by Kae Bell
“Ahh. So sorry but Mr. Cheng…” She swallowed. “Mr. Cheng is not in today. So very sorry.” She smiled apologetically.
Andrew stared hard at her for a minute, and then turned to go. “OK, thank you.” He pushed part way through the door then turned back toward her and approached her desk. Her face showed her surprise.
“Is Mr. Cheng’s Supervisor in today? It is quite important. I’m here from the US Embassy.” Andrew flashed the temporary plastic badge Janey had given him.
The receptionist’s eyes widened and she glanced back at the blinking red light on her phone. Andrew stood in front of her desk, his arms by his side. Waiting. He nodded toward the phone.
She picked up the phone again and dialed an extension. She spoke rapidly into the phone and hung up.
“Mr. Cheng supervisor is here. He will see you. Please, you take a seat.” She gestured toward the row of white plastic chairs along the side of the wall. Andrew glanced over his shoulder.
“Yes, please, over there,” Devi said, anxious. She did not get many visitors who insisted on seeing supervisors.
“OK.” Andrew took a seat in a small molded plastic chair. On a television mounted on the far wall a zombie movie was playing. Andrew watched as the half dead ravaged a small village, screaming townspeople everywhere. It didn’t seem appropriate television for a government Ministry. But who was he to judge.
A door directly next to his seat opened and a short Cambodian man with a small paunch came out of the back office to stand in front of Andrew, blocking his view of the film. He gave Andrew a curt nod.
“You are here to see Mr. Cheng.”
“Yes.”
“We are so very sorry for to tell you, but Mr. Cheng is not here today.”
“Yes, so your receptionist said. Do you know if he’ll be back in tomorrow? I have some questions for him.”
“No. We do not know.” The man smiled and spread his hands open wide, palms up, as if that resolved the issue. “We are so very sorry that Mr. Cheng is not here. Sorry for your trouble. Thank you for coming to visit the Kingdom.”
With that the man bowed, turned quickly and disappeared behind the door, leaving Andrew standing in the lobby watching the door. At her desk, Devi refused to look at Andrew. Andrew walked out the door, with a backward glance, catching Devi peek at him as Andrew walked away.
*******
At four PM, workers streamed out of the Ministry, climbing onto bicycles, motos, tuk-tuks. Stylish boyfriends on shiny red motos picked up their perfectly-coiffed girlfriends.
Devi pulled her bicycle from the dense row of bicycles along the building’s side and wheeled it out the front gate. There, she eased herself into the rush hour traffic.
She followed the road from the right, where the fork offered a choice to go east or north. She chose east, toward the river. Andrew followed her from a distance on his moto, a helmet concealing his face. He followed her onto Sisowath Quay, past the Chinese Art House and over the Japanese Bridge. She drove east, past small shops, weaving in and out of the unpredictable traffic. Andrew, less skilled at navigating, dodged a few oncoming tuk-tuks, the drivers tskking at him.
She pedaled for a mile before turning down a dirt side road. The houses along this road were sheet metal shacks, open to the road and the elements. Dogs nipped at chickens that wandered free in the street. Barefoot children ran up and down the road.
Devi stopped in front of one of the metal houses and hopped off her bike, leaning it against the metal wall. She walked inside and moments later Andrew heard the delighted yelps of happy children. Andrew decided he would wait until she had settled the children down and fed them. Standing outside, he listened to stories told in Khmer of the day’s events, the mother cooking dinner and then scolding the children to bed. At the sounds of cleaning up, plates and bowls being scraped of food, stray cats came running from dusty alleyways, anxious for their share.
When the sounds had died down, Andrew knocked on the metal wall that served as the entrance to the shack. He leaned into the light of the open doorway and saw the woman look up from the back room, where she was setting washed dishes aside. Andrew heard the sharp intake of her breath, the surprise at seeing his unwanted white face again.
“What do you want?” she asked. Andrew could hear the fear in her voice, underneath the bravado. There was no man of this house to protect her or her children. He had been kicked out years before.
“I need to speak with you.”
Devi stared at Andrew, and then out past him, in to the night. She stepped by him in the doorway and looked up and down the street, which was empty save for the strays.
“How did you find me?”
“I followed you home. I’m sorry to bother you. But a friend of mine has been killed. I need to speak with Mr. Cheng. He has information that might help me find out why my friend was killed.”
The moon rose in the east, shining through wispy clouds on the horizon. The woman looked stricken. In the dim light Andrew could see her face had gone ashen.
“Mr. Cheng cannot see you. Mr. Cheng is dead.”
Chapter 13
Bright with colored lights and paper lanterns, the embassy lawn was humming with activity. By 9:00 PM, the party was in full swing. Under a large white tent, tipsy revelers swayed to a live band and sipped the generous free champagne. Dignitaries stood apart, trying to look official in their inebriated state. Additional armed guards at the embassy gate checked names and passes against a long guest list. Anyone not on the list was not getting in, they repeatedly told curious passersby and tourists.
Inside the embassy, in the basement bowels, Andrew hunched over his desk, bleary-eyed. He had returned from Devi’s to give Flint an update via Skype. Flint’s face filled the computer screen. Andrew was explaining his day’s activities.
Dance music started up outside on the Embassy lawn, the pounding beat. picked up by the computer microphone.
Flint interrupted Andrew. “What is that cacophony? Are you at a club?”
Andrew turned the computer screen left and right, the camera panning across the bare office. “Does it look like a club?”
“No club I’ve been to.” She paused to unwrap a piece of gum and stuff it in her mouth. “Listen. The dad is calling me every hour on the hour. Pain in my ass. You’ve got to give me something, Shaw.”
Flint was a tough New York broad. Four generations of Flints had lived in Manhattan. She’d moved south thirty years before to join the Agency, but was still New York through and through. She was known for neither her patience nor her sensitivity. But her doggedness and loyalty were legendary.
Andrew shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t have any solid answers yet. I need to see that report.”
“This is enough to make a girl start smoking again. What else? Come on, Andrew, you can do better than this.”
Andrew ignored the barb and flipped through his notes.
“Ben was prospecting for metal.”
“Whaddya mean? Like gold-digging? We’ve got a lot of that going on inside the Beltway.”
“Sort of. It’s literally a gold rush out here. But not just for gold. Silver, platinum, even gems apparently. A bunch of mining companies have popped up in the past few years, from all over. China, Australia, South Africa, even the States.”
“Veritable melting pot. ‘There’s gold in them hills’. Sounds good to me. How does it work? I show up one day and start digging in the dirt for gold? Maybe I’ll quit my day job, head out your way.” Andrew could hear her snapping her gum. She knew he hated that.
“Not exactly. It’s not quite that seamless. Companies pay the Cambodian government millions of dollars, first for permission to look for metal and then for permission to mine it. It’s expensive, competitive and apparently quite secretive.”
“Well, sounds like a racket to me. Has anyone found anything of value?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But it’s still early days. However, the rumors run rampant.”
�
�Alright. Well this at least gives me something to tell the father. ‘Your boy was digging for gold.’ Keep looking, keep me posted. Some fool assistant here gave him my personal cell phone. Anything else I should know?”
“I think someone else is looking into this.” Andrew said.
Flint stopped snapping her gum.
“How’s that?”
Andrew explained about being shot at the night before.
“AHA! You ARE on to something. You’re holding out on me. Good. It’s a sign that you’re on the right track. You look like you survived. So what’s your next move?”
“I’m going to the province where the kid bought it. Mondulkiri.”
“That’s my boy. Get your hands dirty. Don’t step on anything metal.”
Flint hung up before Andrew could say ‘Thanks for your concern’.
Andrew sat back in his chair. As he flipped through some papers on the desk, he saw the handle on his office door turning.
Someone was outside his door. The handle turned again. Someone was trying to get in. But the door was locked.
Outside the music blared. Andrew stood, pushing his chair back and approached the door from the side. He reached out to the handle and yanked the door opened, his gun drawn.
He surprised Janey standing in the hallway.
She stepped back at the sight of the gun, fear on her face.
Ohhhh!” she exclaimed.
Andrew lowered his weapon and exhaled. He slipped the gun out of sight.
“What the hell are you doing outside my door?”
She was flustered, her left hand over her heart. Andrew had not seen her since the day he’d arrived to Phnom Penh. She was dressed in a pale blue silk dress, her hair done up in curls. She held a fruity looking drink in a tall glass. Andrew could smell the booze. The bartender out there had a heavy hand.
“Oh, I was just checking if you were here! You scared me!”
“I scared you?”
“I’m sorry but Jeremy sent me. He thought you might like to be part of tonight’s celebration. We could see from the lawn that your light was on in this rabbit hole, so we thought you might be here.” She sniffed. “I certainly did not expect to be greeted at gunpoint.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should have knocked.”
She continued, ignoring his admonition and slurring her words slightly. “I thought, I mean, WE thought, if you weren’t busy, you might enjoy a refreshing adult beverage?” She lifted her fruity cocktail. It had once been a frozen drink but had melted in the heat.
Andrew gestured to the pile of papers on his desk. “I’m reading…”
Janey waved her hands in the air. “Work will wait. Besides, maybe they can help you.”
“Who?”
“The local glitterati. We always invite local bigwigs to our Pchum Ben party. After all, it's their holiday. So you might talk to a few of them, ask your questions. Never hurts to say hello. Be a little friendly.” She smiled at Andrew and blinked.
Andrew looked at his desk. He flew out to Mondulkiri tomorrow. Janey smiled her most convincing smile. “Come on. One drink.”
Andrew shrugged, giving in. “Free booze is the best booze. Lead the way.”
*******
Outside the music kicked into high gear. Janey and Andrew walked down the empty hallway, Janey pulling Andrew along by his shirtsleeve. Andrew was amused at Janey’s tipsy self.
“Hurry, it’s starting!” Janey said.
“What’s starting?”
“The fireworks!”
They had reached the front embassy door. Janey looked out at her fellow revelers on the lawn. The lawn of the embassy was filled with well-dressed party-goers, American and Cambodian men and women, all happily drinking and eating, watching the colorful fireworks light up the sky over the river.
Standing right behind Janey, who was looking over her shoulder at him, Andrew could smell her light perfume and the edge of gin on her breath. Janey giggled and pushed open the door.
*******
Andrew stood with a beer, watching a dozen dancers in colorful costumes perform a traditional dance for the crowd. They finished to a loud round of applause from the large audience.
Andrew turned to Janey, who had switched to club soda.
“Tell me about this Pchum Ben holiday,” Andrew asked. “Jeremy said it’s something to do with ancestors.”
“Yes, that’s right. It’s a Buddhist holiday, marking the end of rainy season. The story is that during Pchum Ben, all the ghosts - well, all the bad ones - get a two-week pass from hell to visit their families. So they return to their homelands, mostly for food.” Janey sipped her drink and eyed the heavily laden dessert table. “There’s no food in hell, apparently.”
“So the ghosts go trick or treating?” Andrew grinned.
Janey rolled her eyes. “Something like that. Mostly, they just want sweet rice. So their families bring food offerings to the Wats, which the monks eat.”
“The monks eat the ghosts’ food? Doesn’t that piss off the ghosts?”
Janey raised her eyebrows. “No. The ghosts can’t eat, silly. Some of the ghosts, the really bad ones, don’t even have mouths. So the monks eat the food and the ghosts receive succor through the monks.”
“So everyone is happy?”
“Yup. And sated. Good karma all around.”
Andrew watched the Ambassador greet a few well-dressed businessmen standing by the bar with an appropriate deep bow. By Andrew’s side, Janey bent low to fix her strappy heel.
“Who are those gentlemen there?”
Janey looked up. “Local government types. Military too. That old guy there," she pointed discretely at an elderly gentleman in a dark starched uniform decked with medals, chatting up an attractive American volunteer, "is a General in the Cambodian Army...his wife is the battle-ax over at the dessert table."
Andrew glanced at the dessert table, where the battle-ax was loading her dinner plate with chocolate cake.
The newest arrivals to the party caught Andrew’s attention. Five local men dressed identically in plain black cotton garb sidled past the armed embassy guards. One of the men was older than the others by a couple decades. His graying hair was slicked back. He surveyed the party scene as his bodyguards fanned out in to the crowd.
“And who is that, with the entourage?”
Janey turned to him, her voice low.
“That’s Mey Hakk. He’s very successful. He owns a couple factories on the outskirts of town.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's rumored to have ties to local warlords.”
Andrew took a long look at Hakk, who was saying polite hellos to Jeremy. Andrew was distracted by a giggling group of women making a scene as they arrived, more than fashionably late and tarted up in jewel-colored gowns, heavy make-up and five-inch heels. They made a loud fuss at the gate, as one of the guards had gotten a little frisky as he frisked the women on their way in.
“Ahhhhh!” Janey laughed and pointed. “I see the embassy ladies went all out tonight! We don’t get too many chances to dress up, it’s such a casual town, t-shirts and flip-flops all the way.”
Andrew glanced around for Hakk, but didn’t see him. He saw Jeremy was now talking with the General’s battle-ax wife, both of them enjoying the chocolate cake. Andrew glanced around the milling crowd, searching faces. He moved to the left toward the fence for a better view.
There he was. Hakk was talking now with the U.S. Ambassador, who Andrew knew by sight. Mey Hakk certainly knew how to work a room, Andrew thought.
Andrew stepped over to Janey and put his face close to hers. “Can you introduce me to your friend Hakk?”
Janey smiled. “Certainly. How shall I introduce you? Meet our resident spy, private investigator, secret agent?” She smirked at Andrew, who blinked.
“Just say I'm a friend, here in town to see the sights.”
Janey led Andrew over to the Ambassador and Hakk, sobering up along the way. With the practiced grace of one accustomed to dip
lomatic circles, she interrupted their conversation and inserted herself into it. In a heartbeat, she had both men chuckling, Hakk glancing with obvious pleasure at her low-cut dress. As if on cue, she pointed to Andrew, who had stood a respectful distance away.
“Oh gentlemen, please, I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Andrew Shaw. He’s the man investigating Ben Goodnight’s death.” She stepped back to make room for Andrew.
“Subtle,” Andrew whispered to Janey. “Thanks for nothing.”
“At least now they’ll talk to you. They would have just ignored you.”
The Ambassador had extended his hand to Andrew, who took it. Janey melted into the crowd to join her friends doing shooters at the bar.
“Good to meet you sir,” Andrew said.
“Likewise. Sad news about Ben Goodnight. He did great work. Still too common in this country, land mine accidents. Glad you’re able to help.”
“Well, I’m trying anyway. I hope to get out there shortly, see if I can finalize the details.”
“The details?” The ambassador sipped his whiskey, the melting ice cubes clinking against the glass.
“Well, it hasn’t been confirmed that it was a landmine.”
Surprise on his face, the ambassador asked, “Has it not?”
“What else could it be?” Hakk asked. He’d stayed quiet while Janey introduced Andrew.
Before Andrew could answer, the ambassador, realizing his gaff, jumped in with his own introductions. “I’m sorry, one drink and I forget my manners. Please allow me to introduce to you to Mr. Mey Hakk.” He leaned in close to Andrew, his breath hot with malt. “Sorry son, senior moment, what was your name again?”
“Shaw. Andrew Shaw.”
Hakk, his spotless black shirt accented only by a red pocket square, bowed slightly to Andrew. Andrew returned the bow, bending farther from the waist and holding the pose a heartbeat longer.
The Ambassador, who had watched this cultural exchange, pulled his ringing, vibrating phone from his inside jacket pocket. He glanced at the screen, slid the arrow and said hello. He covered the mouthpiece.
