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

by Andrew Warren

  He took a swig of water from a plastic bottle. Then he eyed the bank of surveillance monitors stacked on a folding table in the corner of the living room. They were taking too long. He didn’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary.

  “We need to get moving. Where the hell is Ganda?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the football game playing on the widescreen TV.

  Royce, one of the contractors he had hired, sighed and crumpled a beer can in his hands. He stood up. The old, frayed sofa he had been sitting on creaked as his weight lifted from the springs.

  “What’s so important about Ganda anyway?” he asked. “If you ask me, the guy’s a screw-up. Bungled a simple snatch and grab.”

  Ted gave Royce a knowing look. “After we find him, I’d like to talk to you about that. We need to discuss his retirement plans.”

  Royce raised his eyebrows. “Damn. Okay. Usual bonus?”

  Ted nodded. “Of course.”

  “Music to my ears. Let’s take a look. This game sucks anyway.”

  He pressed a button on a remote, and the TV went silent. He tossed the remote on the sofa and ambled over to the monitors.

  Royce wasn’t exactly in his prime. His hair was sparse and his face was pale and sagging. But his piercing blue eyes held an alert gleam. Ted knew the man’s resume. Royce had seen plenty of combat in his time. Plenty of death. Kamdesh, Fallujah, Ganjgal … his service record was a checklist of bloody, merciless hotspots across the Middle East. The fact that he was still walking around was a testament to his skills.

  “All right, I’ve got Swanson and Duval out front,” Royce said. He pressed some buttons on a small video switcher. Images from security cameras mounted all around the property played on multiple screens. “So where the hell is Ganda?”

  The men turned as they heard footsteps coming from the rickety wood staircase on the other side of the room. Matheson, the youngest of the team, teetered down the stairs. He balanced two enormous duffel bags across his wide shoulders.

  He set the bags down and stretched his back. “That’s all our gear from upstairs,” he said. “All that’s left is the stuff from the girl’s room, and—”

  “Hey, Matheson,” Royce interrupted. “Have you seen Ganda in the last hour?”

  “Not since I relieved him on the perimeter,” the young, clean-cut operative said. “I think he’s in the barn, with the Cougar. He’s got a hard on for that truck.”

  “Yup,” Royce muttered, as he punched more buttons. “There he is with Daniels in the barn, cam three.” The image switched from the front of the farmhouse to a high-angle view inside a barn. Two men were leaning over the open hood of a large truck.

  Ted squinted his eyes and peered at the screen as the cameras switched angles. “Wait, go back.”

  “Huh?” Royce looked up from the switcher.

  “Go back to the front of the house, whatever camera that was.”

  “Cam two,” Royce said as he switched one of the monitors back to a wide-angle view looking down at the front porch. A gentle breeze blew a few stray leaves past the front door.

  “There’s no one there. I thought you said Duval and Swanson were out front?”

  Royce switched through all cameras. They watched as various angles of the house flashed in front of them.

  “The cameras, how mobile are they?” Ted asked.

  “Three hundred and sixty degrees,” Royce answered, as he continued switching angles.

  “Up! Point them up! All of them!”

  Royce grabbed a small joystick mounted next to the switcher and began panning the cameras up. A few angles were blocked by the trees, the roof, or other obstacles. But one panned all the way up, offering a clear view of the blue skies above the farmhouse.

  Ted pointed to a small black dot on the screen. “There … zoom in.”

  “Motherfucker! You’ve got some good eyes, man,” Matheson said, as he looked over Ted’s shoulder. “What is it?”

  The dot grew larger and more detailed. Ted knew what it was before the camera stopped zooming.

  “It’s a drone,” Ted snapped. “We're under surveillance.”

  Matheson gave Royce a puzzled look. “By who?”

  Royce stood up and drew a Glock 19 pistol from a holster at his belt. “Doesn’t matter. Get the package down here, we’re leaving now.” He picked up a walkie from the table and thumbed the talk button. “We are blown, repeat, we are blown. Everyone drop your shit and get to the barn, before—”

  CRASH!

  The front door splintered and flew open. Royce spun around and raised his weapon. Before he could fire, a tiny metal cylinder flew through the air and rolled across the floor.

  Ted dove under the table and covered his ears. The cylinder exploded. A brilliant white flash filled the air. Even with his eyes closed, the light was blinding. A split-second later, the massive shockwave assaulted his ear drums. As the ringing grew louder, he opened his eyes. Dark shapes swept through the smoke-filled room.

  He saw the muzzle flash of automatic weapons. Long plumes of orange fire pierced the smoke-filled air. The gunfire was silent to his ears. The only sound he could hear was the high-pitched ringing, growing louder and louder.

  He stumbled out from under the table, dropped to his knees, and clasped his hands over his head. He prayed that it was Rebecca and her Special Operations Group who had tracked him here. If that was the case, he might survive.

  And if it was option number two?

  Well, in that case, welcome to Vegas, buddy. Because you’ve just been cashed out.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was dark when Caine woke. He could tell by Sean’s rhythmic, loud breathing that the younger man was still asleep. Caine stood up and dressed. The two of them had slept in the living room, in the front of the house. Jia had shared the child’s room, and Alton was in Tiao and Guan-yin’s bedroom.

  Caine’s muscles ached from spending the night on the hard, cold wood floor. Still, he had to admit, it was far from the most uncomfortable place he had ever slept. He took a few minutes to stretch and listened for any signs of movement in the house. He heard nothing. Everyone else was still asleep.

  Sean was sleeping on a threadbare sofa that ran along the front wall of the house. Caine reached over and shook him. The younger man awoke with a start. He gasped, and Caine covered his mouth to prevent him from crying out. Sean’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he relaxed when he saw Caine’s face staring down at him. Caine removed his hand.

  “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, man,” Sean whispered. “I think I was having a nightmare or something.”

  “I’m not surprised. Keep your voice down.”

  Sean sat up on the sofa and fished around for his t-shirt. He sniffed the filthy, worn garment and grunted. “Damn, this thing smells like road kill. We need some new clothes.”

  “We’ll have to worry about that later. Maybe we can pick something up in Shanghai. Now get dressed, and meet me outside. Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.”

  Caine walked into the kitchen as Sean gathered the rest of his clothes in the living room. He heard the door open, and a gentle breeze drifted through the house. It carried the acidic, bitter taste of the air outside. Then the door closed as Sean slid outside.

  Caine stood still for a few seconds, letting his eyes continue to adjust to the light. He remembered seeing Taio hang the keys to the pickup truck on a hook near the stove. He felt along the walls next to the now cool stove, until the keychain jingled beneath his fingers. He paused and thought for a moment. Stealing a car from Alton’s family hadn’t exactly been his original plan.

  Plans change. Don’t make it personal. Keep moving.

  He snatched the keys up in his hand and left the kitchen.

  Outside, the wind was beginning to pick up again. A sliver of orange light rose above the horizon. It peered out between the towering smokestacks and black clouds of the Fang factory. The industrial pipes and buildings of the complex stood s
ilhouetted against the rising sun. Their black, twisted shapes looked like the skeletal remains of some ancient beast.

  Sean was standing next to the car, surveying the small, silent town. He turned and looked at Caine. “So now we’re car thieves?”

  “If you’ve got a better way to get to Shanghai, I’m all ears.”

  Sean shook his head.

  Caine walked over to the car. “That’s what I thought.”

  He heard the door to the house open. He spun around, his hand instinctively dropping to his waist.

  It was Jia. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a long t-shirt that fell just below her knees. Her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail. It trailed behind her in the wind as she stepped off the porch.

  Her liquid brown eyes searched Caine’s face. “You are leaving, aren’t you?” she asked. Her voice was almost lost in the wind.

  “Sean, get in the car,” Caine said.

  “Sorry, Jia,” Sean mumbled as he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. He closed the door with a soft thunk.

  Caine took a step towards her. “Look, Jia, I’m sorry, but it’s too dangerous. We can’t stay here.”

  “I understand. I just thought …”

  She moved closer to him and put a hand on his chest. The wind whipped through her t-shirt, plastering the thin fabric to her body.

  “I thought that night, in Beijing, there was something there. I thought you would at least say goodbye.”

  “It’s safer this way,” Caine said. “The more time you spend with us, with me … the more danger you’ll be in. Please, trust me. The less you know about all this, the better.”

  She nodded. “I understand. The work I do, the things I fight for … here, in China, it can be dangerous. I take risks as well. That night at dinner, you called me brave. But sometimes, it’s the ones we care about most who pay the price for our bravery.”

  A shiver ran through her body. Caine fought the urge to embrace her, to wrap his arms around her. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ve seen it firsthand. Too many times to count.”

  Jia lifted her chin and stared up at him. One of her hands moved up to his face. Her fingers traced the hard line of his jaw, then pressed into his stubble-covered cheek.

  “It makes it hard to live a normal live,” she said. “Hard to get close to anyone.”

  Her eyes were so close, he felt like the twin pools of brown and black filled his vision; they were all he could see. Then her eyes closed, and her lips touched his.

  He was surprised to find himself kissing her back. It was brief, just a moment of skin touching skin. But he felt her lingering touch after he broke away, tingling across his lips and flushed skin.

  “Zhu weishou de shagua,” she whispered into his ear as her face drifted away from his.

  Caine smiled. “You never told me what that means.”

  She laughed. Then she turned and walked towards the house. As she opened the door, she looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Then the door closed, and she was gone. Caine stood still for a minute, letting the wind carry the scent of her away, along with the memory of her touch. The electric shock of her lips faded.

  It was time to go.

  Caine opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. Sean struggled to wipe the grin off his face.

  “Hey man, you need a few minutes? If you want to go back in there, no worries,” he said.

  Caine gave him a sideways glance as he started up the truck and shifted into drive. “What about this super important thing you have to do in Shanghai?”

  “Man’s got to have his priorities, know what I mean?”

  Caine shook his head and pulled away from the house.

  “Kid, you’re an international fugitive. Plus, you're marked for death by the Triads and the NSA. Maybe you should re-examine your priorities.”

  Sean laughed. “That’s cold, man. Cold.”

  They pulled away from the house. The crumbling buildings and polluted waters of Huagu disappeared in their rearview mirror. As they drove down the long, empty road, everything behind them was lost in the dust and the hazy glow of the rising sun.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Fang paced down the sterile corridor at a rapid clip. Doctor Song kept up beside him, her heels clicking on the glossy white floor. Her attention was focused on the tablet she held in her slim hands. Medical charts and data flashed across the glowing screen.

  “These are excellent results, Mr. Fang. Hormone and blood cell counts are far better than we could have hoped for a woman of her age, and in her condition.”

  “She doesn’t look good,” Fang snapped. “When I look at her, do you know what I see?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I see a corpse. She is dying.”

  “Yes, she is,” Doctor Song said in her flat, matter-of-fact voice. “As I told you, transplanting the cancerous organ is a delaying tactic at best. It is not a long-term strategy.”

  “And I told you, Doctor, I want results! What exactly is your strategy then?”

  “Assuming her recovery continues at this pace, we can accelerate the next phase of treatment. The clinic recently installed a Mevion Proton Therapy system. It’s the most advanced form of radiation therapy available. Only a select few hospitals have access to such a device.”

  “She’s undergone radiation before; what makes this any different?” Fang asked

  Doctor Song tapped the tablet, bringing up a presentation video for the device. She held the tablet up for him to see as they walked.

  “The machine uses a miniaturized particle accelerator to increase the energy level of protons. The beam of radiation is much more controlled. We can direct it to a specific depth in the target body. This allows us to target her tumors, while causing much less damage to healthy tissue.”

  Fang pushed the tablet away. They reached the door to his mother’s room and stopped. “How soon can you begin the treatment?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  Doctor Song consulted her charts, then looked up at him. “She must have time to heal from her surgery first. Normal recovery for a transplant such as this would be three weeks. However due to the successful HBO treatment, I believe we can shorten that to two.”

  “Two weeks? What if her condition worsens before then?” Fang leaned towards the doctor. His eyes were two black dots of concentrated anger, and his mouth curled into a snarl. “I tell you, she does not look better. She looks worse. I warned you what would happen if she does not survive this treatment.”

  A look of fear shimmered across Dr. Song’s porcelain features. An instant later, it was replaced by her usual calm stare.

  “Mr. Fang … your mother is elderly. Her body is being ravaged by two different forms of cancer. And she has survived more surgical procedures than most women half her age. Thanks to you, this clinic is the most advanced cancer treatment facility in the world. If she were anywhere else, she would be dead by now.”

  The rage in Fang’s face intensified. He gripped her arm tighter, twisting his fingers into the fabric of her white lab coat.

  Then he exhaled. The anger and fury seemed to drain from his handsome features. They were replaced by a look of bewilderment and confusion. He looked away from the doctor, staring at the door next to them. More medical charts flashed across the screens mounted to its polished metal surface.

  “You’re right of course. I just … I wanted to—”

  Doctor Song pulled her arm from his grip. “What do you think is going to happen here, Mr. Fang? What is it you want for your mother? Because as a doctor, I must tell you … no matter what we do, her time is limited.”

  Fang looked at the doctor and gave her a sheepish grin. “What do I want for her? Immortality, of course.” He uttered a quiet, bitter laugh. “What else?”

  The doctor lowered her chin and looked at him over the rim of her glasses. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes scrutinized him, trying to see if he was jo
king. “Duibuqi,” she said, her voice still calm, but somehow softer. “I am sorry. I cannot give her that. No doctor can.”

  Fang nodded. His face hardened, and his eyes once again burned with intensity. “Very well. For now, she must live. Do whatever you have to.”

  “Dangran,” she said. “Wo hui jin wo suo neng. I will do my best.”

  She strode off down the hall, the clicking of her heels growing fainter as she left him. He opened the door and walked into his mother’s suite.

  He forced a cheery smile onto his face, and waved. “Muqin! Good morning … How are you feeling today?”

  He walked over to his mother’s bed. The old woman had been removed from the hyperbaric tube. Her withered body lay beneath the crisp white sheets of her adjustable bed. A small bank of electronics surrounded her. The equipment monitored her vital signs. Computers adjusted her medication drips. Pumps forced oxygen into her lungs through a tube in her throat.

  Fang’s smile beamed down on the old woman, but his eyes darted over the tubes with concern. They seemed to be everywhere … sprouting from her arms, her chest, and running beneath the sheets to God knew where. Each time he saw her, it seemed more ghastly devices were attached to her body.

  Fang’s mother turned her head, and her eyes parted a fraction of an inch. The two dark slits stared at him.

  “Wo de erzi,” she rasped, her voice a hoarse whisper. “My son … Where are your brothers?”

  Fang sighed. “They are not here, muqin. They are busy, working for me. Preparing for our day of triumph.”

  The old woman stared at him through her slit eyes. “Do not lie to me, my son. I know your heart as well as I know my own.”

  Fang looked down at the floor, then back up her. His smile faded, and his eyes filled with concern. “Forgive me, I did not want to disturb you.”

  “They are dead, aren’t they?” she croaked.

  He nodded. “Yes. They sacrificed themselves for me. For this family. Very soon now, I will ascend. I will become Dragon Father of the Lu Long. Our family will have power, money, and influence beyond our wildest dreams. We will get you the best treatment, the most advanced medicine. Nothing will—”