Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0) (13 page)

Caine grabbed the thin black tube.
 
He sprayed as much of the vehicle's tires as he could with the gasoline, and soaked the ground beneath the jeep with the volatile fuel.

When the tank was empty, Caine crawled back under the shack.
 
He shimmied through the mud to the hanging bucket and used it to pull himself up through the hole in the floor.

As he surfaced, he swept the area with his pistol, peering into the shadows for any sign of movement.
 
The small building was empty.
 
Plastic tarps covered stacks of building materials, but no guards were present.
 
A single lantern hung near the door, bathing the room in a soft, flickering glow.

Caine holstered his pistol and unslung the MP7 submachine gun that hung by a shoulder strap at his side.
 
With rapid, practiced motions, he extended the stock and flipped down the front grip.

He made his way to the door, grabbed the lantern, and took a deep breath.

Then, Caine kicked open the door and tossed the lantern towards the jeep.

A gigantic fireball blasted up into the dark sky.

Caine took cover behind the doorframe.
 
The men outside began to shout and scream.
 
Peering around the corner, he saw shadowy figures running towards the burning jeep. He pushed away from the building and opened fire with the submachine gun.

Multiple rounds of high-velocity ammunition penetrated the lead guard, and his body danced and jerked from the impact.
 
Caine could see splatters of blood fly from his body, lit up bright red by the brilliant glow of the burning jeep.

He ducked back behind the door as another guard opened fire with an AK-47.
 
The powerful bullets shredded the thin walls of the shack.
 
Caine clenched his teeth as he felt trails of hot air streak past his face, missing him by only a few millimeters.

Caine backed up, taking cover behind one of the tarp-covered stacks.
 
His visibility was now limited to the rectangle of the doorframe.
 
He fired blind, sending a hail of bullets out into the darkness.

He heard footsteps rushing towards him.
 
He popped up from his cover and fired again.
 
His burst cut down an over-eager guard who had charged the entrance of the shack.
 
The guard spun and fell face down on the floor.

Caine ducked back down and ejected the empty magazine from the MP7.
 
As he slammed more ammo into the weapon, he heard the shattering of glass, and then a
whoosh
. The crackling noise of fire filled the room.
 
Caine turned and saw the corpse in the entrance of the shack ignite in flames.
 
One of the men outside had thrown a Molotov cocktail into the entrance.
 
The tiny wood building was burning.

Caine stood up and sprayed a long burst of automatic fire out the door.
 
He saw another man drop, and the remaining guards scattered.
 
They took cover behind other buildings in the camp.

He coughed as thick, hot smoke began to fill the tiny room.
 
Tongues of fire snaked up the doorframe, engulfing the entrance of the shack in a wreath of flame.

Caine emptied the MP7 into the rear wall of the shack.
 
The bullets chewed through the thin wood wall as if it were paper.
 
He let the gun hang to his side as he began to kick the wall down.
 
He knew he could slip back down into the creek if need be, but he didn't want to take the chance of the burning building collapsing on top of him.

It took only seconds to kick a large hole in the shredded wall.
 
Caine leapt through, hit the ground, and rolled.
 
Behind him, the burning shack began to sag and dip as the fire tore through its thin wood structure.
 
Sparks and burning embers drifted up into the air, like a cloud of tiny fireflies.

He heard footsteps running towards him.
 
Drawing his pistol, he jogged over to an outcropping of trees and took cover.
 
The crackle of automatic weapon fire burst through the air.
 
Muzzle flash from multiple weapons lit up the jungle. He returned fire with his pistol, sending double taps towards each firing position.
 
He looked back into the camp towards the fenced-in cage.
 
The gate was open; the pen was empty.
 
Naiyana and the girls had escaped.

He moved deeper into the jungle surrounding the camp.

A cluster of bullets splintered a tree to his right, sending a fine shrapnel of wood fragments into the air.
 
A shard struck his face, and he taste blood.
 
He returned fire and heard screams of pain echo from the darkness.

Caine moved again, running through the jungle.
 
Occasionally he turned and fired into the darkness.
 
He was just covering his retreat now, hoping to slow his pursuers.
 
Up ahead was the river.
 
If he could make it across, he knew he could lose them in the thick jungle valley beyond.
 
Then he could find the girls and lead them back to safety.

But first, he had to buy them some more time, let them get farther away from the camp.

Caine fired behind him again, emptying his pistol.
 
He tossed it aside. He slammed another magazine into the MP7 submachine gun and dropped to a kneeling position.
 
He saw shadows moving in the jungle, backlit by the burning shack.
 

He opened fire, sending a rain of death towards the men that pursued him.

Then he turned and pushed his way through the reeds towards the river.
 
He saw its dark glossy surface up ahead.
 
In the moonlight, its rippling water looked like the scales of an enormous black serpent.
 
Caine took a step forward and felt the cool water slosh against his leg.

Suddenly, he felt something sharp pierce his neck.

He reached back.
 
His fingers brushed against a hard, sharp object, buried in his skin.
 
He ripped it out and examined it in the moonlight.
 
It was a dart, the kind that was launched from a high-powered air rifle.

Caine had participated in many kidnappings--or "extraordinary renditions", as they were known in the trade.
 
He knew the dart would be laced with a potent sedative.
 
He cursed.
 
This was the weapon of a government operative, not jungle guerrillas or human traffickers.
 
He had not prepared for this.

He took another step forward, and stumbled.
 
The muscles in his legs went numb.
 
He collapsed, falling face forward into the river.
 
As his head sank into the dark water, a black mist engulfed his mind.
 
He felt light as air, as if the faint current might sweep him away.
 

Naiyana is free
, he thought.
 
At least there was that.
   

He heard were splashing footsteps surrounding him.
 
Strong hands lifted him from the water and dragged him to shore.
 

"Da, this is the man I told you about."
 
The voice was deep and thick, and spoke with a Russian accent.
 
"He is going by the name Mark Waters.
 
But his real name is Thomas Caine."

Alexi Rudov gazed down at Caine with his strange, blue eyes.
 
Another man stood next to him, his face hidden by a dark shadow.
 
Who are these men
? Caine thought.
 
How do they know my name?

The other man tilted his head, examining Caine's face.
 
"Bring him," the man said.
 
"I wish to talk with him."
 
As the effects of the drug increased, Caine's senses began to deaden.
 
He heard the sound of the man's voice twist and distort into a deep growl.

"What is there to talk about?" Alexi asked.
 
"You wanted to see his face.
 
Now you see.
 
We kill him, and be done with it."

"Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The man strode away.
 
"I said bring him.
 
Do not question me again, Alexi."

Then, Caine heard nothing more.
 
He sank into the black depths of unconsciousness.

A thin beam of light filled Caine's vision.
 
He realized it was his own eyelids, cracking open.
 
His thoughts felt thick and slow, as if his mind were trapped in quicksand.
 
He felt a slight irritation at the back of his neck, and remembered the dart striking him there.

He could hear the sounds of the jungle in the distance.
 
Dirt pressed against his cheek.
 
He was outside.
 
The night air was humid and oppressive, and his clothes were soaked with sweat.
 
He groaned and rolled over.
 
His arms and legs were cuffed together with zip ties.
 
As his vision cleared, his surroundings came into focus.
 
He was lying on the ground, in the dirt pen, the one that had previously held Naiyana and the other girls.

He had been captured.

Two men approached the cage.
 
They wore frayed camouflage pants and old, worn T-shirts.
 
One of the shirts was faded red, with a white eagle printed on the front.
 
The other man's shirt featured a can of soda in a bright yellow circle.
 
The design looked familiar, but all the writing was in Asian characters Caine could not read.

The men murmured to each other in a singsong patois of Chinese and Burmese.
 
One kept an AK-47 trained on Caine, while the other opened the gate and stepped inside the pen.
 
He flicked open a butterfly knife, slit the straps that bound Caine's legs, and hoisted him to his feet.

"You follow," the man said in broken English.
 
"He want to see you now."

Caine held up his bound wrists and smiled, but the man ignored him and gave him a shove towards the gate.

They walked Caine through the camp, past the shack he had set on fire.
 
The building was now a pile of ash and blackened timbers that had collapsed into the creek.
 
Caine saw little movement elsewhere in the camp.
 
He had cut down their numbers in the gunfight, and he assumed the men that were left had dispersed into the jungle to search for the girls.
 
He hoped he had given them enough of a head start.

He was led to the largest building in the camp, which wasn't saying much.
 
The large shack was still constructed of scavenged scraps and rotting timbers, but it was three times the size of the other buildings.
 
A torn red curtain hung over the entrance.
 
Caine heard classical music drifting out from between the strips of fabric.

The men nudged him forward.
 
Caine parted the curtain with his bound fists and ducked into the dark interior.

Inside, the room was lit by several bulbous paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling.
 
They cast a warm glow over a low, square table.
 
Mildewed cushions were scattered across the floor. Alexi Rudov sat cross-legged on one of the cushions, his large, blue eyes squinting in discomfort.
 
A few feet away from him sat an older Asian man, one Caine had not seen before.

He looked to be in his late forties, although it was difficult to tell.
 
His face looked drawn and tired, haggard even.
 
But his skin was tan and soft, and had a youthful appearance.
 
His shoulders and chest were slim and athletic.
 
He wore his hair long, and it framed his narrow, hawkish features.
 
The hair, like his eyes, was pure jet black.
 
Only his goatee showed any signs of gray.

He was eating from a bowl of rice and vegetables.
 
He lifted the food into his mouth with slow, deliberate motions of his right hand.
 
He kept his left hand under the table.
 

Caine stood in silence for a moment.
 
The music played softly in the background, but he did not recognize the piece.

The man looked up and observed him with coal black eyes.
 
Reaching out as if in slow motion, the man pointed to the table.
 
"Sit.
 
Eat."
 
His voice was deep and powerful.

Caine sat down cross-legged, opposite the man.
 
He held up his fists.
 
"Do you mind?
 
Hard to eat like this."

The man smiled thinly and slowly chewed his food.
 
"I'm sure you will manage.
 
Try the tea leaf salad.
 
It's delightful."

Caine sighed. He tried to remember when his last meal had been.
 
Whatever was coming, it would be better to face it with a full stomach.
 
He grabbed a small metal bowl, and did his best to scoop some of the rice and vegetable concoction into it with his bound hands.

The tea salad consisted of bitter green tea leaves, mixed with sliced tomatoes, cabbage, chickpeas, and nuts.
 
The cold dish was refreshing, and mixed well with the warm, steamed rice.
 
Caine tipped the bowl into his mouth, ignoring the bits of food that spilled to the ground.