected the force of the kick. Grabbing Danny’s shin with both hands, he locked the leg against his shoulder. He launched himself out of the chair, stepping forward onto his poised left foot.
Fire and Forget Page 9
