by Kae Bell
Heang looked skeptical. A truck lost in the deep Cambodian jungle would not easily reveal itself.
“Do it!”
*******
3:00 AM: earlier that day in the Cambodian jungle
The truck barreled down the road at break-neck speed. Music blared from cheap tinny speakers, classic American rock. The driver, a young Cambodian man named Sun, was no more than twenty. A cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, he steered with his bare knobby knees.
He’d been stopped for too long at the Thai border, even though he had paid the bribes, as he’d been instructed. The Thai guards had been bored, few vehicle crossings that day, and so they’d hassled him for something to do, to relieve the tedium.
He had handed them more money than he wanted to give up, but he had to get through that border at all cost. Now, he was trying to make up for lost time, driving like a maniac over rutted, unforgiving roads. He needed to be in Siem Reap by morning and had several hours to go. It was dark on these back jungle roads. The bright curve of a waxing moon didn’t penetrate the darkness. The headlights gave limited assistance in lighting the way.
At least the music lightened the driver’s mood. He was stressed out and tired, hung over from last night’s partying. He tried to focus on the money he would be paid at the end of this journey. He just wanted to see his girlfriend, smoke pot and have sex. The money would make the hassle and especially the humiliation at the hands of the Thai border guards all worth it. This was better work than the factory job he had before he got fired for sleeping on his shift.
*******
When the man had approached him last week in a Battambang café about doing a job, Sun hoped it would be work that paid well. Sun was behind on his rent and his girlfriend wanted him to buy her a new scooter.
He knew from the way the man had glanced around the café before explaining the job, that this would be illegal. And that meant it would pay. A lot. Sun had done illegal things before. He liked breaking laws. He enjoyed all the forbidden fruits, he thought, visualizing his other girlfriend, who his serious girlfriend did not know about.
The job itself was simple: Deliver a package from the port of Laem Charbang in Thailand to the address in Cambodia the man had written on the paper. It would mean a long and difficult drive. He had told Sun he would be well compensated. He’d explained to Sun that it was important to deliver the goods on time, by the following Wednesday. Since the roads were bad this time of year, the man said, be sure to rent a good truck, something that could handle the mud.
The man had given him the name of the ship, the date of its arrival, and a description of his contact at the port, who would be wearing a red-checked krama. Best of all, the man had given Sun two thousand US dollars to rent a truck and to help grease the wheels, along the way. Whatever was left over was for Sun to keep, plus another two thousand on successful delivery of the cargo, free and clear.
Sun had got a truck, met the ship, and loaded the item. It was larger than he expected, a big blue barrel, and heavy, but not unmanageable. So far, it had been easy money.
But before the ship had arrived, those two thousand dollars had been burning a hole in Sun’s pocket. As he’d sat at a beachside restaurant in Laem Charbang, smoking cigarettes and eating noodles, he’d looked at the map to plan his route. He figured he would only need a couple hundred dollars for bribes, at the dock, then the borders, and then a little in case he met some police along the way. There was no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy himself now, while he waited, he thought.
He looked at the clock on the wall. It was only 10:00 PM. The ship with his cargo was due at 1:00 PM the next day. Plenty of time to party.
He called his buddy Neam, who was sitting home getting high. Sun said he’d had a windfall, to come meet him out. Neam worked the docks but spent most of his spare time smoking.
They went to a hostess bar right on the beach, where it was mostly expats and the ladies were better looking. They were also more expensive and a bit uppity, Sun had thought. But they had started to cooperate when he’d flashed a few fifties. He’d felt like a big man.
And man, had they had a good time. A very good time. He didn’t know how many drinks he’d bought and he’d paid for Neam’s too. And the women, so many women, his dick actually hurt. They’d been up all night, until the cops kicked them off the beach.
Now he was late for the pickup. He’d overslept and arrived forty-five minutes late for the ship, which loomed large and gray along the busy waterfront. Colorful shipping containers were stacked five and six high all throughout the lot, most filled with clothing to be shipped and sold overseas.
In his truck, Sun spotted his contact, wearing a krama that concealed most of his face. The contact stood next to a tall blue plastic barrel by a stack of three orange shipping containers. With the contact’s help, Sun loaded the barrel onto the truck and was on his way.
He still had plenty of time to get to Siem Reap. Easy money.
*******
The song on the radio changed as the truck hit a rut. These muddy roads were shit after the rains. Sun dropped his beer can as the truck jostled through the massive pothole. Angkor Beer spilled on the passenger’s side, staining the well-worn mat.
Sun glanced down at the beer on the floor and back at the road. That was his last beer for the ride. He’d drunk the five others already and there would not be any more stops. He glanced once more at the road and then reached down with his right hand to pick up the can before it all spilled out.
As Sun leaned over to retrieve the beer, the view through the windshield changed. A sharp curve, just outside the reach of the high beams, appeared ahead. Sun, head just below the dashboard, fumbled for his last can, which slipped again out of his wet hands. Sun did not see the fast-approaching sharp curve, though he did manage to get his hands on the half-full beer can. As he sat up, lifting the beer to his lips, Sun felt the truck go airborne.
Sun looked up in time to see the truck heading straight, where the road veered left. In this part of the jungle, the road was built high on a berm, to protect it from flooding in the rainy season. The forest floor was ten feet below the road.
The truck shot right over the edge, flew through the air for what felt like a long time but was in fact only seconds, crashing through small trees and shrubs as it hit the ground hard and tipped halfway over on its side.
Sun hit his head on the front windshield, cracking the glass and then as the truck tilted sideways, the left side of his head took a hard hit. Although the first hit hadn’t caused too much damage, the second one did, knocking Sun out. A nasty gash on Sun’s temple began to bleed profusely. He would not wake up again; he would not collect two thousand dollars.
In the back of the truck, the frayed rope, which had spent the better part of its life on a fishing boat and had seen its share of salt water, broke and the cargo it had held in place rolled free, coming to rest heavily against the back door.
As the truck settled into its small crater, with one last shift to the left, the back door flung open and the cargo rolled out. It rolled down the embankment, coming to rest in a sea of green ferns, with a small, almost inaudible clink, against a thin shiny piece of metal connected to a decades-old, but still functional landmine.
Around the truck, the trees and leaves rustled from the disturbance. After a few minutes, stillness returned to the jungle. The dark was lit by the flickering yellow headlights, which would last for the remaining few hours of night, growing dim just in time for the dawn.
Part 3
Chapter 19
Andrew watched the helicopter pilot ready for flight. He was young, 28 or 29, but with enough experience, Andrew hoped, to get them out there in one piece.
The late afternoon sky was clear, good for flying, with wispy cirrus clouds and the occasional jet trail from flights heading west.
The rotor turned, casting slow shadows on the tarmac. The shadows picked up speed with each successive revolution until Andrew could feel
the upward motion as the helicopter lifted off the ground. Andrew was himself a skilled pilot and loved the sensation of being airborne, on the move.
As the helicopter lifted off, leaving only flurries of dust behind, the pilot handed Andrew a headset, indicating with his hands that Andrew should put it on. Andrew did as instructed, adjusting the earpieces and putting the mic into position.
The helicopter swept out across town, over landmarks, some of which Andrew recognized. Below was the yellow dome of the Central Market, where the bus had dropped him. It seemed like weeks ago but had only been a few days. He looked to his left. There, below them, refreshing and green, was Wat Phnom.
“It’s man-made you know,” the pilot explained, glancing at Andrew, as they swooped away from the Mekong to points east. “The Hill.”
Andrew shook his head, watching the green hill disappear behind them. He had not known.
Blades whirring overhead and a wind from the west, they quickly left Phnom Penh behind. Out the window, the scenery below turned to peasant farms, rice paddies, and dirt roads. Andrew watched the fields of golden grasses sway below them, heavy with crop, ready for harvest. He saw a farmer and his family at work in a field, grasping at tall stalks and slicing, grasp and slice. At the field's edge, bunches of cut stalks lay tied and stacked, ready for husking. The family stopped their work, looking up as the helicopter flew overhead. A small boy waved.
The province of Mondulkiri was 120 miles northeast of Phnom Penh. From the coordinates on Ben’s map, the same ones as on the Ministry report, Andrew had picked a drop off point. From there he would trek in to the explosion site. He had borrowed some of Ben’s personal protection equipment; Severine had insisted.
Andrew watched out the window as the green jungle stretched for miles in every direction, interrupted only occasionally by a meandering river. The tall trees stretched skyward, basking in the late-day sun. After a while, the terrain started to roll with hills.
Andrew looked at the map, his destination marked with a red 'X'.
They’d been flying for 45 minutes. Jungle stretched below them. “We must be getting close.”
“Yup. I’m gonna get you as close as I can to where you want, but it kinda depends on the roads. I have to find somewhere wide and flat, and after these rains, I dunno what it's like out here. The mud gets churned up. Sometimes the bikers get out there too and really tear things up.”
They descended until they were flying directly over the trees. The skilled pilot lifted and dropped the helicopter with the changing terrain, keeping them always at a safe distance from disaster.
Andrew looked out the window down at the vast green jungle. He could not see into the forest, nothing beyond the wide leaves that hid the forest floor below.
A wide dirt road appeared in front of them, cutting through the jungle. The pilot turned and followed it for a minute, looking for a smooth place to set down.
“This is your road, buddy. We’re about ten miles from the coordinates you gave me. I’m gonna swing in as close as I can to there. But with the road conditions, I’ve gotta take what I can. Have a look.”
Andrew stared down at the muddy road. Huge ruts and minor mudslides made it look impassable in certain places. Trees had fallen where the ground was so water logged it could not hold the tree upright.
“It works, thanks.”
The helicopter swooped low over a smooth patch of road and hovered a few feet above the ground. Andrew pushed open the door and hopped out with his equipment in hand. He looked back in at the pilot.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Any idea when you might want to head back?” the pilot asked.
Andrew shook his head.
“You’re on your own then. Logging trucks come through here sometimes, they’ll pick you up, take you into town. Take it easy, man.”
Andrew gave a wave but the pilot, focused skyward, did not reciprocate. The helicopter lifted off and in seconds was gone, leaving only the darkening sky overhead.
Andrew got a location from his sat nav and marked this on the map. With his bearings, he headed south, his pack and gear slung over his shoulder. The sun was setting. He had enough food for three days, should he need it, rope, water purification and a tent. And a gun, if that too might be required.
*******
He’d walked five miles down the road, shining his high-powered flashlight along the forest edge, when he caught the barest outline of a trail, where the dense brush showed evidence of a large blade. Andrew pushed his way through the brush. This was a trail. It must be Ben’s trail in.
Severine had said they'd walked for over an hour from the road before they found the pool. Andrew drank from his water bottle, wiped his brow with a dark kerchief, then pushed ahead.
High in the trees, a bird screeched, unhappy with the intruder in her midst.
*******
The terrain rolled. Among the hills, small streams bubbled by, the rocks slippery with moss. Andrew slipped a few times as he crossed the streams and wondered if he had climbed and descended this same hill already but his satellite reading said he was making forward progress.
Crouching down to retie an errant bootlace, Andrew felt the vibration through his feet. It was barely noticeable. Andrew placed both hands flat on the ground. There it was, a vibration, distant but stronger than it had been only a moment before.
He heard them before he saw them: Two young elephants galloping through the forest along the rough-hewn trail. A mother had to be close behind, these calves were too young to be alone. Andrew scrambled out of the way, swinging himself up into a sturdy tree. As he climbed, he plowed through thick spider webs, the silvery fronds clinging to him, veiling him in whispery threads.
Sure enough, the mother elephant lumbered behind them, her gray bulk swaying this way and that. Her children squealed with delight at the mother’s arrival.
Andrew watched her follow the calves as they wreaked havoc on the brush. They disappeared and all was quiet.
From his position high in the tree, Andrew had a different view of the jungle than from the forest floor. What he had thought was the valley floor, where he’d been walking, he could now see was not. The trail he'd been on did not allow him to see that the thick grove of trees hid a second valley below. He pulled out his sat nav and took another reading, comparing it to Ben’s notes. He was closer than he’d realized. He unfolded a map, holding a slim flashlight in his mouth, and marked his location.
A gunshot blasted in the distance, the sound echoing in the valley below. Poachers were common in the provinces, Andrew had heard.
The gunshot sounded again. It was not far off.
Andrew listened for movement but heard none. The gunshot had come from that valley below. He climbed down from the tree and moved along the trail, keeping low and quiet. After five minutes, he heard a third shot. He had closed the distance by half, and this shot was louder, easier for him to pinpoint. He adjusted his direction and headed north.
In a short time, Andrew heard male voices somewhere ahead. From their tones it sounded like an argument. The men spoke in Khmer. Andrew slowed his pace as he approached the voices.
Ahead, he saw a tall bamboo fence, eight feet high. Inside the fence, the men were still arguing. Andrew backed away and climbed a nearby tree, for a view of what lay behind the fence.
Looking down from the tree, Andrew gauged the compound was about half of a football field long, with ten or eleven thatch huts set up in two rows. And men. Several men walking about.
“An empty camp,” Ben’s report had noted. Only it wasn’t empty now.
In the camp’s torchlight, Andrew saw three corpses laying face down on the ground, wearing blindfolds. They had been shot at point blank range.
A guard in front of one of the huts blew a whistle and scores of men emerged from the huts. They were dressed in black, their uniforms making them indistinguishable. The whistle blew again and the men scrambled into a line in front of the guard. The guard proceeded
to hand each man a square box.
Andrew shifted his gaze to the large hut closest to him, where two men walked now, deep in discussion. One of the men Andrew had never seen before. But the other man, Andrew knew from somewhere. He sifted mentally through who he had met in the past few days. Then he remembered. The embassy party.
The man Andrew watched walk across the compound was one of Hakk’s bodyguards from the party, the one Hakk had called ‘Rith’.
Andrew had to get into the compound. He would wait. He wedged himself into the crook of the tree.
*******
As he waited, Andrew heard talking and smelled meat cooked on open fires. After some time, the men retired to their huts, where lights were lit. Eventually, these lights were extinguished and all grew still.
Two armed men guarded the gate. Andrew watched as the guards played dice and drank themselves into oblivion, glancing behind them occasionally, as these activities were forbidden. After a couple hours of heavy drinking, they fell asleep, leaning against the flimsy bamboo fence.
Andrew waited, to be certain everyone was asleep. The camp was quiet. The torches burned in the sleepy wind.
He started down from his perch.
Flimsy and poorly built, the bamboo fence offered little protection, meant only to dissuade forest animals. The camp occupants had not expected visitors. They had set up camp far from the road for privacy. Andrew wanted to know why.
Once inside the fence, Andrew moved in the direction of Rith’s hut. He eyed the sleeping guards but they were out cold.
Andrew stepped in to the open doorway of the hut and surveyed the room. He heard heavy snoring from a figure on the mat in the corner. On a desk by an open window, he saw several weapons, a pistol and a machine gun. Andrew walked to the desk.
There he saw also a book, creased open to its middle, the pages worn from heavy reading. Andrew picked it up and flipped through it. The text was Khmer script, about fifty pages thick, no images, just text.
Placing the book open on the desk, Andrew pulled out his secure phone and took photos, turning the pages quickly and quietly.
