Red Phoenix: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 2)

by Andrew Warren

  David slammed the car door shut. He appeared lost in thought for a moment. Then, he raised his hand over his head and shouted in Chinese, “Yidong ta! Let’s go!”

  Men ran from the crowd and leapt into the expensive vehicles. The rows of blocked traffic struggled to back up and clear a path as the limos began to move. The growl of engines filled the air. One by one, the expensive, colorful Rolls Royces filed down the street.

  One of the men opened the rear door of the lead limo, and Fang slid into the vehicle. He leaned back into the rich leather upholstery. The luxurious car drifted into traffic.

  “Take me to the airport,” he snapped.

  The driver nodded. “Shi de xiansheng. Yes sir.”

  Fang pulled out his cellphone tapped the screen. A low-pitched male voice picked up. It was Lewis, his second-in-command. “Yes sir?”

  “How is she doing?” Fang asked.

  “I tried calling you earlier, sir. The doctors say she is still refusing to take her medicine.”

  Fang gritted his teeth. “Then you tell the doctors I pay them to administer treatment, not to cower from an elderly woman! If they can’t do their jobs, I’ll fire them all, and find someone who can!”

  “Yes sir.” There was a pause. Then, “Sir …”

  “What is it?”

  “One more thing. The American. The journalist that police arrested at your Shanghai building?”

  “You said he would be taken care of in Tilanqiao Prison.”

  “Yes sir, arrangements were made, but he is no longer in Shanghai. The Ministry moved him to Beijing. He is being held in a black jail, run by a government security contractor.”

  “Why would they move him there?” Fang muttered. The voice on the other end of the call was silent.

  Fang sighed. “Never mind. Send Lucky Si to take care of him. Wait until I leave Beijing. The Ministry has refused my proposal. We will move forward with Operation Dynasty. Tell Tan to be ready, I want do a test run tonight.”

  He glared out the window at the bleak, gray building receding in the distance. “And I think I have the perfect candidate.”

  “Yes sir. Shi pei le. I will make the arrangements.”

  Fang hung up.

  He stared out the window as the limo turned onto the expressway. The air outside was a thick, gray smog. The city buildings behind them soon disappeared into the haze.

  He reached into his pocket and removed three small white tiles. They made a soft clicking sound in his hand as he flipped them between his fingers. He thought back to his meeting with the Vice Minister. The arrogant bitch. Who was she to judge him? To stand in the way of his destiny?

  She is nothing, Fang thought. I know my destiny.

  And I know what happens to those who stand against it.

  The black Hongqi L5 sedan sped through Beijing’s evening traffic. Its sleek, four-door frame and retro styling drew glances of both admiration and fear as it cut through a red light. Hongqi was one of the oldest car manufacturers in China, and the L5 was the most expensive vehicle in its lineup. It was also well known as the de facto mode of transportation for government officials. Other vehicles darted out of the way and gave the large black sedan a wide berth.

  Helen Wong sighed and slumped into the plush rear seat. She tapped the screen of her cellphone, marking items off her agenda. She took particular pleasure in erasing her meeting with Fang from her calendar.

  Up front, her driver kept his eyes on the road ahead. He kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and cut through evening traffic with skill and experience. He looked up at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Duibuqi furen,” he said. Helen did not look up. Her eyes were glued to her phone, her face twisted into a scowl of distaste. The driver cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Vice Minster?”

  Helen looked up. “Sorry, Cheng. One of my meetings today left a bad taste in my mouth. Can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”

  “Sorry to bother you, but there’s an accident on the freeway ramp up ahead. Traffic on the G110 is backed up for miles. I can take surface but …”

  “But I’d better tell my husband to eat without me,” Helen said with a smirk. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. He can tell the cook to make those chicken feet he likes so much.” She grimaced. “Disgusting.”

  The driver chuckled and turned to the navigation system mounted in the dashboard. He programmed in a new route and turned off the clogged street. “Wohen baoqian. I’m sorry, but the new route will add an hour to your commute.”

  The Vice Minster sighed and shifted in her seat. “Key zu shenme … What can be done? Just get me home as fast as you can.”

  The driver nodded. He accelerated the vehicle through the narrow streets on the outskirts of Beijing.

  Helen reached out to the media display mounted in the rear of the vehicle. She scrolled through her phone records and clicked on her husband’s entry. She didn’t bother slipping in her Bluetooth earpiece. She intended to keep the conversation short. After a busy day of meetings, she had little patience left for his whining.

  The phone rang. “Wei,” a gruff voice answered. It was Ping, her husband, but he sounded strange. A crackling static distorted the call.

  “Ping, it’s Helen, can you hear me?”

  The image on the media center rippled and shifted. The screen went black, then filled with series of glowing white numbers and letters.

  “Cheng,” Helen called to her driver. “What the hell is wrong with this thing?”

  Cheng looked down at his display. The same strange pattern of computer code filled his navigation screen as well.

  “Gao shenme gui? It’s happening up here too! I’d better pull over.”

  Helen was suddenly thrown sideways in her seat as the black sedan bounced up on the curb. The driver cursed and spun the wheel in the opposite direction. The car dove back into the street. Its tires squealed as they fishtailed across the pavement.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Helen screamed, settling back into her seat.

  “The brakes!” her driver said. “They’re not working!” He pumped his foot up and down. “I can’t stop the car!”

  “Nin ge bendan! Take your foot off the gas!”

  The driver looked up at her in the mirror. Sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes were wide with fear. “I already did! And we’re speeding up!”

  Helen was tossed in her seat again as her driver darted around a slow-moving delivery truck. The roar of the sedan’s engine filled the cabin as the car continued to accelerate.

  “Madam Vice Minister.” The voice came from the rear speakers of the car. Helen looked down at the media center screen. The streams of code had been replaced with a video image. It was him …

  It was David Fang!

  The video continued to play. “I’m sorry to say, it appears our meeting did not go as I had hoped. Perhaps your successor will be more reasonable.”

  “Hold on!” the driver shouted. Helen looked up. Two garbage trucks loomed in the middle of the street. The heavy vehicles parted, struggling to make room for the sedan.

  She screamed as the runaway car sped through the tight gap between the trucks. The metal sides of the vehicles scraped against each other, and a shower of sparks exploded through the air. The sideview mirrors were torn loose from the sedan and clattered to the street behind them.

  “You mentioned my Triad connections, Ms. Wong.” Fang’s video continued to play on the tiny screen. “I feel it’s only fair to warn you, I am not merely another gangster or thug. I have greater ambitions than extortion or pointless bloodshed. I am Lu Long. And the Lu Long are the Triad behind all Triads. We are the power in the dark. We are the children of the Green Gang, the masters of heaven and earth.”

  The driver cursed as he struggled to control the speeding car. The roar of the engine grew louder. Helen’s fingers wrapped around the door handle in a white-knuckled grip.

  The video continued to play. “Soon, the Lu Long will choose a new leader. A Dra
gon Father, in control of the most powerful Triad in China. There is an old proverb, perhaps you have heard it? A friend is a road paved. An enemy is a wall built.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Tonight, you have made a very powerful enemy indeed, Ms. Wong. And there is no wall on this earth that can protect you now.”

  Suddenly, the roar of the engine ceased. The vehicle began to slow down.

  “We’re stopping,” the driver shouted back. Helen tried to open the door, but the car’s electronic locks refused to budge. She stabbed at the unlock button with her finger, but it had no effect.

  For now, they were trapped.

  The car’s lights blinked out, and it rolled to a stop. Helen tried to the door again, but the locks held tight.

  “I will be the Dragon Father of the Lu Long. That is the promise I have made. That is my destiny. And your ill-advised audits and investigations are an annoyance I cannot allow. Nothing may stand in the way of my ascension. So I’m afraid tonight I will have to ‘shut you down,’ Ms. Wong. Are we clear? Qingchule ma?”

  The video stopped, and the interior of the car went dark.

  Her driver began to kick at the door. “The locks are still stuck! The media system has an internet connection. Someone must have hacked it. They’ve taken control of the electrical system!” The car vibrated with each thud, but the sedan was built like a tank. The door refused to budge.

  A red blinking light flooded through the windows. Outside, a warning chime sounded. Slim wooden gates lowered across the intersection at the front and back of the car. The driver stopped his kicking and looked out the window.

  “O wo de shangdi … My God! We stopped on the train tracks. The Beijing City Rail … we’re right in its path!”

  A bellowing scream roared towards them. Helen turned and saw a beam of light cutting through the darkness like a blade. It rushed closer and closer. In a matter of seconds, the searing white glow filled her vision, blinding her. All she could hear was the roar of the train. It drowned out her own screams of terror. She threw up a hand, a futile gesture to ward off death as it hurtled towards them.

  Chapter Seven

  The old hospital’s cafeteria smelled of body odor and animal dung. A thin layer of dust and caked grease covered the old steel furnishings. Flickering fluorescent lights overhead bathed the large room in a dim, sickly green glow. The building had not been used to treat patients for some time. Its new owners seemed unconcerned about hygiene and cleanliness.

  A row of detainees shuffled in line, each holding a dented metal tray. The detainees were all men, and they wore rumpled, unwashed street clothes. The black jail did not provide uniforms or laundry services. According to official records, the facility did not exist. And as far as the outside world was concerned, the tired, shuffling men and their filthy clothes no longer existed either. For now, they were just memories, phantoms who lived on in the thoughts and minds of their loved ones.

  As each man reached the end of the line, a bowl of thin, gray porridge was deposited on their tray. A greasy, foil-wrapped bundle was placed next to the bowl. One of the black jail guards wore a stained white apron over his uniform. He spooned the broth into chipped plastic bowls. Another handed the bowls out to the detainees as they traipsed past the counter.

  The guard deposited a bowl onto the tray of an elderly man with thinning gray hair. The man gave him a shallow bow.

  “Xie Xie,” he muttered.

  “Xia Yighe!” the guard barked. “Next!”

  A young Caucasian man stood next in line. He was tall and muscular and looked to be in his early twenties. Khaki cargo pants and a concert t-shirt hung from his lean, athletic frame. A thick fringe of straw-colored hair swept across his forehead. His eyes were a piercing pale blue.

  The guard turned to his partner and mumbled in Chinese, “Who the hell is this laowai?”

  The other man dropped a steaming foil bundle on the Caucasian’s plate and shrugged. “Transfer from Shanghai, Tilanqiao. I don’t know who he is, but he must have pissed someone off to wind up here.”

  The guard shook his head and set a bowl of soup on the tray. “Ni zui hao zai zheli, haizo guankan! You better watch yourself, kid!” the guard exclaimed in a loud voice.

  The young man shook his head. “Uh, I have no idea what you’re saying to me. Thanks for the soup. I mean, xie xie.”

  He took his tray and followed the other man out into the cafeteria. He scanned the area and headed towards a small, empty table near the corner of the room. Guards in camouflaged jumpsuits flanked the metal doors that led into the dining area. They glared at him and followed his movements. He gave them a wary glance as he walked past their post.

  He took a seat at the empty table and began to slurp the gruel-like soup into his mouth. The broth tasted of old rice, with a harsh, vinegar aftertaste. He grimaced, but continued to shovel the food into his mouth.

  He unwrapped the foil bundle, revealing a stale white bao. Breaking the circular white bun open, he examined the questionable brown filling inside. It was supposed to be pork. He gave it a sniff. Whatever it was, it didn’t smell like pork. Its odor reminded him of wet cardboard.

  Before he could ingest the rancid food, a commotion at one of the other tables caught his attention. Another pair of guards had pushed through the swinging doors. The uniformed men forced their way through the crowd. They stalked towards one of the long tables that ran down the center of the room.

  “Lung! Alton Lung!”

  A short, wiry Chinese man looked up from his soup. A pair of rectangular glasses perched in front of his small, mouse-like eyes. His hair was black and mussed, and his skin was a dark, coffee-colored tan. He looked to be in his early thirties. As the guards approached him, he seemed to sink into his bench.

  The young man's blue eyes focused on a series of mottled red bruises that ran up the Chinese man's arm. The marks continued under the rolled-up cuff of his stained, tattered dress shirt.

  “Qing, qing! Please,” the man pleaded. “I can’t take any more!”

  “You should have thought of that before you made so much trouble," one of the guards barked. "The governor of Jiangsu Province sends his regards!”

  The detainees eating next to Alton slid away and moved to other tables. The small man darted under the table and grabbed the bench with his slim fingers. “No, this is illegal, I have done nothing wrong! You have no right to hold me here!”

  “You’re just making it worse, Lung,” one of the guards grunted. He removed a security baton from his belt and rapped the heavy club on the table.

  The other guard grabbed Alton’s bruised arm and tried to yank him out from under the bench. “Let’s go, little man. Time to take your medicine.”

  Alton lashed out with his leg, kicking the guard in the shin. “Stay back! Bang wo, someone help me!”

  The young man grabbed his tray and stood up. He ambled towards the guards, a wide smile plastered on his face.

  The guard Alton had kicked slid his baton from his belt. He slammed it down on the bench, crushing Alton’s fingers. The small man yelped in pain.

  “That’s for kicking me! Ni zhege xiao huaidan!”

  Alton released his hold, and the guard dragged him kicking and screaming from under the table. He shoved him back, and the lanky little man tripped and crashed to the ground. His glasses skittered across the cement floor.

  They came to a stop in front of the young white man. He bent down and picked them up, then looked up at the guards. “Hey, come on,” the man said. “Go easy on the guy. How about we do this after lunch?”

  The guards cocked their heads and looked at him with surprise. “Sit your ass down, laowai! This doesn’t concern you,” one of them snapped

  The young man slipped Alton’s glasses into the pocket of his cargo pants. “Sorry man, my Chinese isn’t that good. You speak English?”

  “Ta ma de zhe jihuo bai!” the guard who had pushed Alton shouted, his voice rising in volume with each syllable. He lunged towards th
e young man, swinging his baton at the man’s skull.

  The man threw his tray up. The bowl of slop flew forward, striking the guard in the face. The metal tray deflected the baton blow with a loud clang.

  The guard wiped the porridge from his eyes. Before he could react, the man locked his weapon arm in the crook of his elbow. Then he drove his knee upwards. The guard’s face turned bright red, and he bent forward. He gasped as the blow drove the air from his lungs. The young man reached over with his right hand and grabbed the tip of the baton. With a quick yank, he freed it from the guard’s grasp. He snapped it down, striking the side of the man’s head.

  The guard crumpled to the ground. Alton looked up at him, his face twisted in fear. “What the hell?!! You fengzi?”

  “You’re welcome. My name’s Sean. Sean Ty—." Before he could finish, two more guards charged towards him. They hit him like ton of bricks, tackling him to the ground. “Hey wait,” he shouted. “This is fucked up! They were beating that guy!”

  More guards poured into the room. The rest of Sean’s words were lost in a series of grunts and screams. His limbs flailed as the guards pummeled him with their batons over and over again.

  Sean winced as he pressed the icepack into the socket of his bruised right eye. His face was flushed from exertion and adrenaline, but his injuries were minor. Only a few cuts and bruises marred his chiseled, brooding features.

  A stoic Chinese man wearing a white doctor’s coat muttered to himself as he dabbed at Sean's wounds. Using a long cotton swab, he spread a clear antibiotic gel into one of the gashes on the side of Sean’s forehead.

  “Ouch! That stings,” Sean muttered.

  The doctor hissed and shook his head, but said nothing. He applied a sterile white gauze over the cut, then began to pack up his tools into a black leather satchel.

  The doctor turned to another Chinese man sitting across the table from Sean. The man wore a lustrous navy pinstripe suit. His hair was flawless and well-groomed, but his skin had a pale, wax-like appearance. Something about his handsome face seemed plastic, almost artificial. He seemed absorbed in several files and dossiers that were spread out on the table.