by James Samuel
“Excellent. Has he talked?” asked Qiu.
“Not yet. I asked my men to leave when I arrived. Peou has been held in place, with no chance of escape.”
“I hope you are right. If he escapes, he has his supporters.”
“This way.” Shao gestured to the rusted iron door. “You may take as long as you like.”
Qiu went first, with Shao shadowing him. He trusted Qiu implicitly, but he disagreed with his methods at times. His strategy came straight from the Party with little to no creativity. Shao preferred to use his own tactics to achieve his goals. Qiu’s answer to every problem typically involved torture of some kind. He’d purposely avoided eating lunch to fight off any future feelings of nausea.
They entered the building. The smell of mould hit Shao as they crossed the metal floor. Two sets of steps led down to an open plan area. Drops of water pattered on the soiled ground from a pipe hidden in the shadows.
Lit by a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, its wiring exposed, the main floor of the building contained a small open space. Shao’s men had pushed the rusted metal to the side, carving out a place for San Peou. Long pieces of rope bound the bleeding, beaten Khmer to a chair. A dirty gag prevented him from eliciting anything more than terrified grunts.
“We need two men.” Qiu’s eyes seemed to grow a shade blacker as he spoke. “I want you to operate the rheostat control.”
Shao nodded. The nasty device sitting on a trolley next to Peou had been popularised in South America during the dictatorships of the last century. The picana looked like a cattle prod. Its bronze tip would poke the flesh, whilst the rheostat controlled the voltage. The high voltage of the device would cause injury, but its low energy pulse would keep the victim alive.
“Don’t put the voltage too high,” said Qiu. “I want him alive… for now.”
Shao knew how to operate the variable resistor to maintain the voltage. Qiu enjoyed this method of torture and – Shao couldn’t deny – it had delivered the results they needed in the past. It made Shao feel uneasy knowing that Qiu gained pleasure from these intimate torture sessions. Necessary as they were, Shao preferred having his men carry it out away from him.
Qiu ripped the gag from Peou’s mouth. He spoke in English. “Peou, we have a few questions.”
Peou took deep, gasping breaths. Shao’s men had already pounded him into pulp the day before. His facial wounds festered, and deep bruises had already turned black and gangrenous. Peou’s skin had started to resemble the rust colour that surrounded him.
“You chose Sen over General Narith, and you abandoned your former allies. That’s why we brought you here today,” said Qiu. “We want you to tell us everything you know about Sen.”
“Will you let me go?”
“No,” Qiu said matter-of-factly. “But if you give us the information we want, we’ll let you die quickly. Let me give you a demonstration.”
Shao took that as his cue to alter the voltage on the rheostat. He chose a moderate level, a warning shot. Peou would understand how much worse this could get if he didn’t cooperate.
Qiu prodded the picana into his chest. Peou screamed. The single momentary touch left an angry mark erupting on his thin chest. It would get so much worse. Shao had barely even started.
“How close are you to Sen?” asked Qiu.
“I’m not close to Sen. I just work for him. I’m a member of the army.”
“How many times did you meet?”
“Not often. I met him twice.”
Qiu paused for a moment, before using his spare hand to gesture at Shao to increase the voltage. Peou had lied.
The voltage went up. Qiu poked him in the deltoids. The electrical pulse drew agony from Peou. He gave him another couple of pokes in the same place for good measure. His eyes widened and his eyeballs threatened to pop out of their sockets with each contact.
“How many times?”
“Once per month. Once per month. That’s enough. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Qiu’s face didn’t flicker. They always said that.
“What does Sen know about General Narith?” Shao said from the rheostat.
“They don’t have a good relationship. Not a good relationship.” Peou still cast glances of fear at the vicious bronze tip only a couple of feet from his flesh. “Sen knows he can’t fire him. It could cause a mutiny. Narith is too strong.”
“Yes, we know that.” Shao increased the voltage without an indicator from Qiu. “We know you know more.”
Qiu looked down at the picana and attacked Peou’s leg with it. The higher voltages burned the skin. The sizzling meat on his thigh gave off a smell akin to charcoal as the electric jolts ripped their way through his body.
Peou moaned in pain as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn’t even raise his hands to cradle his injuries.
“Sen is paranoid,” said Peou at last. “Sen thinks Narith is planning to overthrow him. That he wants to use the army to take control of the country. That’s why Sen created his own bodyguard from Brigade 70.”
The two men nodded.
Shao, of course, knew all this. They’d done their research and asked him these pointless questions so they could gauge how truthful Peou would be. Without already knowing the validity of the information he gave, how could they ensure he wouldn’t lie to escape this situation?
“What else?” Qiu waved the picana with menace.
Shao had already turned the voltage up again.
Peou hesitated.
Qiu didn’t wait for him to formulate an answer. He pressed the picana towards his genitals.
This time Shao had to close his eyes. Each scream, each squeal like a stuck pig, made his heart race. No matter how tightly he shut his eyes to the torture in front of him, the sounds wouldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t smell the sulphurous odour of frazzled hair. He couldn’t ignore the distinctive smell of searing human meat.
“The average human can survive for days under picana if we allow it. Tell us what Sen really thinks. What is he really planning?” said Qiu.
Peou gritted his teeth. Tears cascaded down his bloody cheeks. “Sen knows that Narith is planning a coup. He’s using Commander Chan Chhaya to find out about his plans, and to kill him if he can.”
Shao raised his eyebrows at that. Finally, Peou had told them something of real use.
“That’s all I know. I have nothing to do with Sen’s bodyguard unit. Please… just kill me.”
Qiu narrowed his eyes at Peou like he wanted to continue torturing him just for the fun of it. Instead, he lowered the picana back onto the trolley.
Shao turned off the rheostat, closing the current and bringing an end to the torture session.
“Thank you,” Peou said in a soft voice. “Thank you.”
Qiu picked at a fingernail. “Our men will deal with you. I prefer not to get my hands dirtier than they already are.”
Shao and Qiu left the building, leaving the tortured man to contemplate his life in the few minutes he had remaining. They both squinted as they re-emerged into the cool light of the shipyards again.
Shao blinked the spots out of his eyes. “Peou had some use after all. This is grave news. Very serious. We never suspected that Sen knew so much about our activities.” He motioned at his waiting men to go inside and finish the job.
“General Narith must know. We must move our plans forward. If we give him too much time to prepare, it could make our position unstable.”
“No. I will investigate Chhaya. If the opportunity arises, I can kill him before he has a chance to organise Sen’s defences. Without their commander, Sen’s bodyguard will be weakened.”
Qiu’s shoulders moved up and down like he wanted to argue, but he finally nodded at Shao to take command. This time, the patient hunter would catch the prey.
Chapter Sixteen
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
Sinclair didn’t think he would find himself
back at Phnom Penh’s airport so soon. This time the tuk-tuk drivers who saw them arrive didn’t bother them for a fare. Nhek did a fine job at yelling at any stragglers to stay away.
“Who are we meeting?” asked James.
“Gallagher never said who he would send,” said Sinclair. “He never does. It’s not as if we have a say in it anyway. We’ll have to live with what we get.”
James folded his arms as they waited on the concourse outside the doors of the arrivals area. White-shirted tuk-tuk drivers scurried around harassing anyone who looked foreign. Of course, almost everyone leaving the airport was foreign. The average Khmer couldn’t afford the luxury of foreign travel.
Their boss Gallagher ran Blackwind from his London office. The gruff, unyielding Gallagher had given him a hard time after the business in Mexico, where James felt dutybound to kill their client. It had required a lot of covering up from Gallagher to avoid scaring away potential business.
“You did say he was on this plane, didn’t you?” James checked the time on his phone. “There are a lot of flights from Singapore every day.”
Sinclair rolled his eyes. “You ever known me to be wrong about a simple thing like this?”
The stream of arriving passengers slowed to a trickle when, finally, a man in a sports jacket, aviator sunglasses, and a smug, prickish smile emerged. A Khmer carried his roller suitcase alongside him. Blake Harrison.
James sighed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Sinclair said nothing. He caught a look at James out of the corner of his eye. His partner vibrated with anger.
He jumped into the tuk-tuk as James and Blake became re-acquainted with each other. Neither man shook hands on the concourse. Nhek appeared to miss the animosity between them as he swung his head from side to side to check traffic while he steered the motorbike. Sinclair sat facing forwards with James next to him and Blake behind them.
“I want to know what’s going on here,” said James. “Every time I have a mission, Gallagher partners me with you. Of all the agents working for him. I don’t get it. Are you two doing this just to annoy me?”
Blake smirked; his eyes hidden by the dark glasses. “Who knows? Maybe he just thinks you need someone who’ll get the job done.”
“You make things more difficult not less. And you’re not that useful. Remember Mexico? I went into that hacienda by myself and you stood on a hill watching me. Hardly what I would call helpful.”
“I remember you shooting a couple of guys and taking advantage of the girl you were supposed to be returning to the client.”
Sinclair glanced at James, who now had a look of thunder on his face. Jessi Montoya was still a sore spot after their adventures in Mexico. James had fallen for the girl for a few days, only to find himself forced to cast her aside. After all, an international mercenary could hardly have ties back home. It interfered with the job.
“In any case, you’ve found yourself at a dead-end again. What Gallagher wants he gets, so get over it.”
“Perhaps we should just focus on the job. Nobody said we had to be friends,” Sinclair interjected.
“Prick,” said James.
“Limey prick.”
James and Blake gazed out of opposite sides of the tuk-tuk. Sinclair noted the difference in the way they both regarded Phnom Penh. James had a sense of wonder, analysing everything from the dirty sandals of the men to the children wearing knock-off soccer jerseys. Blake looked upon Phnom Penh with a wrinkled nose and a look of pure disdain.
Nhek took them to the modern downtown business area. Nothing looked like Cambodia here. Plate glass and steel monstrosities rose above the city. After the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese occupation, whole sections of the decaying capital were devastated. In their place, skyscrapers modelled after the worst of North America and Europe dotted the downtown area.
“Not bad,” said Blake to nobody in particular. “I’m surprised they had it in them.”
As they pulled up to the luxury Marriott skyscraper, Nhek gazed up at it in wonderment. A man like him wouldn’t even get through the door. Sinclair wanted Blake and James to stay together to make the logistics easier, but after their exchange, he didn’t feel like fighting that battle.
Everyone climbed out, James for a cigarette and Blake to collect his roller suitcase, or more accurately for Nhek to gather it. Sinclair watched as James stepped away, the universal sign that diplomacy was off the cards.
“Sinclair,” said Blake. “Come here.”
“You’re not making this easy for anyone by bringing Mexico up again. We’re supposed to work together, and this could get someone killed.”
Blake shrugged. “Tell that to him.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to have to talk to him about what happened in Miami, but I will if it will shut him up. I saved his life, remember?”
Sinclair raked his tongue across the underside of his teeth. In the firefight during the assassination of Roberto Romero, drone strikes hit the skyscraper, scattering the authorities and giving James a means to escape. It could have been the end for James without those strikes.
“Why did you tell me if you were not going to tell him?” Sinclair said through gritted teeth. “You know we always work together and we’re friends. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to cause more problems between you both.”
“One day, Sinclair.” Blake clicked his tongue. “When the time comes, he’ll know.”
Sinclair remained motionless as Blake clapped him on the shoulder and walked towards the hotel doors. The touch made him rigid. Now he understood why Blake had told him but not James. He wanted to keep the incident in his back pocket, should he ever need it.
Chapter Seventeen
Sinclair’s room at the Riverside Guesthouse resembled an intelligence hub. Screens, cables, piles of paper, and extension wires took up most of the room. The constant darkness Sinclair preferred made the computer screens shine with a ghoulish glow.
James and Blake crammed themselves inside, summoned in the early morning two days after Blake’s arrival. The little fan in the corner did little to banish the smell of stale sweat.
“What do you want, Sinclair?” asked Blake brusquely. “This better be good. You’ve already had two days to look around for this Sambath guy and so far, nothing.”
Sinclair perched himself on the austere wooden chair, the only one in the room. “I haven’t managed to find him yet.”
Blake threw his hands up in despair. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What did you call me here for? At least he only has to walk down the hall. I had to come all the way across town to get here.”
“Only because you refused to stay here,” said James.
“I have some standards, my man.”
“Enough,” Sinclair snapped. “I’m not in the mood to listen to this again. I called you here not because I found Sambath. We would never manage to find his location here without some luck. Besides, he appears to be a man who moves around a lot. Instead, I did some digging into his background and found where his family lives.”
Blake whooped and slapped Sinclair hard on the back. “Good job. Finally, you’ve come up with something good. That’ll be great.”
“It’s about five or six hours from here south, just outside of Kampot. It’s a riverside town. Used to be a quiet place but you get a lot of tourists there now. That shouldn’t be a problem because the family lives on a small farm outside of town.”
James ran his tongue around the sides of his mouth as he considered it. He knew what Sinclair was getting at. They would need to use Sambath’s relatives to shake him from hiding. It reminded him of the incident in Mexico all over again. He’d taken a narco’s mother hostage to bring him out of hiding. It had worked, but it had come with tragic consequences.
“What do you know about Sambath’s family?” asked Blake.
“Nothing much, only that the family acquired the farm in the fifties. That was just after Cambodia became independent from France.”
&
nbsp; “That’s not much help.”
“We don’t need to know anything more. These are farmers. I doubt they pay taxes or file any forms with the government. The point is, if you understand rural Cambodian culture, you will know that people who grow up on the farm tend not to go far from the farm.”
“Yeah, but who’s to say Sambath will do anything if we take his family hostage? I could shoot them, and he probably wouldn’t know about it.”
Sinclair folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Khmer families are very close. They’ll know how to contact him, I’m sure of it. Either way, we have no other choice, Blake. This is all we have for now and we lose nothing by trying, right?”
James had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange. He sat on the edge of the bed. Sinclair knew what could happen in the field, but he didn’t understand. The man who sat behind a computer didn’t know the feeling of taking women and children hostage to get to someone. He also didn’t have to endure the lengths their targets would go to free their family members.
“James?” Sinclair swivelled around in his seat. “What do you think?”
“If it’s the only way to bring Sambath out of hiding, then we’ll do it.” James looked up at Blake. “Just don’t hurt any of them. They have nothing to do with this.”
Blake scoffed at the idea. “As long as they don’t try anything, I’m cool with it. But if Sambath wants to play hardball, I’m going to start shooting.”
James nodded, knowing it was about as much ground as he could hope to extract from Blake. His detestable partner wasn’t a psychopath revelling in suffering, but, in his mind, he was justified in committing any number of atrocities if it meant he could achieve a goal.
“Come here, both of you. I need to show you some maps of the area,” said Sinclair.
The two men gathered around Sinclair and honed in on the computer screens in front of them. The trap had almost been set.
