by Kae Bell
*******
The moment the helo landed, Andrew called Flint on his secure phone. She answered on the first ring.
Andrew described the scene on the river, with the bridges.
He asked, “Has it made the international news yet?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure it will,” Flint said, adding, “As intended, is my guess.”
“This is bigger than we thought.”
“I’ll agree with that assessment,” Flint said. “What have you got?”
Andrew outlined to Flint everything he’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, about River Metals, about Ben’s Ministry report, about the artifacts Ben listed in the report and the empty camp he described. Andrew told about his own tussle at the camp with Hakk’s bodyguard. He didn’t mention Frank or the cavern. He didn’t see the point. Not yet.
“So I think Ben stumbled on to something he wasn’t supposed to see when he first went out to Mondulkiri two months ago.”
“The empty camp.”
“Yes. And because Ben was meticulous in his reporting, he noted it in his report to the Ministry of Mines. And someone found out about the report. And squelched it.”
“Only the camp wasn’t empty when you were there.”
“No.” Andrew pictured the three executed men lying on the ground. He wondered if one of them was Mr. Cheng.
“Back up here - You say this company River Metals hired Ben.”
“Yes.”
“Who hired River Metals?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Some two-penny mom and pop shop hires a random kid to go dig for gold in the middle of nowhere, pays him a load of cash, and he finds ancient artifacts? Bullshit. They sure as hell didn’t pick Ben out of the Yellow Pages, someone told them to hire him and paid them to do it. Who was it, Shaw? Since you’re not asking that question, it means you must know the answer.”
Andrew paused. Flint was good. Sometimes he forgot that.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Don’t get all cagey on me.”
“For now. I’d rather not say for now. Please, Flint, just bear with me. Right now, we need to know more about Mey Hakk. Why would his body guard be at a secret jungle camp?”
Flint cleared her throat. It was her turn to have big news.
“Well, we have learned something very interesting about Mr. Mey Hakk, thanks to you. We ran a trace on that ‘Ch’kai’ email you forwarded to me. It had covered a lot of ground, bounced around servers all over the world, led our team on quite a chase. But in the end, we nailed it - it originated from a computer inside one of Mey Hakk’s factories.”
“So, if he sent that email, and the Friendship Bridges are his work, I think we can assume there is more to come. But what?” Andrew said.
“It’d be good if you could figure that out pronto. And stop it. Because you and every other American in that town is a target,” Flint said. “Meantime, I’ve got to call the kid’s father. At least we have some news for him.”
“Yeah,” Andrew said, distracted. “OK. I’ll be in touch. I’ve got to go see a friend.” He flagged down a passing motodop and hopped on, clinging to the metal bar as the bike wove expertly into the teaming traffic.
Chapter 27
Andrew stopped by the Embassy to print out the photographed pages of the book from Rith’s desk. He needed Socheat’s help. He hoped these would shed some light on Hakk.
He walked over to Wat Phnom, staying away from the river and the milling crowds. The usual disaster gawkers had arrived, wanting to be a witness to the event.
Andrew looked around the park but Socheat was nowhere to be found.
Andrew walked up the steps to the Wat. Unlike his previous visit, it was busy. Despite the bridge explosions, the Wat was packed with locals. Incense filled the air. Monks prayed and chanted. Children ran across courtyards. Women carried trays of sweet rice for the dead.
Andrew wandered back down the Hill. Socheat stood by a tall tree at the eastern edge of the park, watching the crowded riverbank.
Andrew approached his friend, who nodded, a thin smile on his painted red lips.
“I figured you’d come for me sooner or later.”
Andrew said “I need your help with something. This…” He nodded at the destroyed bridges. “I think this has to do with my friend who was killed. There is a man, Mey Hakk…”
Socheat’s smile vanished, his mannerisms diminished.
“We must not talk of this here.”
Andrew glanced around. They stood alone, apart from the crowd of watchers.
“Where then?”
“Meet me in ten minutes at the Elephant Bar.” Socheat pointed up the street to Hotel Le Royale.
Andrew nodded and turned to walk away. Something had shifted in Socheat. From hearing the name Mey Hakk. What did it mean?
*******
Hotel Le Royale, also known as ‘Raffles’, stood 200 yards down the road from Wat Phnom. Andrew walked down the sidewalk, his steps heavy as his mind raced. A few brown leaves drifted past his feet, carried by a light night breeze. Images of the jungle sifted through his mind, the statues, the Veterans, the camp, and the guards. On auto-pilot, he turned into the manicured hotel compound, glancing through the windows at the golden light inside.
*******
From a silk loveseat in a far corner of the lounge, Andrew watched Socheat enter the room, sashaying for the attentive audience of men and women who looked up as he paused in the doorway, his blue silk dress catching light in all the right places. He blinked his long eyelashes then caught sight of Andrew in the far corner. He stepped forward, his gait high like a dressage pony.
Andrew sat shrouded by heavy curtains hung from the ceiling. His beer sat untouched next to a candle. Socheat took a seat on the couch across from Andrew, crossing his legs and folding his hands on his knees.
Andrew leaned forward.
“I need you to translate something.” Andrew pulled several pages from his back pocket and spread them open on the table. Dense Khmer script covered the page.
“Aren’t you going to order a lady a drink?” Socheat tilted his head at the bar next to them, where the bartender put the finishing touch on a dirty martini, a heavy pour of olive juice into the V-shaped glass. Large stone elephants adorned the bar.
Andrew rolled his eyes and lifted a finger. He understood - they needed to keep up appearances - this was just a casual social meeting. No rush.
A slim waitress appeared, glancing at Socheat, and gave Andrew a quick bow. “Yes, sir?”
“For the lady, a…”
“Femme Fatale,” Socheat said. The waitress nodded and returned shortly with a pink cocktail bearing a fragrant flower on the side.
Drink in hand, Socheat leaned forward to read the copies, long hair falling across his face, casting a shadow on the pages. Andrew watched as Socheat read, his eyes moving across and down the lines. Socheat looked up at Andrew.
“These are the words of an angry man.”
“What does it say?”
Socheat shook his head. “It’s a...what’s the English word…a manifesto.”
“About what?” Andrew scratched his face, heavy with stubble.
Socheat’s eyes were dark. “The author of this is Hakk - the man you mentioned. He wants to rid the country of the foreigners. The Ch’kai. You know this word ‘Ch’kai’? Dogs.”
“Yes. I know it. It’s a popular word these days. But get rid of us, why?”
Socheat looked back at the pages, his finger tracing several lines of text until he found the passage he wanted. “It says that the Ch’kai exploit and taint the country and its people. That the Ch’kai have damaged his country and its people with their greed and sloth. That they will be taught a lesson. Reeducated. That there will be retribution. It goes on like that for some time.”
“Does it outline his plan?”
“No, nothing specific. It speaks only of fear, intimidation…and death. For several lines, it speaks of the des
truction caused by the Ch’kai’s hold on this country. And of breaking those ties.”
“And so, the Friendship Bridges,” Andrew said.
“Yes, but that’s only the beginning.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t specific.”
“Not on the what. But on the when, yes. It is.” Socheat pointed. “At the bottom, here, these characters. It’s part of the Khmer calendar. You see here that one character is traced in bold. The reader must have wanted to remind himself. That is this Sunday. In two day’s time. Which makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sunday is Pchum Ben Day. The day we honor our ancestors.”
“The Day of the Dead,” Andrew said.
Socheat looked up. “You know the custom?”
“Yes, a friend explained it. But what does Pchum Ben Day have to do with this? Why that day?”
The candle on the table between them had gone out and the waitress stopped by with a fresh one. She placed the bowl on the table and removed the extinguished flame. Socheat waited for her to leave before he replied.
“It’s a time when lost souls roam the earth, freed from hell to seek solace. Hakk is choosing this day to honor a man who he sees as a father figure. Who taught him to kill. To hate. To destroy.”
Andrew put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his steepled fingers. He was tired. He looked up at Socheat.
“Pol Pot?” he asked. Socheat nodded.
“You can’t be serious,” Andrew said.
“Yes. It is.” Socheat paused, watching Andrew, then continued, speaking slowly. “Hakk was a child soldier of the Khmer Rouge, in the fields, decades ago. He would have been ten or eleven. And now,” Socheat tapped the paper on the table. “Now he is fulfilling a promise he made to that monster.”
Andrew finished the thought, astonished. “To continue his work. To isolate the country completely.”
“Yes.”
Andrew reached for his beer. Condensation on the glass had dripped on to the table and the glass sat now in a small puddle of water. Andrew held the glass, feeling the cold on his fingers, then lifted it to his lips to drink. He paused and put the glass back down.
“That’s not all in that document, is it?” Andrew asked.
Socheat watched Andrew with hooded eyes and shook his head. Andrew leaned forward, his chin, above the candle, lit up by the dancing flame.
“How do you know all this about Mey Hakk?”
A waiter had opened the patio door, to release a wasp that had made his way inside. The waiter shook the white napkin in the night air, releasing the intruder. A breeze wafted in, bearing warm humid air.
Socheat leaned in close to Andrew and spoke quietly, in perfect Chinese.
“You and I, we are very much alike.”
Andrew heard the Beijing accent, the private schools, the cultivation and the training, all evidence that Socheat was not all he seemed.
The men eyed each other with practiced stares, then Andrew spit out his whispered words. “You’re an agent?”
Socheat said nothing, but blinked once, looking left and right for listeners.
Andrew sat back in his seat. He thought about their meeting, by chance, at Wat Phnom. Socheat always waiting for a client who never arrived. Socheat watching from the sidewalk during the embassy party.
“Of course. China has a hand in everything,” Andrew said. Then he leaned forward, confused.
“But why are you watching the US Embassy?” he asked.
Socheat ran his hands along the silk of the loveseat.
“The letter about the Ch’kai. Our Embassy received one as well. China invests here. We have made significant investments in this country. What Hakk has planned - what this document suggests - would destroy this country as we know it. Culturally. Morally. And financially. It will destroy our investment here. This is part of his plan of course. But this must not happen.”
“Why didn’t you do something about it before?”
“We weren’t sure if the threat was real. So we waited and watched for your country to start the music. We watched for a sign from the US that this was the real deal. You were it.”
Chapter 28
Deep in the bowels of the US embassy, Andrew watched Flint on the computer, as he relayed to her the translated contents of the manifesto. Socheat had taken the printed copy and would provide a full written translation later.
“So then, what’s Hakk’s next move? First, he threatens every foreigner in town. Then he blows up two bridges, gifts from neighboring countries that are major investors. That’ll be great for international relations,” Flint said.
“That’s the point, don’t you see? To drive a wedge. To drive us away. I’m not sure about his next move. Not yet.”
Always pragmatic, Flint made a list. “OK. So he wants to scare all the foreigners away. What are potential targets? Malls, concerts, major sporting events?”
Andrew corrected her. “It’s different here, there aren’t so much of the stadiums or shopping malls or other big indoor locations like back home. With few exceptions, everything is outside, open air.”
“Like the bridges?”
“Exactly. Like the bridges.” Andrew scratched his chin and bit at his lips, which were chapped from the sun.
“Embassies?” Flint suggested.
“No, I don’t think so. That’s the one place in the country besides government buildings where security is really tight. And again, the density of people is lacking.”
Flint asked, “Aren’t there some big markets in town?”
“There’s a couple, sure. He could make a scene, like he’s done with the bridges. But I think he’s planning something bigger.” Andrew chewed on the end of his pen, a bad habit.
“Popular restaurants? Nightclubs? Art openings?” Flint suggested.
“Yep, there is all that here. But it’s all mixed together, everything is a jumble of Khmers and expats, everyone does all the same stuff.”
He continued, “And besides, all that feels too haphazard. This guy is focused. Methodical. He’s had years to plan.”
As Flint watched him on a screen from thousands of miles away, her arms crossed, Andrew stared at the map of Cambodia on his desk. Socheat had explained that the manifesto described three different camp locations. These were now marked on the map with an ‘X’, including Mondulkiri. Andrew stared at the other two locations. Andrew’s pen hovered over one then the other ‘X’.
He knew Hakk wasn’t in Mondulkiri. Fifty-fifty shot, he thought. He circled the camp by the sea.
“Enough guessing games. I’ll go ask him myself.”
Part 4
Chapter 29
Waves lapped at the deserted beach in front of the lone stilt house. The tide was coming in. The emerging moon sat low on the eastern horizon, only a quarter of its fullness peeking out, a light orange hue of autumn. It would be a bright night once the moon rose into the sky. But now, it was still full dark. Far out over the sea, lightning flashed in high cloudbanks, threatening the clear night.
From the safe cover of the water Andrew moved onto the beach, keeping low as he approached the house, flicking off dank seaweed sticking to his muscular frame. He had swum down to this site from a half mile up the empty beach, carried by the current and adrenaline.
The balcony was empty but he could see light and movement inside. The beach was dark, but just in case anyone decided to admire the rising moon, he was cautious. He did not want the sharp eyes inside to catch his movements. He moved swiftly underneath the house, its floor now eight feet above his head.
Earlier in the night, from farther up shore, he had watched the guards moving boxes from the house into the black SUV. He could not tell what was in the boxes. He did not know how much time he had to find out. Now, under the house, he heard voices overhead, low murmurings, the sounds of agreement and plans moving ahead.
Andrew figured whatever Hakk had planned it would be on a big scale, with massive casualties
. The Friendship Bridges had been a major undertaking and it was only luck that so few people had died. Andrew knew Hakk would not stop there. Now he would ramp it up. He was showing off his might.
With a shiver, Andrew remembered the man’s cold stare at the Embassy party, his slightly veiled warning to Andrew to watch his step, the frisson that flashed through Andrew as he shook Hakk’s hand. This was a man who preferred darkness to light. Stasis to change. Death to life.
Walking up the beach to the house, Andrew didn’t feel the net buried in the sand until it was too late. An alarm sounded, as a net scooped Andrew up like a fish from the sea. In two seconds, Andrew was hanging like a warm chunk of meat from a hook under the house.
Several guards came running and a bright spotlight shone on Andrew, blinding him.
Strung up, Andrew surveyed the scene. He faced the dunes behind the house and in the dark, could see the scrubby brush eking out a life on the sand. Smelling pipe smoke from behind him, he wormed around in the rough netting to see Hakk below him staring and puffing on a long thin pipe.
Hakk’s eyes were black, his face a stone. He watched Andrew for several moments before he spoke.
“You are the catch of the day, Mr. Shaw. I’m afraid we don’t follow catch and release here. Perhaps we should gut you and dry you for sale at the Russian Market. What is the going rate per pound for spies these days?”
“Look, whatever your plan is, you’ll never get away with it. Your warnings to the embassies have alerted everyone, as you’d hoped. But we also have your manifesto and we will stop you,” Andrew said, gripping the rough netting in his hands.
“Ahh, but you see, Mr. Shaw, you are mistaken. I have already ‘gotten away with it’. Everything is in motion. There is no turning back the clock. Everyone will soon feel the effects of my plan. Even your Veteran friends in the jungle. Soon they too will be blasted away, vaporized, a distant memory. As for the rest of the country, I will be their savior. I will rid them of desire and want. They will return, all of them, to simpler times, when the outside world was shunned, when fear and hard work made us strong.”
