"Why?" Rebecca asked.
“Why would one man come back alone, to kill three highly trained Chinese operatives? When he could have had a hit squad do the job for him?”
Even as the words left his mouth, he knew the answer to his question. Some men worked better alone. Men who were trained to operate alone, who were deadlier operating alone than working with a team. Men who were proficient in killing and subterfuge.
Men like me, he thought.
Caine said nothing more as he descended the creaking steps. He returned downstairs and joined Rebecca on the street. They walked quickly from the Witches Market and headed east. “We’re coming for you Tyler. Give us your pos—”
A series of loud cracks echoed from the distant street ahead. Static crackled over the radio.
“Tyler?” Rebecca called anxiously. "Tyler, are you—"
“I’ve been spotted.”
“Are you hit?” Caine hissed.
“No, but he’s got me pinned down.”
Caine and Rebecca broke into a sprint. “We’re headed your way,” Caine yelled as his feet pounded the cobblestone. “Give us your exact location.”
More gunfire pierced the cold night air. Then the screech of a car's brakes.
“Fuck!” Tyler screamed.
“Tyler, you okay?” Caine asked. “Tyler, answer me!"
The radio was silent. Their footsteps pounded across the cobblestone, echoing off the stone walls around them. Finally, an answer came back through their earpieces.
“I’m good,” Tyler grunted. “Close one though. The target has exfiltrated. Van showed up out of nowhere. He got away.”
The wail of sirens pierced the night. They were far in the distance, but Caine could hear them moving closer.
“Get out of there,” Caine snapped. “Lose the gun.”
“Already two hundred steps ahead of you.”
Rebecca peeled away from Caine, acting like he didn’t exist. “We need to split up,” she instructed over the radio. “Plaza Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz. We regroup there. I don’t need to tell you to watch for tails.”
Caine increased his pace, walking away from her at a smooth, consistent speed. He didn’t want to act in a way that would alert suspicion. Plaza Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz was to the west. It was one of their preplanned rendezvous points, should anything go wrong. And apparently, things had just gone very wrong.
To confuse anyone who might be tailing them, Caine headed south for a few blocks, then west, then north. A convoy of police cars screamed by. Caine looked away, pretending to check messages on his phone. The police cars didn’t stop, and soon he was moving again.
Plaza Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz was a roundabout lit up by street lights. Taxis, tour vans and four-wheel drives circled the busy street. The center was a park enclosed in a wrought iron fence. Even at this late hour children played with their parents on the lush green field. Along the fence were dozens of stalls selling a variety of clothes. The surrounding buildings were three to five stories high. Caine assumed they were office blocks or apartments.
The three of them met up, then turned and walked downhill along Zolio Flores. A street band in ponchos and sombreros, thinking Caine and Rebecca were tourists, followed after them. They played 'The Lonely Shepard' on their pan flutes. Caine shoved a wad of money at the lead minstrel.
"Sorry. Not in the mood for music," he muttered. The musicians faded back into the shadows. The trio kept walking.
“Jack, what happened?” Rebecca asked. She walked between the two men, but she did not look at either of them as she spoke. All their eyes were darting around the city, scanning the streets and alleys for threats.
“Skeleton Face had an escape plan. Van just showed up, and in he went. The other guys inside spotted me and started shooting. That’s about it.”
“Did you get a plate number?” Rebecca asked. “Or a description of the men in the van?”
Tyler shook his head. “Negative on both. It was dark, and they were shooting at me. But I have to say, I got a feeling about them.”
“What kind of feeling?” asked Rebecca.
“I’ve seen their kind before. In Colombia, and Mexico. Skeleton Face wasn’t afraid, wasn’t hiding who he was. Cocky even, like he was invincible. Like no one could touch him.”
“Not a special forces or intelligence team then?” Caine asked. Professional state-sponsored paramilitary teams were trained to blend in with their surroundings. They usually went unnoticed, until they made their move. What Tyler described sounded more like an organized crime hit.
“No,” Tyler said, and shook his head. “In fact, I’d say they were sicario. A cartel death squad.”
“Cartel?” Caine asked. “What the hell would a drug cartel want with a Chinese submarine technician?”
“Got me,” Tyler said, keeping his eyes on the dark street ahead of them. “Like I said, it's just a feeling."
Rebecca shook her head. “I can think of a dozen reasons why.” She didn’t explain further. “Look, we have to focus.” She looked at both men, catching their attention. “The op to extract Su Liao… Is everything in place?"
Both men nodded.
Caine looked at Rebecca, trying to read her expression. He knew they were operational and they all had their game faces on, serious and focused. But something didn’t sit right with Caine. Rebecca was acting like she didn’t trust him.
“Good,” Rebecca said. Her voice was low and calm, and she spoke with authority. Whatever was bothering her, Caine knew he and Tyler would follow her orders without question. “Tyler and I will collect the van and get everything ready here. Tom?” She stared into his eyes. He stared back. Rebecca’s expression was as cold as the night air.
“Yes Ma’am?”
“Get to Aeropuerto Internacional El Alto. Pick up Su Liao and bring her to the agreed spot."
Caine nodded. "Will do."
A cold wind blew across the cobblestone street. Rebecca brushed a strand of long dark hair out of her face. "Good," she replied. "Then there's only one thing left to do after that… We kill her.”
Chapter Twelve
AEROPUERTO INTERNACIONAL EL ALTO, BOLIVIA
Su Liao's heart raced. She felt dizzy, and her mouth was dry. When she tried to speak, her voice cracked.
Despite her panicked state, she knew exactly what was causing these symptoms. She was terrified beyond belief.
Ever since boarding the flight to South America, every waking moment she felt like she would die. She was certain her terror and anxiety would strangle her heart, and stop it from beating. That fear itself would kill her. But it didn’t.
She passed through customs without incident. As she made her way through the baggage claims, her brown eyes darted around the airport. She glanced at the crowd of tourists, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be looking for her. But no one seemed to pay her any mind.
Taking a deep breath, she slung her pack over her shoulder and entered the public terminal. She darted through the crowd, pushing her way past shops and cafes. People were everywhere. Men approached her, jabbering about taxis and hotels. Others waved cardboard signs with names written in black marker. Su noticed she was the only Asian person in the terminal. Most of the crowd consisted of Caucasian and African-American tourists.
She readjusted her backpack and kept moving. Bolivia’s main airport followed the same design of every other airport she had visited in Asia. Modern air bridges and steel girder roofs arched overhead. Baggage trolleys and security carts zoomed past her. Hanging signs indicated terminal numbers, ATM's and toilets. Only billboards were different. They advertised local activities for tourists.
As she walked past a towering sign featuring a jaguar stalking through the jungle, she realized she was being followed. Two men were walking on either side of her, matching her pace. Before she could move away, they closed in and bumped her. The man on her left grabbed her arm. She felt something cold and sharp press against her kidney. Su gasped, and froze
in place. A single twist of the man’s wrist and the blade would impale her.
The other bearded man took her backpack and slung it over his shoulders. “Senorita,” the man with the knife hissed. He had a reedy, whistling voice. “Bolivia can be a dangerous country for young, pretty women like yourself.”
A tremor ran across her face, but she said nothing. She tried to control her shaking. She realized her fear had been justified. After coming so far, after finally escaping China… She was about to be murdered before she could even leave the airport.
Together they approached a men's room. A plastic sign on the floor blocked the doorway, indicating the toilet needed maintenance. The men kicked the sign aside, and led her inside. She coughed, then gagged. The dingy room stank of urine, and a pool of dirty water sloshed across the floor. The open stalls reeked of fecal matter, and overflowed with used paper towels.
Two men stood waiting inside. Each held a semi-automatic pistol with silencers. They wore identical maintenance uniforms, but Su knew they weren't cleaners.
The man with the knife spun her around and pressed his chest up against her back. He looped an arm around her neck. With his free hand, he pressed the knife into her soft throat. He spun her around and pushed her forward, towards the mirror hanging above the wash basins. Su could see his reflection in the spattered, cracked glass.
Despite his wiry frame and gaunt features, he was incredibly strong. She knew she would not be able to break his hold on her. She was too terrified to even try.
“He said you would run,” the skeletal man hissed. “I’m so glad. I’m going to enjoy working on you.” He lowered the knife to her sweater and sliced through the wool. He continued making long, slow cuts. He dragged the blade along her clothes, until the sweater and most of her shirt underneath hung in tatters.
A tremor ran through Su’s body. Tears streamed down her face, and a barely audible whimper escaped her lips. "Please," she whispered in English. "Please, I swear I won't—"
“Shhhhhh!" The gaunt man pressed the cold knife to her lips. “Soon you will see. This blade goes through flesh just as easily.” He grinned when he saw the look of terror in her eyes. One of the men behind them chuckled. She would have fainted if the skeletal man’s grip wasn’t tight around her.
He cut again. The remains of her sweater fell to the floor.
Su froze in fear. She’d read how drug cartels tortured their victims. Slit their throats and pulled their tongues out through the butchered windpipe. ‘Colombian neckties’, they call it.
“Wha… What do you want?” she asked, still speaking English. She did not speak Spanish, and it seemed unlikely these men could understand Chinese. “Did Zhao Jianyu send you?”
The skeletal man grinned like a harlequin clown. The effect of his smile was even more unsettling. “Oh, Senorita, you don’t know the half of it.” He sliced away what little remained of her shirt, until she stood wearing only her bra. She knew he would cut that away soon, then her pants. Then a long, slow butchering of her flesh…
Her attacker paused and turned to his bearded underling, then barked orders in Spanish.
The bearded man stepped up to the sink. Glancing up at the mirror, Su could see he wore a thick gold necklace, and his hair was slicked back with gel. He emptied the contents of her pack into the sink. Some loose tees and panties fell out, followed by half a bottle of water, some toiletries and a local guidebook. He picked out a pair of her panties and sniffed them.
“Please," she whimpered again. Please don’t kill me.”
The leader’s knife was back at her throat. “Oh, do not fret. We won’t kill you… Not yet.” His grin grew wider. “First we’re going to have some fun.”
The knife tickled her throat. A tiny droplet of blood fell from her skin, and splashed in the sink.
Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open. It crashed into the wall, and the sound echoed through the small, dank room like a canon.
A man charged inside.
Su could barely see what was happening in the filthy, chipped mirror. She heard men scuffling, saw a few quick flashes of motion in the streaked glass. One of the men in the cleaner’s uniform hit the ground with a loud thud.
The bearded man's silenced pistol made a coughing sound as it fired. But the intruder already had the other cleaner in a hold, and used the body as a human shield. A pattern of crimson dots spread across the man’s uniform. Ducking down, the intruder released the corpse and raised a gun of his own.
More shots whined through the bathroom. The bearded man’s head snapped back. Blood and brain fragments spattered the white sinks. A stray shot hit the mirror and it exploded into a thousand shimmering fragments.
The skeletal man dropped Su. She fell to the urine-soaked floors, screaming and crying. She covered her head with her hands and curled into a fetal position.
The leader charged toward the intruder, his knife slashing a wide arc through the air. The intruder tried to spin around and target the gaunt man, but he was too close… a crimson gash sliced across the intruder's shooting arm. Blood stained the sleeve of his jacket, and his pistol clattered to the floor.
The tall, gangly man shoved past him, and fled the men's room. He did not spare even a second to look back at his fallen comrades. One moment he was there. The next, he was gone.
The intruder stood still for a moment, panting for breath. Then he walked over to Su and offered his hand. He helped her up off the stinking floor. She was still trembling, shivering uncontrollably. He removed his jacket and gently draped it around her shoulders.
Su was still dizzy from fear and shock, and her vision was blurred. But she instantly recognized the man's warm smile and piercing, emerald green eyes. She threw her arms around him, and pressed her face into his chest.
Thomas Caine had just saved her life.
Chapter Thirteen
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Caine said as he recovered his pistol and slid it into the waistband of his jeans. “Are you hurt?”
Su Liao shook her head. "No… No." She gave a nervous laugh. "I can't seem to stop shaking, but I'm okay."
Caine removed his thick wool sweater. He tore the sleeves from his shirt, and used the materials as a makeshift bandage. Working quickly, he wrapped the fabric around the long, crimson gash along his forearm. He tied off the bandage, then pulled the jumper back on and washed his hands.
His jacket hung loose on her slim body, but Su slipped her arms in the sleeves and zipped up the front. She then wrapped her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders. “Who were those men?”
“Colombian cartel. Hitmen.” Caine took her arm and led her outside. His eyes swept across the terminal, scanning the area for threats. The sicarios’ gaunt leader was long gone. No one else seemed to have noticed the commotion that had transpired. The airport was noisy and the PA system broadcast frequent announcements. He was confident no one would have heard the silenced gunfire through the closed door.
“Keep moving,” Caine ordered.
It was dark when they stepped outside the airport. Su checked her watch. The local time was just after midnight, but jet lag made her feel like it was the middle of the afternoon. They crossed over to the short-term car park. Caine took her to a Mazda 3 sedan and unlocked the doors with the key fob remote. “Get in.”
Su slipped into the passenger seat. Her face was pale, and she covered her mouth with her hands. Suddenly, she was gagging. She opened the door and vomited her breakfast onto the pavement. She coughed and retched again, as another spasm ran through her stomach. Then she sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I just—"
"Don’t worry about it," Caine replied. "It's normal. Just breathe.”
He reached over and closed her door. Then he accelerated through the car park, stopping to pay with cash at the exit gate. Then they sped off, heading west away from La Paz. Streetlights and traffic were the only pinpoints of illumination in the dark streets.
; Caine dialed a number on his cell phone. “I have the asset,” he said after the call connected. “We proceed with the plan, Highway Nineteen, on the overpass at Avenue Bolivia. There was an incident at the airport, but the original extraction point still stands.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. He turned to Su. “There are new clothes in the back. Get changed.”
Su nodded. She turned around, and grabbed the bag sitting on the back seat. "What happens now?" she asked.
“We have a plan. But for it to work, you need to look the part.”
Su said nothing as she slipped into the new clothes. The outfit appeared to be rugged hiking gear… jeans, boots, a wool sweater knitted with a geometric Incan pattern, and a rain jacket. As they sped along the dark road, she was grateful no one could see inside the car. She shimmied into the jeans, then began tying the laces of the boots.
“You still have your passport?” Caine asked.
She nodded.
“Hang onto that. Everything else has to go.” Caine took her pile of old clothes and threw them out the window as they drove. Su was too stunned to ask why.
After that, Caine drove in silence. His eyes kept glancing from the windshield to the rearview mirror. Su realized he was watching the roads, both ahead and behind them. Sometimes he would even turn and monitor the sky out the driver's side window, even though thick, dark clouds blocked out the stars.
“What are you looking for?” Su asked, still tasting the bile in her mouth.
“We’re being followed,” Caine explained. “A Mitsubishi Outlander with four men inside. Right now they’re three cars behind us. One of them is the man with the knife, from the bathroom. The one who got away.”
“How do you know that? It’s pitch black outside.”
Caine grinned. “They stopped next to us at traffic lights a few kilometers back. The light from stores lit up the interior for a few seconds. They were easy enough to spot.”
Su shuddered. She was almost sick again. “What… What do they want with me?”
Depth Charge Page 7
