[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black by Andrew Warren Page A

they were never there to begin with, just a trick of the light.
    He opens his mouth to laugh, but no sound comes. There is no sound at all. Not the creaking of his chains, not the rats scurrying from the sacks of rotten grain in the corner … all is silent.
    Caine opens his mouth again, trying to make a sound, any sound. He shouts for help, he cries out his name, but nothing comes out, not even a dry croak. It is as if a heavy blanket has been laid over the entire room and no sound can escape its smothering embrace. But if he can’t speak, how will he tell his lies? How can he win the game?
    He hears footsteps on the stairs. In the unnatural silence, each step echoes like a gunshot. He twists and shakes, struggling to free himself. More blood spills from his ravaged body. Crimson droplets strike the sand beneath his feet.
    CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. They are close now. He can not see them, but the sunlight blinks and shifts as they descend the stairs.
    And Caine knows one thing. When they come, the pain will start again. And it will feel like forever. Until the next time. And then forever will begin again.
    He screams. Not for help. Not in pain. He screams just to scream. But there is no sound.
    Caine woke up screaming.
    He was laying atop a mattress of tattered, soiled blankets. The cell designed for two prisoners now housed eight men. They had to sleep lying head to toe across the floor. Their elbows and shoulders touched, skin rubbing against sweaty skin. The stench of the open toilet wafted through the still air. A single lightbulb filled the room with a pale, flickering glow.
    Caine had found sleep nearly impossible for the first few days, but now exhaustion and hunger had dulled his nerves. Tonight he’d finally managed to plunge into a deep trance before the nightmare woke him.
    The other men in the room grumbled and moaned, pulled from their slumber by his screams and thrashing. But no one uttered a world of complaint, not after his violent display in the prison yard.
    Caine sat up and rubbed his aching shoulders. He had known the nightmares would come, just as surely as he had known Lau would send his killers. And he had known someone from the agency would come looking for him, once his alias popped up on their radar. But seeing Rebecca again…. It had to be someone. It just happened to be her. She didn’t come for you. She came to recruit an asset.
    And Bernatto. He had avoided thinking about the man for years. He had buried the past, with all its pain and betrayal and death. He’d even buried his own name. He had lost himself in his false identity, eking out a meager existence among the smugglers, pimps, and other entrepreneurs of the street. Hiding.
    No, surviving , he countered. He almost believed it. But after seeing Rebecca, surviving no longer seemed like enough.
    He took a deep breath. Stepping carefully, he picked his way across the carpet of bodies lining the floor. He stepped on a few elbows and fingers along the way, but again, no one confronted him. They grunted and shifted out of his way.
    When he reached the wire mesh gate, he pounded it with his fist, sending a metallic clang echoing through the prison. “Guard! Get over here.”
    Mumbled complaints and curses drifted from the other cells, as footsteps traipsed down the hall.
    “ Aow a-rai !” the block guard barked. “What do you want?”
    “The lady left me a file. I want to see it.”
    The guard stared at Caine for a few seconds. Had he overplayed his hand? Whatever leverage Rebecca had over the warden to set up her secret little meeting, maybe it was played out now.
    The guard muttered a curse, then shouted down the hall to his partner as he unlocked the door. The other guard arrived and yanked Caine from the cell. “Let’s go,” he said in a thick Thai accent.
    Caine looked back into the cell as the door swung closed. Its dark shadow moved across the other prisoners. They were a tangled mass of bodies, contorted into whatever space was