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

by Andrew Warren

  “Yes?”

  Fang looked up at Si. “Kill them all. For our brother.”

  Lucky Si nodded and left the room.

  Fang stood up and walked over to the glass tube. Inside, his mother’s eyes were still closed. He heard a soft hiss come from the machinery of the hyperbaric chamber. It was the pumps, working to maintain the air pressure inside.

  He rested his head on the glass, just above her face. “We are so close, Mother. So close to our destiny, I can almost reach out and touch it. I will not fail. You will live to see your son rise. Then, all those who have wronged our family, all those who caused us pain … they shall finally pay.”

  From inside, he could hear a low groan escape his mother’s withered lips. She turned away from him, leaving him staring at his reflection in the glass.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zhengzhou East Station was one of the largest high-speed rail stations in the world. Its boarding platform was a vast, cavernous chamber of gleaming silver and white. A delicate latticework of metal beams crisscrossed high overhead beneath the high-domed ceiling. Caine knew those metal beams were studded with dozens of security cameras. As he meandered through the newsstands and food carts, he made sure to keep his face pointed down, out of view of the probing lenses above.

  He kept a watchful eye on the sleek white train parked behind him. A crowd of new passengers boarded its various cars from the platform. Here, like the other stops along their route, no one attracted his attention.

  He walked past a few policemen standing near the terminal exit. They stood ramrod straight. The creases of their olive-green uniforms were pressed to a razor-sharp edge. They paid him no mind as he ambled past. Either he had managed to avoid the cameras in the black jail, or news of the breakout had not reached Zhengzhou. Hopefully, the authorities had focused their attention on the airports. Taking the trains would give him a chance to put some distance between his group and Beijing.

  He walked past a tiny shop selling ornamental plates, chopsticks, and tea sets. Perched in the window was a dusty plastic sleeve that contained a set of three small paring knives. The handle of each knife was colorful plastic. Matching sheaths covered their steel blades.

  Caine stepped inside the cramped booth and nodded to the wizened little man who sat behind the counter. He grabbed the knifes, along with a set of chopsticks and a tea cup. Placing them on the counter, he slid the man a stack of Yuan notes. He kept his head down and turned to the right, avoiding the camera mounted behind the shopkeeper. The old man smiled as he took the cash and bundled the items in a plastic bag.

  Stepping outside, Caine made his way to the outer edge of the platform. He scanned the crowd to make sure no one was watching. Unobserved, he slid one of the paring knifes from the package and tucked it into his waistband. He covered the handle with his shirt and dumped the bag of trinkets in a trash can.

  The knife's steel was cheap, and the tang of the blade wobbled in the handle. But it would serve as a makeshift, innocuous weapon. After his experiences in Beijing, he no longer felt comfortable traveling unarmed. A common kitchen knife would not attract undue attention if authorities searched his belongings. And in a train station, in the middle of China, it was the best option he was likely to find.

  Next, he stopped to buy a burner phone at a small electronics store. The middle-aged woman working in the store waved her hand over a glass display case. It was filled with secondhand phones and iPods. Most of them were old, battered, and covered with stickers and sparkling charms. He selected a basic model. The woman hummed a tune to herself as he handed her more of his money.

  As she slipped in a sim card and activated the phone, Caine looked back towards the train. The crowd of passengers slipping in and out of the long white cars looked perfectly normal. Businessmen in suits, women holding hands with toddling children, a few tourists … nothing that scanned as out of place, or a threat.

  She handed him the activated phone, cradling it like a precious gem in both her hands. Caine smiled and took the device, also using both hands. He gave her a slight bow. “Xie Xie,” he said, thanking her.

  He walked back to the train and dialed Rebecca’s number. Her phone rang several times, then went to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

  He slipped the phone in his pocket. A series of chimes played over the station’s PA system. “Di er deng ji tishi,” a woman’s voice announced. “Second boarding call, all general passengers please board now.” Caine checked his watch. The train would be leaving in a few minutes. He took one last look at the crowd.

  He was about to step back on the train when a group of five Chinese men wearing suits entered the platform. They walked with an arrogant stride that made them stand out from the other passengers. It was as if they expected the rest of the crowd to part and let them pass.

  Caine had come into contact with numerous organized crime groups in his career. The Yakuza in Japan, the Vor mafia families of Russia, the Chao Pho of Thailand. He knew a gangster when he saw one. The industrialist Sean had been investigating, David Fang … Jia said the man was rumored to have Triad affiliations. Caine had been expecting police, or agents of the Ministry of State Security to pursue them. But these men looked like neither. Did they work for Fang? Was he after Sean as well, or was it just coincidence?

  He watched the group push their way closer to the front of the train. As their faces came into view, Caine clenched his jaw. The man in the lead of the group was slim, and of average height. His skin was stark white. He was wearing a long, black coat, and carrying a cane in his right hand.

  He wore dark sunglasses over his eyes, but there was no mistaking him. It was the albino … the man who had attacked them at the black jail. This was no coincidence. The ghost had returned to haunt them.

  What the hell? Caine thought. That’s impossible!

  But he knew better than to doubt his senses. Somehow the albino man was here, alive and well. Caine didn't know if the man was Triad, Ministry, or Red Phoenix himself. But Sean was still in danger.

  The men boarded the train near the front. The bells chimed again overhead. “Zuihou deng ji de dianhua.” Final boarding call. The train was leaving the station.

  Caine hopped through the doors of the car next to him just as they began to slide shut.

  A loud hum emanated from the train. With a hiss of rushing air, the wheels gripped the track and began to crawl forward. The hum grew to an electric wail as the train picked up speed, streaking out of the station like a gleaming white rocket.

  Sean slammed the empty Tsing Dao can on the counter of the restaurant car. “Lingwai, qing,” he drawled, as he ordered another beer.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you spoke Chinese,” Alton said. He gestured to the girl working behind the counter and held up a finger. She slid two more cans and two plastic cups over the small, curved counter. Alton popped open his can and filled his cup with the crisp, golden beer.

  Sean tossed the cup in the garbage can behind the counter. The girl shot him a dirty look. Then she resumed her work, arranging sandwiches, fruit, and other food items on a stack of plastic trays.

  “I don’t speak Chinese,” Sean said. He popped the tab on his can, guzzled a long sip of beer, and sighed. “I can order a beer, ask for the bathroom, and tell a girl she’s pretty. That’s about it.”

  “That’s more than most white dudes. How long have you been in China?”

  “To tell you the truth, I lost track. Six months, maybe a little more.”

  Alton nodded. “And you came here to write a story? About David Fang?”

  Sean stared down into the mouth of his beer can. “I came here because there was nothing left for me back home. After my mom passed away I … I guess I needed something to keep my mind off things. So I joined Human Rights Now. They sent me to this little town, out in the countryside. Xingtai. I just started writing what I saw. The stuff about Fang, and the cancer villages … I guess you could say the story found me.”

  Se
an took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “After Xingtai, I traveled from town to town, writing and taking pictures. Always found the same deal. Bad soil, chemicals in the water. Sick kids. And David Fang. His name kept popping up, everywhere I went.”

  Alton nodded. “Same in my village. The children … that’s why I do it. I knew petitioning in Beijing would be dangerous, that I might end up in a place like that jail, or worse. But I had to go. I could not look at their faces anymore and do nothing.”

  Sean clapped him on the back. “You’re a good guy, Alton.”

  Alton pulled a small, battered cell phone from his pocket. “That reminds me, I should text my family, tell them I come home soon. They must be worried.”

  “Where the hell did you get a cell phone?”

  “I bought it in the station, after I get my ticket. Prepaid phone.”

  “A burner phone? Look at you, man, all gangster up in here!” Sean laughed. “Let me borrow it when you’re done, I want to check my Facebook. I've had internet withdrawal since I got arrested.”

  Alton began tapping on the keyboard. “Sure, sure, just let me text first.” He finished his typing and handed the phone to Sean. “Here you go.”

  Alton sipped his beer as Sean checked his email. “That’s weird,” the young man muttered as he stared at the screen.

  “What is it?” Alton asked.

  “My friend, the one I was working with in Shanghai. He sent me an email right after I got arrested. But it’s just an audio file.”

  Sean tapped the screen. The slow, pulsing beat of a Chinese pop song emitted from the phone’s tinny speaker. The female singer’s light, chirping voice was a strange contrast to the soulful, electronic ballad.

  Alton nodded his head to the beat. “Hey, I know this song. That’s Wushi Wu. She’s hot, man, number one C-pop star.”

  Sean squinted at the screen. “Chinese pop music? Why would he send me this? He hates that stuff.”

  Alton began to sing along, his voice cracking as he struggled to match the high notes of the song. “Wo dui ni de ai ranshao, my love for you it burns!”

  Sean winced and downed the rest of his beer. “Alton, you’re a lawyer, right?”

  Alton stopped singing and smiled. “Uh huh. Best lawyer in my town, Huagu.”

  Sean silenced the phone and handed it back to Alton. “Yeah, well, don’t quit your day job.”

  The door at the front end of the car slid open, and Caine stepped through. He looked around the car, and his eyes zeroed in on Alton and Sean.

  Sean could tell from the look on his face, the intensity of his stare, that something was wrong. Caine strode over to them at a rapid pace.

  “What now?” Sean asked. “You gonna tell me I’m secretly adopted?”

  “Shut up and listen. The man who tried to kill you in Beijing, the albino, who is he? Does he work for the government?”

  Sean shrugged. “I have no idea. I never saw him until this morning.”

  Alton looked up from his phone. “No way, man, that guy had to be Triad. Why?”

  Caine shot a wary glance towards the door he had just passed through. “Because I just saw him, and he’s on this train.”

  Sean’s face went pale, and his voice lost its angry bravado. “What? No way, that’s impossible.”

  “Move,” Caine ordered, his voice low and steady. “This way. Now.”

  Caine herded Sean and Alton towards the rear of the dining car.

  The door at the front of the car slid open. Sean looked back and saw the pale, hateful face of the albino staring at him from the doorway.

  A waitress rolled a cart filled with trays of food down the aisle, between the men and the rear of the car. One of the men grabbed her shoulder and shoved her to the side. The cart toppled over, spilling platters of noodles and sandwiches to the floor.

  “Zai nali, ya re!" he shouted. "There they are!”

  Sean saw the man draw a pistol, then the door slid closed behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The clattering noise of the train roared through the tiny connecting passageway.

  “Keep going,” Caine shouted to Sean and Alton. They stepped into the next car. Alton looked back, a grimace of fear clouding his timid, mousy face.

  “They coming, right behind us.”

  “Move!” Caine ordered.

  A heavyset man opened the tiny bathroom door and made his way towards them down the center aisle of the car. He looked up at them with an indignant glare as Alton squirmed between him and the row of seats.

  “Hei,” he shouted. “Duibuqi!”

  Sean pushed past him, following Alton. “Sorry, man.”

  Caine put his hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed him down into an empty seat.

  “Sir, get down, stay in your seat!” He hoped the man spoke enough English to understand him.

  Sean and Alton reached the rear of the car. Caine was just a few feet behind them. He looked over his shoulder and saw the door at the front of the car slide open. The group of Chinese men filed into the narrow corridor. The albino was no longer in front; he had dropped to the rear of the pack. Their new point-man was taller than the others. He wore a gray suit and a pale pink shirt with matching tie. A thin, white scar ran along the left side of the man’s harsh, narrow face.

  He raised his arm and aimed his pistol at Caine.

  The passengers in the front of the car spotted the gun. A chorus of screams and shouts filled the air. The noise of the panicked crowd drowned out the roar of the train as it raced down the tracks.

  Caine ducked through the rear door as it slid closed. The man with the gun pushed through the frantic passengers and opened fire.

  Bullets smashed through the door’s glass window and ricocheted down the adjoining corridor. Sean and Alton ducked down as they charged into the next car. Caine followed behind them.

  Another attendant was making her way towards them, pushing a cart of food trays. The passengers were mumbling in hushed tones, and an air of fear hung over the car. Outside, the countryside continued to streak by. The train charged forward at a relentless pace, racing down the tracks at hundreds of kilometers per hour.

  “Keep moving!” Caine snapped. “Get to Jia, head towards the back of the train!”

  “Aren’t we gonna run out of train?” Sean called over his shoulder.

  “Let me worry about that,” Caine replied.

  The attendant gasped as Sean and Alton leapt over a row of empty seats next to her. She turned towards Caine. “What’s going on? I hear noises!”

  Caine grabbed her cart and pushed it out of the aisle. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the kitchen knife in his waistband. He pulled it from its plastic cover and brandished the blade in a forward grip.

  “Get these people out of here, move them back.”

  The attendant’s eyes were wide with panic. She looked confused and frightened, like a deer in headlights. “I don’t understand—”

  Another series of gunshots rang out, and the small window in the cabin door shattered. Screams erupted through the car.

  “Go!” Caine made a stabbing gesture with the knife, pointing towards the back of the train. “Now!”

  As the attendant tried to control the stampede of passengers, Caine crouched low. He crept down the corridor, towards the door. He took up a position next to the doorway. A split-second later, the door slid open.

  Caine saw a gray-sleeved arm wielding a gun slide into view. He leapt from his position of concealment, grabbed the arm and yanked forward. The lead man, the one with the scar on his face, stumbled into the car. As he flew forward, Caine grabbed the man’s necktie and spun him around. He used the strip of fabric to pull his target in close. He stabbed down with the paring knife, jabbing the blade into his target’s trachea.

  Hot blood washed across his fist as he twisted the knife. He pivoted, keeping his hostage between himself and the door. The man uttered a gurgling hiss of a scream. He flailed his arms,
desperate to escape from the death grip Caine had trapped him in.

  The men in the forward car opened fire. Caine felt the impact of the bullets as they thudded into his hostage’s body. The man ceased his struggling. His hands dropped to his side, and the gun tumbled from his grip.

  Caine pushed the man forward and tossed him through the door. He slid his knife from the body as it flew forward into the connecting corridor. A splatter of crimson painted the pristine white interior of the train car.

  Caine reached up and slammed his fist on the door button. The panel slid shut, blocking the other men from view as they fought their way towards him.

  Caine knelt down. Using the bloody knife, he sliced through the rubber mat that covered the floor in front of the door. He tore off a chunk of the flimsy covering, revealing the floor underneath. Using the blade of the knife, he pried open a small metal panel in the floor. The wiring of the door mechanism was exposed below.

  Another barrage of bullets thudded into the door. One shot burst through the thin barrier and struck the floor next to Caine’s knee. He flinched, but remained in position, crouching by the wires. He grabbed a bundle of the colorful cables in his fist and tore them up from the floor. The LED speed display on the wall flickered and went dark. Sparks exploded from the door’s track.

  That should slow them down, he thought.

  He had shorted out the door’s locking mechanism. They would have to force it open to progress down the train.

  He reached across the floor and grabbed the thug’s discarded pistol. It was a Chinese-made CF-98 chambered in 9mm. His fingers wrapped around the polymer grip. He felt the embossed star logo on the butt press into his palm.

  He leapt up in front of the door and fired two shots through the broken window. Blood exploded from a thug’s chest, and the man collapsed. The rest of the gang, including the albino, stepped over him, and began to kick and pound on the jammed door.

  The door buckled inwards. Caine knew it would not hold for long.