Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0) (12 page)

OK
, he thought.
 
Time to go to work.

Caine felt his muscles cramp and ache as he lay still in the underbrush of the jungle.
 
An uncountable number of insects, birds, and other creatures of the night chirped, squawked, and growled, creating a strange, primal symphony.
 
Despite this background of noise, the dark foliage he was concealed in felt still and unmoving.

It had taken hours to drive from Pattaya to Chang Mai.
 
Once there, he had purchased some necessary clothes and supplies.
 
After wolfing down a bowl of kha soi noodles and minced pork served by a street vendor, he had rented a battered, old truck.
 
Then he had loaded his heavy black duffel bag of weapons, and the newly purchased supplies, into the back.
 
He'd driven the truck roughly sixty miles north, following the coordinates Anna had given him, to the Mae Ping river.
 
A fishing barge had taken him across the river, for a few baht coins.
 

Now, after countless hours of non-stop travel and movement, he lay deathly still, looking out over the dark valley.
 
A small tributary of the larger river snaked its way west, cutting through the thick jungle canopy below.
 
Caine had held this position for over an hour.
 
A pair of compact night vision binoculars were pressed up against his eyes.
 
He turned his head back and forth, scanning the dark green curve of the river.

He had spotted a series of buildings on the northern bank.
 
They looked like shacks, hastily constructed from scrap wood and sheets of corrugated metal.
 
A few rust-covered trucks and jeeps were parked around the camp.
 
A small campfire burned in a clearing between the buildings, a brilliant, white hot point of light in his googles.
 
Glowing green figures crouched around the fire, cooking skewers of meat and boiling water in metal pots.

Anna's coordinates were correct.
 
This had to be the Red Wa camp.
 
He adjusted his binoculars and peered deeper into the darkness, sweeping back and forth between the buildings.
 
He counted at least twelve men outside.
 
Three guards were clustered around a wooden, fence-like structure.
 
Caine zoomed in closer.
 
He could see several figures moving within the fenced-in area.
 
A few more were lying on the ground.
 
It was difficult to tell through the night vision lenses, but Caine was certain they were the missing girls.
 
He was not too late.
 
There was still time.

Caine slipped the binoculars into a pouch that hung from his waist.
 
He was dressed in a black T-shirt and cheap black jeans he had purchased in Chang Mai.
 
His weapons were stored in a waterproof pack he carried on his back.
 
He slid across the ground, making no sound as he moved.
 
His muscles cramped, and bits of branches and rocks tore at his skin as he dragged his prone body over them.
 
The river was his goal, and he had to move slowly to avoid detection.
 
An inch at a time, closer and closer.
     

By the time he made it to the riverbank, his body was covered in muck.
 
Bits of grass and foliage clung to his face.
 
He lay still, letting his weight sink into the mud. He observed the camp, listening for any noise that sounded out of place, any sign that he had been spotted.
 
But the only sound was the rhythmic rise and fall of the jungle animals, chirping and squawking as before.

He took a deep breath and shimmied forward into the cold water.
 
A slight current stirred the river's murky surface.
 
Caine allowed it to push him a few yards downstream, towards the western edge of the camp.
 
Then he dove down and swam underwater.
 
His long, powerful kicks propelled himself through the liquid darkness.

An experienced diver, Caine could hold his breath for a long time.
 
But here, in this dark jungle river, infested with snakes and even crocodiles, he found himself rushing to reach the opposite shore.
 
Since leaving Pattaya, he had been running on adrenaline and luck.
 
He knew it was only a matter of time before either ran out.

When his grasping fingers scraped across mud and reeds, he knew he had reached the opposite riverbank.
 
Caine lifted his head a fraction out of the water, just enough to take a slow, shallow breath.
 
Then, once again, he crept forward inch by inch.
 
He was careful to slide across the stiff reeds without snapping them as he emerged from the river.
 

Keeping low, he made his way to a line of trees at the edge of the camp.
 
He could see the flicking campfire now, and make out the shadowy forms of the men surrounding it.
 
The fire would limit their vision to a few feet.
 
So long as he stayed in the penumbra surrounding the light, he would be invisible to them.

Circling around the trees, he stalked towards the fenced-in area.
 
It sat near the northern edge of the camp, the point farthest away from the river.
 
Caine paused behind another clump of trees and vines as he observed the area.

The fence was constructed from sharpened bamboo poles, each placed a few feet apart in the ground.
 
Lengths of barbed wire ran between each pole, and coiled razor wire ran along the top of the fence.
 
There was a small gate at the front of the pen, and a thick padlock kept it locked shut.
 
Two of the men stood guard at the front, while a third was circling the pen.
 
Caine watched as the man passed a few feet away from him, completely oblivious to his presence.

Caine let his arm drop to his side. His fingers curled around the Spyderco knife.
 
He slid his thumb into the hole stamped into the closed blade.
 
With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife snapped open.

The guard was a few feet ahead of his position, staring into the pen, watching the girls.
 
Caine accelerated, taking short, rapid steps to muffle the sound of his running.
 
As he closed in, the guard spun around, and Caine saw him raise a battered automatic rifle.
 
But he was too late.

Caine knocked the barrel aside and drove the blade of the knife up and into the man's throat.
 
The guard's eyes bulged, and blood spurted from his neck. Caine slid behind him and clamped a hand over the man's mouth, muffling his cries.

Dropping low, he dragged the man back into the underbrush.
 
As he moved, he twisted the knife, ripping open the wound more, allowing the blood to rush out faster.
 
Caine waited until the man's struggles began to die down.
 
After a few minutes, the guard stopped kicking and thrashing, and lay still.
 
Caine grabbed the fallen man's rifle, removed the clip, and tossed them both into the jungle.
 
Then he searched the corpse.
 
He pocketed a Leatherman utility tool and a small metal key that hung around the man's neck on a frayed cord.
 
Then he covered the body with vines and scraps of vegetation.

He made his way back to the cage.
 
Kneeling down next to one of the bamboo poles, he tapped the blade of the knife against the wood.
 
The sound was barely audible above the jungle noise.
 
He tapped again.
 
A dark figure crawled over to him, investigating the sound.

It was a girl.
 
She looked about twenty.
 
Her clothes were filthy and tattered, and her face was streaked with dirt and blood.
 
An ugly purple bruise surrounded her left eye.

Someone had beaten her.

Her eyes shot wide open when she saw him, and Caine realized he was covered in blood from the guard he had killed.
 
He raised a finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence.
 
He nodded towards the gate and the two remaining guards, standing just out of sight in the darkness.

The girl was still for a moment, a look of fear frozen on her face, like a deer caught in headlights.
 
She looked over her shoulder at the guards, then back at Caine.
 
She hesitated a few more seconds, then crawled towards him.

She pressed her face against the bars.
 
"Who are you?" she whispered.
 
"You help us, get us out of here?"

Caine shushed her and whispered back, even quieter, "Where's Naiyana?"

The girl pointed over her shoulder.
 
Caine nodded.
 
The girl understood.
 
She crawled back to the group of girls.
 
Their whispers rose to an audible chatter, and Caine cursed under his breath.
 
The guards were sure to take notice before long.

Another face crawled towards him from the darkness.

It was Naiyana.
 
She saw him, and covered her mouth with her hands.
 
Again, Caine raised his finger to his lips.
 
"It's OK," he whispered.
 
"Keep quiet.
 
I'm going to get you out of here."

"Oh my god!"
 
Her eyes began to tear up.
 
"How you find me?"

Caine shook his head.
 
"Later.
 
Here."
 
He slid the key into her hands.
 
"I took this from a guard.
 
Is this the key to the gate?"
 
Naiyana nodded as she wrapped her hands around his and took the key.

Naiyana reached a hand through the fence and touched his face.
 
"I knew you would come."

Caine removed her hand, and slipped the utility tool into her fingers.
 
"Here, take this, too.
 
It has a knife, just in case," he whispered.
 
"I'll distract the guards.
 
When the time comes, you have to move fast. Get across the river, hide on the other side of the valley.
 
I'll find you.
 
If I'm not there in thirty minutes, try to find the closest village."

"How I know when to go?" she asked.

Caine twisted his lips into a grim smile.
 
"Trust me.
 
You'll know."

He gave Naiyana a reassuring smile, then crept back into the shadows.

Caine made his way through the dark shadows that hung around the perimeter of the Red Wa camp.
 
He circled behind one of the small wood shacks, and dropped prone.
 
The shack was raised about a foot off the ground, and a small creek flowed through the muddy ground beneath it.
 
A bucket hung from a hole in the floor of the shack.
 
It floated in a lazy circle on the dark, still waters of the creek.

On the other side of the shack, Caine could see the rubber tires of a jeep. It was parked a few feet away from the building's entrance.
 
The vehicle stood between him and the campfire, where several of the men crouched and chattered among themselves.
 
From the excitement in their voices, Caine guessed they were playing a game.
 
Gambling of some kind.

He slid forward through the brush, making his way under the shack.
 
The water from the creek was shallow, but he had to crawl at a snail's pace to avoid splashing.
 
The mud was cold and sticky, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the jungle above.

As Caine slid past the bucket, he stopped moving and listened.
 
The building above sounded empty, and only a dim light shone down from the hole.
 
Ahead, beyond the parked jeep, the men continued their chatter, occupied by their game.

He slid out from under the shack.
 
For a few seconds, he was exposed, out in the open.
 
If any guards had been watching from the shack, or walking past the area ... but Caine's luck held.
 
No one walked by.
 
The men were still gathered around the campfire.
 
He moved under the jeep and rolled over onto his back.

Grabbing his knife, he cut two lengths of hose from the undercarriage.
 
Then, he pulled himself out from under the vehicle.
 
He crept along the side of the jeep, keeping it between himself and the campfire.
 
He unscrewed the gas gap. Working quickly, he inserted the longer hose, a thin black rubber tube he had ripped from the coolant system, into the gas tank.

Next, he inserted the shorter length, a thick red house crusted with old grease and engine oil.
 
Once the hoses were in place, he used his knife to cut off a scrap of his T-shirt, and stuffed it between the two hoses.

When the seal around the hoses was as airtight as he could make it, Caine wrapped his lips around the shorter hose.
 
He winced as the taste of dirt and grime filled his mouth.
 
He blew short, rapid puffs of air into the tank.
 
As the air pressure rose in the vehicle's gas tank, it forced the fuel out, and there was only one place for it to go.
 
A think trickle of gasoline began to spurt from the end of the other hose.