Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series)

by James Samuel

  “Good for the image, I suppose,” said James.

  “That and it’s where everything happens. We’re meeting Pen Thom at a restaurant near the Royal Palace. He said to go as soon as possible, so I would assume we should put the gears in motion fast.”

  James went back to staring out of the window as the train continued its crawl towards its only stop. As he looked out at the grinding poverty, he wondered whether he would have been better off retiring after Mexico. His years in the army and as a mercenary for Blackwind were starting to take their toll. He’d seen enough of human tragedy.

  Chapter Three

  The Riverside Guest House would never make it into a travel guidebook. One step above a homeless shelter and many steps below anything resembling luxurious, the Riverside Guesthouse gave James and Sinclair little more than a hard mattress and an ineffectual fan to try to banish the relentless humidity.

  Stained tiles covered every floor, with cracked, crumbling plaster walls of the same dull colour. Despite the signs declaring smoking to be strictly prohibited, the smiling Khmer owner didn’t seem to care much as James lit a cigarette in the middle of their tour of the guesthouse.

  “You want a beer?” asked the stick-thin owner, who looked barely more than twenty-five.

  “Two,” Sinclair answered for him.

  The owner didn’t ask them which beer they wanted as they dropped their bags and a Khmer child gathered them up to take them to their rooms. As soon as they’d paid, they were one of the family. Tourists clustered around plastic tables and chairs on what was billed as the terrace. It was little more than waist-high plastic tables placed along the street to keep pedestrians from wandering onto the front of the guest house property.

  “What do you think?” asked Sinclair.

  “It’ll do, I suppose. We could have chosen a more Western hotel. It’s not as if we’re operating on a tight budget here.”

  Sinclair laughed as the owner popped open two bottles of Kingfisher beer. He handed over the two sweating beers and issued them another gleaming smile and an enthusiastic bow of the head.

  “It’s important to blend in, James, I told you. These two beers are part of the process. You did the same in Mexico. You stayed in an apartment like a local, and you paid local prices if I remember correctly. Let’s be consistent and blend in.”

  James tightened his lips as he clutched the soaking bottle in his hand. The Blackwind private military organisation provided near-limitless budgets to field agents. Clients all over the world paid hundreds of thousands of dollars, and in some cases millions, for agents like James and Sinclair to eliminate their targets.

  The two men sat at one of the free tables, watching the street as the mess of tuk-tuks and motorcycles jockeyed for position on the tarmacked streets. By the time they’d made it into town and found their hotel, the sky had already darkened. Tourists walked amongst the rubbish piling up at the side of the road on their way to the bars lit by garish neon.

  “Did you call him? Thom?” asked James.

  “Yes, I did it.” Sinclair sipped at his beer. “We have around three hours before our meeting. It’s only about 15 minutes away, so we have plenty of time.”

  James nodded and took his first swig of Kingfisher. It went down cool and easy, offering him some relief from the burden of the day’s travel and the sweat pooling underneath his clothes.

  The smiling owner approached their table, his hands pressed together in prayer by his waist. That smile in the half-light shone like a crescent moon.

  “Sirs,” he said with well-intonated formality. “Can I help you with tours? Need a good place to eat? Girls?”

  James distrusted people by nature, but he felt the warmth radiating out from the owner. “What’s your name?”

  “Mr. Arun,” he said with yet another little bow. “I can help you with anything, sirs.”

  Sinclair downed the rest of his beer. “Another beer for me, wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “Of course, sirs.” Mr. Arun snatched the bottle off the table and strode towards his counter.

  He quickly returned with a new open beer. The moisture pooled on the sagging table.

  “Mr. Arun,” said James. “We’re new here and we were wondering if you might be able to help us get to know some people.”

  “Of course, sirs, who do you want to know?”

  “Nobody yet. We’re meeting a friend of ours tonight. After that, we’re going to need someone who knows the town and the country. If you want some extra work, you can have it.”

  Mr. Arun’s smile grew wider, close to the bounds of his face. “Yes, sirs, you need help you call me, yeah?”

  James smiled back at him as Mr. Arun bounded off to attend to his other guests. He liked Mr. Arun already. The joy and genuineness flowed from every movement and every word.

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Sinclair.

  “Just a feeling.” James sucked on his beer. “He’s going to come in handy.”

  Chapter Four

  China House enjoyed renown as one of the trendiest restaurants in Phnom Penh. Located on the banks of the thick soup that was the Mekong River, China House served all sorts of delicacies, including the famed bird’s nest soup.

  Traditional Chinese musical instruments played through crystal clear speakers in the background. Tables laid out in the Western fashion contrasted with the faux bamboo roof. A large portrait of a beautiful Chinese courtesan looked over the diners below. Unlike in the rowdy Doun Penh District, everyone spoke in soft, unobtrusive voices.

  James and Sinclair, dressed in freshly pressed shirts and polished leather shoes, were shown into the restaurants by smiling Cambodian waiters. They knew who Pen Thom was without checking the leather reservation book.

  “Come this way, sirs,” the maître d’ said in heavily accented English.

  He showed them to a table close to the window, where Pen Thom and his assistant already waited. The midnight blue river glistened across from them. Little boats glided along its surface during the day. At night, huge neon-covered party boats plied its waters.

  Pen Thom wore thin-rimmed glasses that caught the warm yellow light of the restaurant. His dark silver hair flanked a bald patch covered with liver spots. They shook hands with Thom and with his assistant, a much younger man with beady eyes and a suspicious expression.

  “Gentlemen, I am so glad you are here at last,” said Thom. “Please, enjoy, eat first and then we discuss business.”

  Thom spoke without the heavy accent and the common mistakes Khmer tended to make when they spoke English. He confirmed he’d spent a lot of time abroad, studying at the great universities of Europe.

  During the meal, they ate a variety of dishes, including scented noodles, fresh chicken feet, and other cuts of meat James didn’t bother to ask about. Either way, the quality of the food far surpassed the ten-dollar Chinese buffets found in every corner of the world.

  James and Sinclair exchanged words with Thom throughout the meal. They never spoke about anything serious, just the usual polite questions about each other’s backgrounds and how much they were enjoying the food. Thom’s assistant, Ros Heng, never spoke once.

  The four men patted their stomachs as they relinquished their chopsticks and a waiter brought oolong tea with the ubiquitous white gaiwan cups. Since the cups had no handles, James cradled the hot beverage between his palms and blew into the cup.

  “To business, gentlemen, I think,” said Thom at last.

  “Of course,” said Sinclair.

  Thom’s face remained tender but lost some of its friendliness as he motioned to Heng, who pulled a folder out from under the table. The classic manilla folder passed from Heng to Sinclair. They still did things the old way here.

  “The Internet is controlled in Cambodia,” said Thom, as if reading his thoughts. “It’s safer to do business by hand here.”

  “So, this is our man?” Sinclair unveiled the topmost page, a picture of General Narith at some sort of military inspectio
n.

  “Yes. Narith was once a member of the ruling Khmer Rouge regime, like most of the military hierarchy. Unlike Prime Minister Sen, he only joined the Vietnamese at the last possible moment. A street dog will approach anyone who offers him food.” Thom said those words with some spite attached to them. “Are you aware of how modern Cambodia came into being?”

  James shook his head, but Sinclair nodded. As always, Sinclair had done his homework.

  “Ah, you must understand, then, that the Vietnamese invaded Cambodia to depose the Khmer Rouge in 1978. They overran the Democratic Republic of Kampuchea within two weeks. The Khmer Rouge leadership fled to the forests and the mountains to fight a guerrilla war. It brought an end to the genocide and Cambodia was occupied and re-established as the People’s Republic of Kampuchea until 1989.”

  James sipped at some of his cooling oolong tea. “Ah, I understand.”

  “The fanatics stayed in the forests for years, plotting with Pol Pot and the rest of the leadership. The others simply became civilians again, others pledged loyalty to the Vietnamese to save their lives. Prime Minister Sen fled to join the Vietnamese before the war because he foresaw the dangerous path our people were treading under the Khmer Rouge. And that’s why he is the leader of our nation.”

  James nodded along with the explanation.

  Sinclair rifled through the folder. “General Narith will not be an easy target.”

  “Indeed. He controls the army. You will need to stretch his forces thin and undermine his powerbase. To those who know, he has a wide variety of business interests. A very rich man. One of the richest men in all of Cambodia and Southeast Asia. I have included everything you need to know about some of these interests.”

  “What are our terms of engagement?” asked James.

  Thom tilted his head in confusion.

  “Are we allowed to kill whomever we please as long as we get the job done?”

  Thom gave him a thin smile. “Your choice. In the meantime, we must take care to not alert Prime Minister Sen to the true seriousness of Narith’s plan. It would plunge the country into conflict and destroy the peace and harmony we have here in Cambodia.”

  James thought about it. According to the international media, Hun Sen ruled Cambodia like a tyrant anyway. Would General Narith be any worse? He dismissed these thoughts in a couple of seconds. It wasn’t any of his business how the country decided to rule itself.

  “Do you have enough to get started?” asked Thom.

  “I think so, Mr. Thom.” Sinclair closed the folder and tilted it on the side of the table. “How should we keep you updated on the situation?”

  “I trust you,” he said in an almost fatherly manner. “Your organisation has a perfect reputation around the world. You do not need me to manage your operations. It would also be safer for us all if we limit how often we meet.” He gestured to Heng. “If you need anything, Mr. Heng will be your point of contact. If he deems it necessary, he can pass the information to me.”

  “Splendid.” Sinclair rose from the table with his hand extended.

  Everyone rose from their seats along with Sinclair. Thom grasped his hand with yet another warm smile. “Half the money has already been transferred to your account. Tell Mr. Gallagher that everything is as it should be. When you’re in Cambodia, gentlemen, beware of warm smiles.”

  Following a round of handshakes, Thom insisted on paying the bill. They all left separately, ensuring there were at least twenty minutes between the time each party departed. James had enjoyed the evening, but Thom’s parting words had given him something to think on.

  “What do you think he meant by that?” asked James after Thom and Heng had departed.

  “By what?”

  “Beware of warm smiles.”

  Sinclair touched his chin as he considered it. “Oh, don’t take him seriously. He was just telling us to be careful. They like to paint tapestries with their words. It makes them sound wise.”

  As James pulled out a cigarette from his packet, he wondered whether any of the warm smiles that day were something to be wary of.

  Chapter Five

  James forced himself to read through the folder of paperwork into the night. A lot of it detailed General Narith’s movements, what he did, and some of his main allies. He yawned with every page he turned. By the time he awoke from his final doze and finished the thick sheaf, the grey pre-dawn emerged from behind the curtains.

  The fan rotated from right to left and left to right in a futile attempt at cooling the room. It did little more than make the humidity dance around the confined surroundings. James cursed the heat and left his sweaty room, already wondering if it was too late to move to one of those nice five-star hotels.

  The lobby was empty, and the metal grate still pulled over the door. He moved it up slightly and ducked out. During the night, Mr. Arun removed all the furniture for fear of it being stolen. The people of Cambodia were so poor they would steal anything not nailed down. As he lit his morning cigarette, he homed in on a couple of young men sleeping in front of the shuttered storefronts.

  They slept fully clothed on pieces of cardboard they’d managed to pilfer. Few people were outside this early, other than the pickers who rooted through the trash for anything of value. A couple of rats the size of a child’s forearm scuttled through the gutters, escaping the orange eye of God peeking out from the horizon of the Mekong River.

  The thought of humans sleeping on the street as these monsters ran all over them sickened James to the core. No matter how many impoverished nations he visited as part of his job, he never got used to the dirt and the grime some people had to endure.

  “Sir, you are up so early.” Mr. Arun bounded towards him, his ivory white teeth lighting up the morning. “You didn’t sleep well? What can I do to help?”

  James resisted the urge to ask him to install air conditioning. “Not at all. I just like to wake up early sometimes.”

  “If you are sure, sir. How is the other sir? Did he sleep well?”

  He glanced back towards the quiet hotel. “I assume so. He’s still sleeping.”

  “Good. Very good. You are very welcome anytime.”

  The excitable Mr. Arun bemused James. The owner even managed to release a smile this early in the morning. “Mr. Arun, I heard that these streets are full of brothels.”

  “Aha!” Mr. Arun jumped up and down on his toes. “Yes, yes, sir, you can find any woman you like. Very sexy women in those streets.” He pointed across from the hotel. “Behind this street here, you find two streets filled with brothels. Very popular with white people. Very safe for tourists.”

  James nodded. “Have you ever heard the name, Saluk Chea?”

  Mr. Arun pursed his lips. “How do you know Mr. Chea, sir? Foreigners never know Mr. Chea. He is a big man in this city, a dangerous man. Mr. Chea controls all the girls in this district, and the children too.”

  He stopped, thinking he hadn’t heard him correctly. James spoke slowly, deliberately emphasising every syllable. “What do you mean when you say he controls the children?”

  “The children, sir.” Mr. Arun shook his head. “A very bad business. Very bad business.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it. What are you trying to say?”

  “The barang. Barang such as yourself like to come here. They make bad things with the children. The children come from the villages. Their families are very poor, and they need the money, so they send the children to Mr. Chea to work here. They work here, and they make business with barang.”

  It took James a few seconds to fill in the gaps in Mr. Arun’s language. Then it clicked. He was referring to the child prostitution rings in Phnom Penh. They were less famous than those of the Philippines, but they were just as revolting all the same.

  “And it’s all just over there?” James gestured towards the streets beyond. “The next street over?”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I don’t like barang who want children. I hope you are not one of them, sir.” />
  “No, no, God no. I don’t want any children.”

  Mr. Arun’s moonlight smile returned. “Good, sir, very good.”

  “Could I meet this Mr. Chea? How would I go about setting up a meeting with him?”

  “Mr. Chea?” Mr. Arun scratched his head. “You want to meet Mr. Chea?”

  James let out a deep breath. “Yes, I want to meet Mr. Chea.”

  “Impossible, sir. He’s a businessman. A businessman who doesn’t deal with barang. Impossible, quite impossible.”

  “Where does he work, Mr. Arun? I can always try.”

  “Try? How you try? Mr. Chea does not deal with barang.”

  “Humour me, Mr. Arun. Please.”

  Mr. Arun made a little groaning sound as he clawed at the side of his head again. James had seen Mr. Chea’s name in Thom’s dossier. He worked closely with General Narith and delivered him a large cut of money every month from the Doun Penh District. Taking out Mr. Chea was just the first step in dismantling the general’s powerbase. A nice piece of work for the day.

  “There is a brothel called the Palace. Two streets away. The Palace is where Mr. Chea is said to have his office. From there, he controls the other brothels through his managers. But be careful, sir, he is a very dangerous man.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “Very careful, sir.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Arun.” James flicked his eyebrows and turned away to finish smoking his cigarette.

  “Good luck to you, sir.”

  Mr. Arun bowed as he retreated towards the shutters. James’ phone buzzed and he picked it out of his pocket.

  The message from Sinclair read, “Did you find out where Mr. Chea was yet?”

  James locked his phone and dropped it back into his pocket, disturbed that Sinclair seemed to know him so well.

  Chapter Six

  Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia

  On the outskirts of Sihanoukville, a walled compound formed the borders of China in miniature. Shao strolled through his gardens towards the square Chinese pavilion. In his wake, his servants followed, with the tea he had ordered. In the morning, he liked to sit in his pavilion and meditate.