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

by Andrew Warren

  Rebecca was not patient.

  The curtains were drawn across the condo's picture window, blocking the view of Logan Circle and the traffic below. The room was dark, lit only by the thin sliver of morning sun that cut through the fabric panels. She could hear the distant rumble of engines and honking horns outside. The muted sounds were barely audible beneath the soft electronic music that played over the speakers in the ceiling.

  “Volume up,” she said. The digital assistant that controlled the lights and sound system complied. The music increased in volume, drowning out the traffic noise. She closed her eyes and let the percussive beat wash over her. She took a deep breath.

  Move, damn you! her mind shouted, but her body did not even twitch. She willed her left leg to step forward. An inch … half an inch. Anything.

  The quivering in her arms increased. They were shaking harder, and the wooden bars began to rattle and vibrate.

  No, damn it! No, move! Move! Mo—

  Rebecca cursed as she felt her muscles turn to jelly. Her left arm buckled and gave out, and she tumbled to the floor. She tried to pivot her body, but her muscles throbbed with fatigue and were slow to react. The side of her face struck the polished concrete floor with a loud crack.

  She lay on the ground for a few seconds, catching her breath. She willed herself not to cry, not to give up. Not to lose hope.

  No one learns to walk without falling, she reminded herself. You want to learn again? You have to fall again. As many times as it takes.

  Her anger and frustration subsided, and her panting breath slowed to a normal pace. Using her hands, she rotated her body on the smooth floor and began to crawl back to the other end of the bars.

  Her wheelchair was waiting there for her. She stopped moving and stared up at it for a few seconds. Her eyes gleamed with rage and fire. But then the fire inside her seemed to dim, as if it had run out of fuel to burn.

  Reaching up, she grabbed one of the bars and pulled her body up off the floor. She spun around, shifting her hands from bar to bar, until her back was to the chair. Then she lowered herself down into a sitting position.

  “Open curtains,” she said in a loud, clear voice.

  “Opening curtains,” the feminine, electronic voice replied. The thick curtains slid open, allowing warm sunlight to flood the room. The condo's sparkling white floors and metal appliances gleamed with reflected brilliance.

  Rebecca turned and looked at a clock mounted to the wall. It was just past 9:00 a.m. She was almost done with her workout.

  No. You’re not done, she thought. You’re just getting started. You need to get stronger.

  The chair was equipped with an electric motor, but she had turned it off for her workout. Slim cords of muscles in her arms and shoulders rippled as she wheeled herself towards her new home gym.

  She maneuvered herself underneath a lat pulldown bar. She adjusted the weight stack, increasing it by ten pounds from its last position. Then she reached up, ignoring the pain in her back and shoulders. She gripped the bar and began to pull it down to her chest.

  One … two … three … New trails of sweat dripped down her face as she continued to exert herself. Spasms of pain shot through her arms, but she ignored them.

  Four … five … six …

  She pushed herself harder. She would not stop. She would keep going as long as it took.

  She was a runner. She could go the distance.

  The music dipped in volume, and she heard her cell phone ring from across the room.

  “Incoming call,” the voice over the speakers chimed in its friendly, monotone voice. “Unknown number.”

  Rebecca let go of the bar. It shot back up and clanked back into position, swaying in the air above her.

  She gasped for breath. She knew she had been pushing herself, but she hadn’t realized how far she had gone … how long she had been exerting her body. Her muscles flared with pain as she wheeled over to the nightstand to pick up her phone.

  She recognized the ring tone. It was assigned to only one person, and if he was calling, it had to be important.

  She gulped some water from a bottle on the nightstand, then answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said the voice on the other end.

  Caine.

  “How do you like Eastern Europe?” she asked. “Did you visit that coffee shop I told you about?”

  “The Coffee Tower? It was nice, but the line was too long. I went to Miit Cafe instead. Better espresso.”

  “But not as nice a view,” she answered.

  The code phrase confirmed he was not speaking under duress.

  “I expected to hear from you by now.” She felt her pulse quicken. She thought about Bernatto and the last time she had seen him. It was in an abandoned chemical plant in Thailand. He was with his hired killer, a sociopath who had kidnapped her, who had nearly killed her. She had escaped. There was a gunfight. An explosion.

  She had been injured. Her spine … her legs … They were responsible for—

  She forced herself to calm down.

  They could have killed you, she reminded herself. You’re still alive. And at least one of them is dead.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Caine said. “Things are … complicated.”

  “Have you made contact with the target?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why haven’t you delivered him to the rendition team?”

  Caine was silent. A quiet hum buzzed on the line.

  “Tom, what’s going on? Where is Bernatto?”

  “I don’t have him.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, and she felt her jaw tense up. “Why not? What happened?”

  “I let him go.”

  “You what?” She spat the words into the phone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Rebecca, something came up. New intel. I had to.”

  “I … I don’t even know what to say. You told me you wanted to work with me, you wanted to do this freelance, on your own. And I let you do it on your terms, despite my better judgement.”

  “Rebecca—”

  “I’m telling the team to move in. I’m taking this operation out of your hands.”

  “He’s not in Latvia anymore. I told you, I let him go.”

  “Where the hell is he, Tom?” Her voice rose to a shrill howl.

  “I don’t know. I found him once. I can find him again. This couldn’t wait.”

  “What couldn’t wait? What intel was so important that it’s worth letting a monster like Allan Bernatto go free? You of all people … you know what this man did? You know what he did to you, what he did to—”

  She paused. “What he did to this country,” she finished.

  “Sean Tyler. Jack Tyler’s son.”

  “Wait, what?” Rebecca’s brain whirled in circles. What the hell did Sean have to do with this?

  “He’s being held in China. He’s part of a human rights organization, protestors.”

  “What does that have to do with …”

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Rebecca bit her lip and wheeled herself over to the window. She looked down at the verdant green trees surrounding the Logan traffic circle. She felt the need to move. To run.

  “Yes, I knew. It came up in the intelligence briefing. Why, what does all this have to do with Bernatto?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You have to ask? It’s classified, Tom!”

  “That’s a load of crap.”

  “Look, I offered to bring you in. I offered to clear your record, debrief you with the higher ups. I offered you your life back, but you wanted to stay on the outside. I guess I can understand that after what you’ve been through. But you need to understand … look, just because we have a history, that doesn’t mean I can break confidence and share restricted information with you whenever it’s convenient.”

  Caine was silent.

  A thought flashed through Rebecc
a’s mind.

  “Tom, where are you?”

  “I’m where I belong. On the outside.”

  “You’re in China, aren’t you? What are you planning to do?”

  “The PRC want to trade Sean for a renditioned asset in your possession. A Chinese hacker named Sun Wai Tong?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “So my intel is good. Well, at least I know where I stand.” His voice was terse, cold.

  “Tom, listen to me. Don’t get involved in this. You’ll just make things worse. Let me handle it. I know how close you and Jack were, I know he was important to you. I knew you’d react to this emotionally. I’ve got the situation under control.”

  “Not according to my intel. Sean is in danger. You know a guy named Lapinski? NSA?”

  Rebecca felt her sore muscles tense. She remembered Ted’s reaction during the intelligence briefing. “Yes, I know him. He’s head of S32.”

  Caine’s voice crackled on the other end of the phone. “Tailored Ops. The blackest of the black hats. Tong is in their custody, isn’t he?”

  “They’re a bunch of computer nerds, Tom. What would they want with Sean?”

  “It’s not Sean. It’s Tong. He accessed and released classified intel into the wild. The NSA can’t afford to cut Tong lose until they locate and contain the data. Lapinski has an asset in China, I don’t know who. Someone in their intelligence apparatus. An assassin … code name is Red Phoenix. They’re going to kill Sean to sabotage the exchange.”

  “That’s crazy. The President approved all of this, the exchange is going to happen. It’s tied to his whole Global Environmental Accords, and the trade deal with China. Lapinski isn’t going to stand in the way of that. And where is this intel coming from? Bernatto?”

  Caine didn’t answer.

  “You don’t trust me, but you trust him?” Rebecca asked in a quiet voice.

  “You know I don’t trust him,” Caine snapped. “But his intel checks out so far. I’ve verified that Sean is in China. You just confirmed the rest. There’s an exchange deal in place, and Lapinski is involved.”

  “So you are in China,” Rebecca said.

  Caine laughed, a soft chuckle. “Very good. You’re getting better at this.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. What are you going to do?”

  She heard Caine take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Jack saved my life. I watched him die, saw him bleed out right in front of me. With his dying breath, he asked me to take care of Sean. I promised him, Rebecca. And I broke that promise. I got so caught up in … everything, all the rest of this shit. I never even gave it a second thought.”

  “Tom, what you went through, with Bernatto … I still don’t know everything. But I know you were tortured. I know you endured things most people couldn’t survive. You can’t blame yourself. You did the best you could.”

  “No, I didn’t. But now, if there’s even a chance Bernatto’s intel is accurate … look, it’s better you don’t know.”

  “Well. You really don’t trust me.”

  “When this goes down, you’re going to need deniability.”

  Rebecca knew it was pointless to ask him again. He would never tell her. “Let me do some digging on Lapinski. I’ll see if I can verify this asset you’re talking about. Can you at least sit tight until then?”

  “No. I can’t. But I’d appreciate the help.”

  She sighed. “How will I contact you?”

  “I’ll be in touch. And listen. These Tailored Ops guys, they’re more dangerous than you think. Data is their lifeblood. They feed off it, and they’ll do anything to protect it. You know what their motto is?”

  Rebecca repeated the words from memory. “Your data is our data. Your equipment is our equipment – any time, any place, by any legal means.”

  A note of concern softened Caine’s voice over the phone. I don’t think they put too much emphasis on the ‘legal’ part. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  She was about to hang up the phone, but Caine spoke again. “Rebecca?”

  “Yes?”

  “I called you because I do trust you. I only trust you. You’re all I’ve got.”

  “I … I’m sorry,” she stammered.

  “No. I’m sorry. And I promise you, after this is over, when Sean is safe … the bastard dies.”

  There was a click and he was gone.

  Caine hung up the phone and brushed aside the curtain. Outside the spacious loft apartment, the night sky was dark and the air was thick with humidity. He looked down at the shadowed forms of the other buildings nearby, a cluster of grey concrete slabs. An array of neon signs and billboards topped each tower. Fourteen-foot-tall Chinese characters blinked on and off, lighting the hazy air with a soft, indistinct glow.

  As he slid the phone in his pocket, he thought about Rebecca. It had been good to hear her voice, but he still felt a hollowness, an emptiness in his gut when he spoke to her. A longing.

  Ever since his betrayal at the hands of Bernatto and the CIA, Caine had lived a life of detachment … on the run, always hiding, no close friends, no attachments. No one who could be used against him.

  Now, he found it difficult to let go of that life. Somehow, he was still adrift. He could not reattach.

  He wondered if it was fear that held him back. Fear of what might happen to him. Or fear of what might happen to her?

  No, said the voice in his head. The one he could never silence. Not fear. Guilt.

  He remembered the last time he had seen her. The scars and wounds on her legs.

  The chair.

  He slid the curtain closed. Whatever it was he felt, fear or guilt, longing, or isolation, it didn’t matter. What he and Rebecca had shared, what they had given and what they had lost … that was in the past now.

  These days, they were both just voices on the phone. That slim, faint connection was all he had, all that kept him from sinking into the bleak shadows of memory.

  Jia’s rustling pulled him from his melancholy thoughts. He turned and watched as she collected a series of documents from a laser printer. The machine quietly hummed and spit out the final sheet. She stacked them in her hands and stepped over to the dining table in the center of the room.

  The overhead lights were dimmed. She laid out the sheets of paper beneath the soft, circle of light they cast over the table’s surface. Caine walked over and stood beside her as she taped the sheets together.

  “You found a map,” he said.

  She turned and smiled. Her mischievous eyes twinkled in the dim light.

  “Human Rights Now works with many other activist groups. We have a good relationship with a collective known as the Jade Enclave. They are, mmm, how should I put it? Skilled computer technicians.”

  “Jade Enclave? Sound like hackers to me,” Caine replied with a sideways smile.

  “I prefer the term ‘hack-tivists,’” she said. “They help us spread information, plan protests. And they warn us of government surveillance. They take great risks for us. Recently they were accused of hacking the Railway Bureau’s grid here in Beijing. It is said they caused a collision, on behalf of the Triads.” She shook her head. "But I cannot believe they would do such a thing. They are being framed; the Ministry wants to discredit them.”

  Caine leaned over the table. “Well, guilty or not, looks like your friends came through.”

  He slid the map closer and began scanning the architectural details. He mentally noted the placement of doors, stairwells, emergency exits … anything that his experience told him might be useful in an extraction.

  “This building was once a hospital, years ago," Jia said. “Then it was purchased by a private security contractor for use as a black jail facility. They may have made changes to the structure, I can’t be sure—”

  “This is the best we’re going to get,” Caine said, snatching the map off the table and rolling it up in his hands. “Every second we wait, Sean is in danger. I’m going to
need our guests to point out his location. You should wait here.”

  Caine walked out of the room and turned down a narrow hallway. Jia hurried after him. “Ding yixia, wait! What are you going to do?”

  Caine ignored her, opening the door to a gleaming, modern bathroom. The two black guards lay struggling in a massive, gleaming white tub. They were bound and gagged. Their bruised faces and tattered clothes were a strange contrast to the pristine white tile of the gleaming bathroom. Mole Face turned his head and glared with hatred at Caine as he entered the room.

  Jia stopped at the door. Her eyes darted from the men to Caine. “Tom, these men are monsters, I know. But I can’t just stand by and watch you torture them. That’s not who I am.”

  Caine turned and glared at her. Jia made a tiny gasping sound and took a step back when she saw the intense look in his eyes.

  “I know,” Caine said. His voice had a metallic echo in the small, tiled room. “I told you to wait outside.”

  He reached over the tub and turned on the water. The men continued to grunt and struggle. The water splashed onto their clothes and began to fill the basin. He spread the makeshift map out on the floor.

  “Just stop! Think for a second,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “You don’t even speak Chinese, how will they understand—”

  “They’ll get the gist of it.”

  Caine slammed the door shut, blocking out Jia’s words and her wide, staring eyes. The outside world no longer existed.

  He allowed himself to sink, to fall into the bleak shadows.

  You’re not falling, the voice inside him said. You’re just letting go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  David Fang scrutinized the small ivory tile he held in his hand. The white rectangle was engraved with a serpentine green dragon design. A small number adorned the upper left corner. It was a mahjong tile, and Fang had a decision to make.

  To discard the tile was risky. He suspected Lewis, the player to his right, held a dragon in his stack of tiles. On the other hand, he had scrutinized the tiles Lewis had discarded. He doubted the man had enough dragon tiles left to make a pong, or three of a kind.