Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0)

by Andrew Warren

  He made his way back to the cage. Kneeling down next to one of the bamboo poles, he tapped the blade of the knife against the wood. The sound was barely audible above the jungle noise. He tapped again. A dark figure crawled over to him, investigating the sound.

  It was a girl. She looked about twenty. Her clothes were filthy and tattered, and her face was streaked with dirt and blood. An ugly purple bruise surrounded her left eye.

  Someone had beaten her.

  Her eyes shot wide open when she saw him, and Caine realized he was covered in blood from the guard he had killed. He raised a finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence. He nodded towards the gate and the two remaining guards, standing just out of sight in the darkness.

  The girl was still for a moment, a look of fear frozen on her face, like a deer caught in headlights. She looked over her shoulder at the guards, then back at Caine. She hesitated a few more seconds, then crawled towards him.

  She pressed her face against the bars. "Who are you?" she whispered. "You help us, get us out of here?"

  Caine shushed her and whispered back, even quieter, "Where's Naiyana?"

  The girl pointed over her shoulder. Caine nodded. The girl understood. She crawled back to the group of girls. Their whispers rose to an audible chatter, and Caine cursed under his breath. The guards were sure to take notice before long.

  Another face crawled towards him from the darkness.

  It was Naiyana. She saw him, and covered her mouth with her hands. Again, Caine raised his finger to his lips. "It's OK," he whispered. "Keep quiet. I'm going to get you out of here."

  "Oh my god!" Her eyes began to tear up. "How you find me?"

  Caine shook his head. "Later. Here." He slid the key into her hands. "I took this from a guard. Is this the key to the gate?" Naiyana nodded as she wrapped her hands around his and took the key.

  Naiyana reached a hand through the fence and touched his face. "I knew you would come."

  Caine removed her hand, and slipped the utility tool into her fingers. "Here, take this, too. It has a knife, just in case," he whispered. "I'll distract the guards. When the time comes, you have to move fast. Get across the river, hide on the other side of the valley. I'll find you. If I'm not there in thirty minutes, try to find the closest village."

  "How I know when to go?" she asked.

  Caine twisted his lips into a grim smile. "Trust me. You'll know."

  He gave Naiyana a reassuring smile, then crept back into the shadows.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caine made his way through the dark shadows that hung around the perimeter of the Red Wa camp. He circled behind one of the small wood shacks, and dropped prone. The shack was raised about a foot off the ground, and a small creek flowed through the muddy ground beneath it. A bucket hung from a hole in the floor of the shack. It floated in a lazy circle on the dark, still waters of the creek.

  On the other side of the shack, Caine could see the rubber tires of a jeep. It was parked a few feet away from the building's entrance. The vehicle stood between him and the campfire, where several of the men crouched and chattered among themselves. From the excitement in their voices, Caine guessed they were playing a game. Gambling of some kind.

  He slid forward through the brush, making his way under the shack. The water from the creek was shallow, but he had to crawl at a snail's pace to avoid splashing. The mud was cold and sticky, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the jungle above.

  As Caine slid past the bucket, he stopped moving and listened. The building above sounded empty, and only a dim light shone down from the hole. Ahead, beyond the parked jeep, the men continued their chatter, occupied by their game.

  He slid out from under the shack. For a few seconds, he was exposed, out in the open. If any guards had been watching from the shack, or walking past the area ... but Caine's luck held. No one walked by. The men were still gathered around the campfire. He moved under the jeep and rolled over onto his back.

  Grabbing his knife, he cut two lengths of hose from the undercarriage. Then, he pulled himself out from under the vehicle. He crept along the side of the jeep, keeping it between himself and the campfire. He unscrewed the gas gap. Working quickly, he inserted the longer hose, a thin black rubber tube he had ripped from the coolant system, into the gas tank.

  Next, he inserted the shorter length, a thick red house crusted with old grease and engine oil. Once the hoses were in place, he used his knife to cut off a scrap of his T-shirt, and stuffed it between the two hoses.

  When the seal around the hoses was as airtight as he could make it, Caine wrapped his lips around the shorter hose. He winced as the taste of dirt and grime filled his mouth. He blew short, rapid puffs of air into the tank. As the air pressure rose in the vehicle's gas tank, it forced the fuel out, and there was only one place for it to go. A think trickle of gasoline began to spurt from the end of the other hose.

  Caine grabbed the thin black tube. He sprayed as much of the vehicle's tires as he could with the gasoline, and soaked the ground beneath the jeep with the volatile fuel.

  When the tank was empty, Caine crawled back under the shack. He shimmied through the mud to the hanging bucket and used it to pull himself up through the hole in the floor.

  As he surfaced, he swept the area with his pistol, peering into the shadows for any sign of movement. The small building was empty. Plastic tarps covered stacks of building materials, but no guards were present. A single lantern hung near the door, bathing the room in a soft, flickering glow.

  Caine holstered his pistol and unslung the MP7 submachine gun that hung by a shoulder strap at his side. With rapid, practiced motions, he extended the stock and flipped down the front grip.

  He made his way to the door, grabbed the lantern, and took a deep breath.

  Then, Caine kicked open the door and tossed the lantern towards the jeep.

  A gigantic fireball blasted up into the dark sky.

  Caine took cover behind the doorframe. The men outside began to shout and scream. Peering around the corner, he saw shadowy figures running towards the burning jeep. He pushed away from the building and opened fire with the submachine gun.

  Multiple rounds of high-velocity ammunition penetrated the lead guard, and his body danced and jerked from the impact. Caine could see splatters of blood fly from his body, lit up bright red by the brilliant glow of the burning jeep.

  He ducked back behind the door as another guard opened fire with an AK-47. The powerful bullets shredded the thin walls of the shack. Caine clenched his teeth as he felt trails of hot air streak past his face, missing him by only a few millimeters.

  Caine backed up, taking cover behind one of the tarp-covered stacks. His visibility was now limited to the rectangle of the doorframe. He fired blind, sending a hail of bullets out into the darkness.

  He heard footsteps rushing towards him. He popped up from his cover and fired again. His burst cut down an over-eager guard who had charged the entrance of the shack. The guard spun and fell face down on the floor.

  Caine ducked back down and ejected the empty magazine from the MP7. As he slammed more ammo into the weapon, he heard the shattering of glass, and then a whoosh. The crackling noise of fire filled the room. Caine turned and saw the corpse in the entrance of the shack ignite in flames. One of the men outside had thrown a Molotov cocktail into the entrance. The tiny wood building was burning.

  Caine stood up and sprayed a long burst of automatic fire out the door. He saw another man drop, and the remaining guards scattered. They took cover behind other buildings in the camp.

  He coughed as thick, hot smoke began to fill the tiny room. Tongues of fire snaked up the doorframe, engulfing the entrance of the shack in a wreath of flame.

  Caine emptied the MP7 into the rear wall of the shack. The bullets chewed through the thin wood wall as if it were paper. He let the gun hang to his side as he began to kick the wall down. He knew he could slip back down into the creek if need be
, but he didn't want to take the chance of the burning building collapsing on top of him.

  It took only seconds to kick a large hole in the shredded wall. Caine leapt through, hit the ground, and rolled. Behind him, the burning shack began to sag and dip as the fire tore through its thin wood structure. Sparks and burning embers drifted up into the air, like a cloud of tiny fireflies.

  He heard footsteps running towards him. Drawing his pistol, he jogged over to an outcropping of trees and took cover. The crackle of automatic weapon fire burst through the air. Muzzle flash from multiple weapons lit up the jungle. He returned fire with his pistol, sending double taps towards each firing position. He looked back into the camp towards the fenced-in cage. The gate was open; the pen was empty. Naiyana and the girls had escaped.

  He moved deeper into the jungle surrounding the camp.

  A cluster of bullets splintered a tree to his right, sending a fine shrapnel of wood fragments into the air. A shard struck his face, and he taste blood. He returned fire and heard screams of pain echo from the darkness.

  Caine moved again, running through the jungle. Occasionally he turned and fired into the darkness. He was just covering his retreat now, hoping to slow his pursuers. Up ahead was the river. If he could make it across, he knew he could lose them in the thick jungle valley beyond. Then he could find the girls and lead them back to safety.

  But first, he had to buy them some more time, let them get farther away from the camp.

  Caine fired behind him again, emptying his pistol. He tossed it aside. He slammed another magazine into the MP7 submachine gun and dropped to a kneeling position. He saw shadows moving in the jungle, backlit by the burning shack.

  He opened fire, sending a rain of death towards the men that pursued him.

  Then he turned and pushed his way through the reeds towards the river. He saw its dark glossy surface up ahead. In the moonlight, its rippling water looked like the scales of an enormous black serpent. Caine took a step forward and felt the cool water slosh against his leg.

  Suddenly, he felt something sharp pierce his neck.

  He reached back. His fingers brushed against a hard, sharp object, buried in his skin. He ripped it out and examined it in the moonlight. It was a dart, the kind that was launched from a high-powered air rifle.

  Caine had participated in many kidnappings--or "extraordinary renditions", as they were known in the trade. He knew the dart would be laced with a potent sedative. He cursed. This was the weapon of a government operative, not jungle guerrillas or human traffickers. He had not prepared for this.

  He took another step forward, and stumbled. The muscles in his legs went numb. He collapsed, falling face forward into the river. As his head sank into the dark water, a black mist engulfed his mind. He felt light as air, as if the faint current might sweep him away.

  Naiyana is free, he thought. At least there was that.

  He heard were splashing footsteps surrounding him. Strong hands lifted him from the water and dragged him to shore.

  "Da, this is the man I told you about." The voice was deep and thick, and spoke with a Russian accent. "He is going by the name Mark Waters. But his real name is Thomas Caine."

  Alexi Rudov gazed down at Caine with his strange, blue eyes. Another man stood next to him, his face hidden by a dark shadow. Who are these men? Caine thought. How do they know my name?

  The other man tilted his head, examining Caine's face. "Bring him," the man said. "I wish to talk with him." As the effects of the drug increased, Caine's senses began to deaden. He heard the sound of the man's voice twist and distort into a deep growl.

  "What is there to talk about?" Alexi asked. "You wanted to see his face. Now you see. We kill him, and be done with it."

  "Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  The man strode away. "I said bring him. Do not question me again, Alexi."

  Then, Caine heard nothing more. He sank into the black depths of unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A thin beam of light filled Caine's vision. He realized it was his own eyelids, cracking open. His thoughts felt thick and slow, as if his mind were trapped in quicksand. He felt a slight irritation at the back of his neck, and remembered the dart striking him there.

  He could hear the sounds of the jungle in the distance. Dirt pressed against his cheek. He was outside. The night air was humid and oppressive, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. He groaned and rolled over. His arms and legs were cuffed together with zip ties. As his vision cleared, his surroundings came into focus. He was lying on the ground, in the dirt pen, the one that had previously held Naiyana and the other girls.

  He had been captured.

  Two men approached the cage. They wore frayed camouflage pants and old, worn T-shirts. One of the shirts was faded red, with a white eagle printed on the front. The other man's shirt featured a can of soda in a bright yellow circle. The design looked familiar, but all the writing was in Asian characters Caine could not read.

  The men murmured to each other in a singsong patois of Chinese and Burmese. One kept an AK-47 trained on Caine, while the other opened the gate and stepped inside the pen. He flicked open a butterfly knife, slit the straps that bound Caine's legs, and hoisted him to his feet.

  "You follow," the man said in broken English. "He want to see you now."

  Caine held up his bound wrists and smiled, but the man ignored him and gave him a shove towards the gate.

  They walked Caine through the camp, past the shack he had set on fire. The building was now a pile of ash and blackened timbers that had collapsed into the creek. Caine saw little movement elsewhere in the camp. He had cut down their numbers in the gunfight, and he assumed the men that were left had dispersed into the jungle to search for the girls. He hoped he had given them enough of a head start.

  He was led to the largest building in the camp, which wasn't saying much. The large shack was still constructed of scavenged scraps and rotting timbers, but it was three times the size of the other buildings. A torn red curtain hung over the entrance. Caine heard classical music drifting out from between the strips of fabric.

  The men nudged him forward. Caine parted the curtain with his bound fists and ducked into the dark interior.

  Inside, the room was lit by several bulbous paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling. They cast a warm glow over a low, square table. Mildewed cushions were scattered across the floor. Alexi Rudov sat cross-legged on one of the cushions, his large, blue eyes squinting in discomfort. A few feet away from him sat an older Asian man, one Caine had not seen before.

  He looked to be in his late forties, although it was difficult to tell. His face looked drawn and tired, haggard even. But his skin was tan and soft, and had a youthful appearance. His shoulders and chest were slim and athletic. He wore his hair long, and it framed his narrow, hawkish features. The hair, like his eyes, was pure jet black. Only his goatee showed any signs of gray.

  He was eating from a bowl of rice and vegetables. He lifted the food into his mouth with slow, deliberate motions of his right hand. He kept his left hand under the table.

  Caine stood in silence for a moment. The music played softly in the background, but he did not recognize the piece.

  The man looked up and observed him with coal black eyes. Reaching out as if in slow motion, the man pointed to the table. "Sit. Eat." His voice was deep and powerful.

  Caine sat down cross-legged, opposite the man. He held up his fists. "Do you mind? Hard to eat like this."

  The man smiled thinly and slowly chewed his food. "I'm sure you will manage. Try the tea leaf salad. It's delightful."

  Caine sighed. He tried to remember when his last meal had been. Whatever was coming, it would be better to face it with a full stomach. He grabbed a small metal bowl, and did his best to scoop some of the rice and vegetable concoction into it with his bound hands.

  The tea salad consisted of bitt
er green tea leaves, mixed with sliced tomatoes, cabbage, chickpeas, and nuts. The cold dish was refreshing, and mixed well with the warm, steamed rice. Caine tipped the bowl into his mouth, ignoring the bits of food that spilled to the ground.

  A young boy, just a teenager from the looks of his lanky body and oversized clothes, hurried into the room. The boy filled all their cups with water from a wooden jug. Then he bowed and rushed back out through the red curtains.

  Alexi Rudov stared at Caine with his strange blue eyes. His mouth was curled into a sneer. Caine carefully lifted his water cup to his lips and took a long sip. He matched Alexi's gaze with his cold, green eyes, and the Russian looked away.

  He set the cup down.

  "Why am I here?" he asked.

  The other man looked up. "Alexi here says he knows you. Says you used to be a spy."

  "I don't know him," Alexi grunted, "but I have seen his file. Back in my days with the FSB. He is a spy, and a traitor. He's supposed to be dead."

  So that was how Rudov had recognized him. Although the United States and Russia maintained an uneasy alliance, from time to time Caine had come up against operatives of the FSB, Russia's Federal Security Service. It was the modern successor to the old Cold War beast of the KGB. It made sense they would have a file of some sort on him.

  "Is that true?" the other man asked.

  "Who are you?" Caine asked in return.

  The man smiled. "I am Kang Long Wei, but you know of me by another name."

  "Pisac," Caine said.

  The man nodded. "That is a Thai word, but yes. Pisac, naatsoe in Burmese. I am the devil. Now, please answer me. Is Alexi's story true?"

  Caine turned to Alexi. "How does the FSB feel about you, Alexi? Leaving military service to work for criminals? You don't rise up in the Russian mafia without doing hard time, and I don't see any prison ink on you. I assume your daddy did the time?"