by James Samuel
“Dylan, the big problem is not Mr. Chea’s death. A blow, but no more than a graze to General Narith. It will still allow him to launch the coup against Sen when the time comes. What’s striking is the way in which Mr. Chea was murdered. It was no accident. It was an assassination. A professional assassination.”
“Do you think it could be Sen? His bodyguards are almost as professional as the military.”
“No, I said a professional assassination. The army in Cambodia is not particularly professional. They are a gang of thugs and vandals in uniform, nothing more. I have reason to believe that Blackwind has deployed field agents to Cambodia. Our sources tell us they are working for Sen, and therefore, against us.”
Dylan gulped. If Xiphos had a contract on someone they were usually connected to Blackwind. It had led to some nasty incidents in the past, where field agents of both sides had reluctantly entered a deadly chess game. His colleagues had told the stories, but he’d yet to even meet a Blackwind mercenary in the flesh.
Joseph Cecil Gallagher was Sir Richard’s opposite number. Everyone in the business knew Gallagher employed some of the most ruthless mercenaries in the business. Gordon Maugham was chief among them, an Englishman who had even murdered two Xiphos agents in a complicated incident in the Philippines. Xiphos men had feared him ever since and approached every other Blackwind man with extreme wariness.
“Our sources are unclear as to which field agents are in Cambodia. We do know they intend to erode Narith’s powerbase. If they succeed in that, the general will be vulnerable, and then they would have an opening to potentially liquidate him. We cannot under any circumstances allow that to happen.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Continue following Shao Fen’s orders directly for now. During that time, I want you to find out as much as you can about Blackwind’s agents. I am deploying another of our agents to help you. Adam Kendall. I believe you two have met. You are in Poipet, correct?”
Dylan swivelled around in an electric blue plastic chair in the patio of the bar where he’d taken refuge. He became aware that someone had eyes on him.
“Yes, Sir Richard.”
“Good. Then our sources were correct. Adam is already in Cambodia and has been shadowing you for several days. I will make the call and have him meet up with you. Is there anything else?”
“No, Sir Richard.”
“Very well.”
The line went dead.
Dylan dropped the phone on the table next to his sweating beer. The moisture had already soaked through the little napkin the smiling Cambodian had placed under the bottle. He felt rotten knowing that Sir Richard hadn’t trusted him enough to complete the mission on his own. A few minutes later, his shadow arrived.
Adam Kendall came up the steps and walked under the relative safety of the plastic shelter covering the patio. The Englishman wore his usual half-smile, but he bore no malice behind it. He ran a hand through his military buzzcut. The sweat patches had already left stains on his dark shirt. Dylan had worked with Adam before. He liked him, but he felt a little resentful that he’d tailed him throughout Cambodia.
“Dylan, nice to see you again.” Adam gave him a firm handshake. “Sambath is in that guesthouse, yeah?”
“He is.”
“Good.” Adam sat opposite him and motioned to the waiter for a beer. “I wonder if he’s going to make the crossing to Thailand or what?”
“They charge five bucks for a beer here. Ridiculous.”
Adam laughed. “I don’t give a toss with what we’re on every year. It’s a border town. What do you expect?”
Poipet was the main crossing travellers made when they moved between Thailand and Siem Reap in Northern Cambodia. The town had evolved from an irrelevant village to a swarming boomtown filled with overpriced bars, overpriced restaurants, and overpriced visas. Wild-eyed backpackers passed Dylan under a constant barrage of aggressive beggars, touts, and scammers.
Travellers looked upon the dusty town of Poipet, with its artificial stone gate topped with a small model of Angkor Wat, as a necessary rite of passage in this part of the world. Of course, the local Khmer police didn’t care because it was their people getting rich and the decadent Westerners getting ripped off.
The waiter brought an identical overpriced beer to Adam. Again, that greasy, fake smile came free.
“No wonder he’s happy,” said Adam. “Probably makes more than any other waiter in the country at these prices. Anyway, Sir Richard has briefed me. So, we’re going to war with Blackwind again. I wonder who it’s going to be this time.”
“You’ve been here longer than me. What’s it like?”
Adam sucked on his beer. “What’s what like?”
“Meeting Blackwind. I’ve never seen them in the field.”
“Stay on your guard. You’re normally not firing at them, just trying to get the job done whilst protecting your man. You get it done and then you get paid. What happens after that is none of our business.”
Dylan relaxed a little. He didn’t relish going up against other mercenaries. His jobs usually took the form of assassinating criminals and gang members who’d learned to shoot from Hollywood movies and video games. He didn’t fancy facing down crack shots who had his same tricks up their sleeves.
“How long has Sambath been inside that guesthouse?”
Dylan trained his eyes on the little guesthouse across the street. Like most of the accommodations here, a row of flags from Cambodia’s favourite tourist countries fanned out across the front of the building.
“At least a couple of hours. I haven’t seen anyone leave. I performed a sweep of the building. No back exit leads onto the street. I was ordered to follow Sambath until we find out where his boss Tep Prak is.”
Adam downed the rest of his beer in record time. “Looks like we might be here for a bit, then. Grab us another couple of beers.”
Dylan nodded and ordered the next round of beers. Although he felt more comfortable having someone like Adam around to support him, he’d wanted to do this on his own. Hopefully, by the time this was over, he would get his chance to shine. Sir Richard would learn to trust him.
Chapter Thirteen
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
Pen Thom had declined to meet James and Sinclair in-person. He sent a message with some blather that he couldn’t afford to take the risk unless it was an emergency. Instead, Thom would send his assistant Ros Heng in his place.
They entered a small, modest Chinese restaurant facing the Mekong River. Hidden behind a pair of glass doors, the restaurant was nearly empty. The simple décor had very little in the way of Chinese decoration, other than a few black-and-white pictures of the Great Wall and the growing skyline of Shanghai. A TV next to the door showed the Manchester United game, which the waiter watched from the entrance to the kitchen.
James and Sinclair chose the table closest to the door, with the TV above their heads. They ordered glasses of water, feeling it rude to begin their meal before Heng arrived with an update on their mission.
“Doesn’t this restaurant seem a tad lower class to invite the assistant of one of the leading government figures to?” asked Sinclair.
“It’s quiet. We look like ordinary tourists. Other than that Indian family in the corner, there’s nobody here to listen to us. I’m not interested in his personal taste, or yours for that matter.”
Sinclair shook his head in despair. The snob in Sinclair had come racing to the surface again. He’d never forgotten his Oxford roots and still attended every graduate reunion he could, proudly wearing the tie of Balliol College when he did.
Heng arrived on foot from around the corner. He wore a tailored white shirt, with one button open at the top and a pair of plain black trousers. Heng pushed his way into the air-conditioned restaurant wearing the same scowl he wore at their first meeting.
James and Sinclair rose to greet him. His scowl disappeared, but they still received little more tha
n cool disdain.
“I’m sorry none of us speaks any Khmer, Mr. Heng.”
“My English is more than good enough.” An Asian twang accompanied his words. “I have your next target. Mr. Thom is most pleased with your excellent work. However, he expressed that he wants you to move quickly to maintain pressure.”
Heng settled into his seat as the waiter deigned to leave his football game for a minute to do the job he was being paid to do. Dressed shabbily, he clutched a battered and stained notebook in his hand. With a stubby pencil, he took their orders. Heng showed no desire to stay long by ordering just a glass of water.
He maintained his sullen and imposing stance as they waited for the waiter to set down a third glass of water next to them. James wasn’t sure what to make of him.
“Your next target is Prahn Sambath, the second in command of the remnants of the Khmer Rouge. He is a major supporter of General Narith. However, this is not just a simple act as before. You must capture him alive.”
“Alive?” James leaned forwards. “What’s the reason?”
Heng’s expression remained stoic. “Sambath will give us access to an even greater target, Tep Prak. Are you aware of him?”
“Oh, him,” Sinclair interjected. “I’ve heard about him. Every so often some journalist writes about what’s left of the Khmer Rouge. Prak is its leader. They say he hides out in the mountains near Thailand, mainly smuggling guns across the border.”
“You are correct,” said Heng. “Prak and his Khmer Rouge will form part of the rebellion. He has been smuggling unregistered weapons into the country for many years. He has many agents in the villages. He follows the same strategy as Pol Pot.”
“So, Prak will be in the mountains, and you want Sambath to tell us where he is?”
“That is correct. We have no need for Sambath. Interrogate him then kill him.”
James shrugged. “Sounds simple enough.”
Heng finally displayed what passed as a thin smile. “Mr. Winchester, you underestimate our country. The mountains and jungles of Cambodia are dangerous places for a barang. They are dangerous for Khmer. Dangerous for everyone. This country is covered in landmines and unexploded bombs.”
“I’ve faced worse.”
“Very well, Mr. Winchester. Then I go. I leave you with this.”
Heng removed a manila folder from his briefcase, identical to the one containing the briefing on Mr. Chea, and departed, leaving his water untouched.
“You really should take his warnings seriously, James. I’ve read about Cambodia. Apart from Laos, it has more unexploded ordinance than anywhere. The government only tries to get rid of the mines when the UN sends money. And they stopped sending money a long time ago. Most of it will be along those mountain roads.”
James dismissed Sinclair’s concerns with a wave and a grumble. If the locals operated in the countryside without too much trouble, he would too.
“Go on, bookworm. You get to work.”
Two steaming piles of bok choy in oyster sauce arrived. The baby bok choy had been fried, releasing their strong aroma around the restaurant. James looked down at the dreary green mess in the muddy sauce, wishing he’d chosen a better restaurant.
Chapter Fourteen
Sinclair returned to the Riverside Guesthouse to begin bookworming his way through Heng’s file. Not content with getting drunk on the patio all day, he decided to do something productive by going to find Nhek. They hadn’t met since Nhek had taken possession of the boy Kosal from The Palace.
He gave him a call, set a location, and James made his way along the Mekong towards the Phsar Reatrey market. Known as the Night Market to the tourists, this open-air market often showcased musicians and dancers on a central stage. In the middle of the day, locals toured the shabby stalls at a crawl.
Around the Phsar Reatrey market, motorbikes were parked like bric-a-brac between the cars. Enormous cooking pots released delectable aromas, like a makeshift Cambodian air freshener. The spicy smells covered the stench of raw muck that seemed to inhabit every gutter in the city.
“Mr. James. Mr. James.” Nhek called from his tuk-tuk. “I bring Kosal, you see?”
Nhek’s tuk-tuk stuck at an awkward angle with the backend protruding into the road. The little Khmer boy also sat on the tuk-tuk. He gazed around wide-eyed at his surroundings, as if he’d never been outside The Palace before. James greeted them both. Little Kosal grabbed his hand as he looked up at him with a cute smile.
“He is a healthy boy now. My wife loves him. He is very welcome in our home. You are a good man, James.”
James felt the heat rising in his cheeks a little bit. He’d never intended on doing a good deed. It just happened purely by chance.
“I need your help again, Nhek,” said James.
“Anything, Mr. James.”
“I want you to tell me about the Khmer Rouge. About Prahn Sambath, in particular.”
“Prahn Sambath.” Nhek clicked his tongue for a moment. “Ah, yes, Prahn. He is a very bad man. But he was only a child under Kampuchea, so he never knew what was happening. But as he grew up, he joined them and now he works in the mountains. A very bad man, Mr. James.”
“Yes, yes,” said James. “I understand. Do you know anything about him now or where I could find him?”
Nhek screwed up his face for a moment. “Ah, I don’t know where he is. Only in the mountains. Nothing more.”
James couldn’t hide his disappointment as he let loose a frown. “Would Preap know? He had some power before he started living by the river. Maybe he might know something about Sambath.”
Nhek’s eyes widened at the thought. “No, no, you must not ask Preap. Please, don’t go there.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
Nhek waved his arms around. “Don’t do it, Mr. James, please, for me. Don’t talk to Preap about this. It would be very bad for him and you.” Nhek gripped his arm. “I beg you, Mr. James, don’t go to Preap.”
“Okay, fine, fine.” James tore his arm away from Nhek. “No Preap.”
The tuk-tuk driver sighed like the heavens had opened up above his head and he’d received good news from the gods. “You are a great man, Mr. James. A truly great man.”
“Something like that.”
He didn’t understand why Nhek had flown into a terrified frenzy when he mentioned the possibility of asking Preap. After all, Preap must have known some powerful people during his time working for Mr. Chea. He could have been a big help. Nevertheless, out of respect for Nhek being so helpful and trustworthy, he vowed not to approach Preap about it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Mr. James. I want to take Kosal back to his village. To his family. It is only a little place. I was wondering if you would do me the great honour of coming with me. Kosal is very proud of knowing you. He tells me so. He admires you greatly.”
James looked down at the little boy, who, doubtless, had no idea what the two men in front of him were talking about. Indeed, Kosal held a certain reverence for him. He could see it in his eyes. He did look up to him. Not having any experience with children, he couldn’t understand why. He’d spent a grand total of less than half an hour with the boy.
“When I have the time, Nhek. Right now, I have a job to do. I might be out of Phnom Penh for a little while. I’ll call you when I return.”
Nhek seized his hand without warning again and grasped it, shaking it like he wanted to dislodge it from its socket. “Oh, thank you, Mr. James. You are a great man.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia
The bustling shipyards of Sihanoukville had grown more chaotic since the Chinese had moved in. Everything needed to expand to accommodate the massive warships that the People’s Republic would soon deploy to Southeast Asia, thus further expanding Chinese power in the region. Shao spent much of his time monitoring the yards.
Shao’s main ally from Beijing stood next to him. Dressed in a tailored dark sui
t, Qiu Fu’s eyes appeared black from a distance, and a coldness radiated from him. Like Shao, his family had high connections within the Chinese Communist Party’s ranks. Success meant eternal glory. Failure meant the loss of everything their respective families had worked to achieve.
“Hun Sen will move soon to delay our work in these shipyards,” said Shao.
“Should I tell General Narith to accelerate his plans? Beijing will not allow any delays. The Americans and their allies will reinforce their forces to deter us if we don’t act first.”
“Patience,” Shao cautioned.
“Patience may cost us. China has been patient for too long.” Qiu spoke to Shao as an equal. They were equal in the eyes of the Party. “If what you said about the foreigners is true, we may have no choice.”
Shao observed the blue cranes hanging over the new dry docks and the brand-new buildings springing up around the shipyard. Khmer in bright yellow jackets called out to each other in their own language.
“Beijing should have sent Chinese workers.” Shao tightened his lips at the scene before him. “These Khmer are slow and inefficient. Our advisors can only do so much to account for what they lack.”
“That would be too open. We cannot allow our operations here to acquire more attention than necessary. The West must not see our movements in Cambodia as a threat.” Qiu switched subjects. “Do you have San Peou?”
Shao gave a solemn nod of the head. The whole business with San Peou saddened him. He’d spent his whole life in the Cambodian Army. He’d long stayed on whichever side China supported, whether through intention or dumb luck. The more he’d been promoted, the more he abandoned his ideals. These days, Peou enjoyed his position as a leader of men, but he’d sided with Sen against General Narith.
“Good. Where is he?”
Shao inclined his head towards the building to their right. Part of the original Sihanoukville shipyards, the metal roof winked under the pewter sky. Fragments of rust clung to each metal sheet. Little cracks snaked their way up the building. Shao had chosen it because it had become the graveyard for broken pieces of shipping equipment nobody cared to take away.
