by James Samuel
Chapter Eighteen
Kampot, Kampot Province, Cambodia
Kampot once served as the principal seaport of Cambodia. Only three miles from the Gulf of Thailand, the more adventurous tourists trooped through this quaint riverside town free of touts and bar crawls. Despite the paved roads, vicious orange dust kicked up with every passing bus and tuk-tuk, coating the ankles of pedestrians.
James and Blake pulled into town in a rented black saloon car. He felt awkwardly distinctive in this overpriced behemoth. The Khmer turned under their plastic awnings and children stopped to gawp as the car passed.
“God damn it.” Blake slammed on the horn. “I’ll have to take this to the car wash.”
James moved the hand he’d been using to cover his embarrassment. Their car found itself trapped behind a bulky dump truck. Brown speckles covered the once dark, shining dumper at the back. It belched toxic black smoke into their windscreen.
“This is only drawing attention to us,” said James. “Everyone living here is going to know who we are.”
“I really don’t give a damn.”
James forced down his burning retort. During the four-hour journey out of Phnom Penh, he’d successfully avoided speaking to Blake. He didn’t want to get drawn into yet another conflict with the American.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Blake revved the engine as the truck took a right turn, cleaving the dust swirling in the air. “First we check-in. I’m going to take a shower, and then we’ll scope the place out.”
“Fine,” said James. “I’ll ring Sinclair. Maybe he has something we can use.”
“Do you need him to hold your hand all the way?”
“There’s no harm in finding out if he has anything new. It’s not like I have anything better to do whilst you trim your nails and gel your hair.”
“Your choice, but I already have a plan. Sambath should enjoy his last days of freedom.”
James turned back to the dark-tinted windows and rolled his eyes as Blake adjusted the GPS.
The Tranquillity Hotel stood across from the Praek Tuek Chhu River. Behind a stylish iron gate, the French colonial revival building seemed to sprout little curled metal thorns that hid the nasty-looking spikes on top, while tropical plants with orange and blue flowers brightened up the yard. Sun-stained shingles formed a sloping roof the same colour as the dust that inhabited the town.
“Shame the Hilton or the Sheraton didn’t make it down here yet,” Blake said in his usual snobbish tone.
James sighed and climbed out of the car to ring the bell affixed to the wall. It buzzed and a woman answered. He stated their names and a few moments later the gates parted with a rumble.
Blake barely fitted the car behind the protective iron bars before the owner of the hotel stepped out onto the porch. Her skin was as weathered as old leather and her smiling face betrayed no disapproval at the overt displays of wealth from the two barang.
“Hello, a pleasure to meet you.” James took her hand lightly in his. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes, and French,” she said. “My name is Boupha. You must be Mr. Winchester.”
“James, please. We would like two rooms, the best you have. I apologise for my friend. He’s quite picky.”
Boupha nodded knowingly. “We are first hotel in Kampot. Your friend will be very happy. Please, you come.”
The kindly proprietor led the way inside. Blake burned a hole in the woman’s back as he gestured at his overnight bag.
“Just come on, Blake, grab it yourself. This isn’t the Hilton.”
James followed on behind her into the reception. A strong layer of lacquer made every wooden surface shine. The well-lit room illuminated the black-and-white pictures of Kampot’s past. James focused on one picture of grinning young Khmers in straw hats, knee-deep in the waters of the river with fishing rods by their feet and friends linking arms.
“It’s my family.” Boupha patted her chest as she said it. “Soldier from America take picture. Very nice man.”
James didn’t need to ask where those family members were now. The photo must have been taken in the declining years of the old kingdom as the fanatics of the Khmer Rouge closed in. He tore his eyes away from the picture of the faces.
After taking their passports, she guided them through the back of the reception into a courtyard. Little stone walkways the colour of a subdued sunrise led past separate rooms with blue painted doors. Asian Palmyras towered above the buildings, with small, scented flowers battling for the fingers of sunlight.
“This your room. And this your room.” Boupha pointed at two doors and handed them the keys. “You need something you tell me. Welcome.”
James returned her enthusiasm with a smile as she tottered off along the walkway.
Blake stood with his hands on his hips. “Meet me out here in two hours and let’s get this over with. I swear I heard banjos when we came in.”
Chapter Nineteen
Blake stretched himself out in the Spartan room. Ocean blue bedsheets smelling of fresh soap covered a large double mattress. The air conditioner above the door rattled as it berated the room with ice-cold air.
He picked up his phone and dialled the number he remembered by heart.
“Yes?” Gallagher answered.
“It’s Blake. We’ve just arrived in Kampot.”
“How’s Winchester?”
“As difficult as usual. He doesn’t say much. I get the impression he’s not too happy about this.”
Gallagher prickled. “What Winchester thinks is irrelevant.” He spat out his words in a rush so Blake couldn’t interrupt. “He works for me, as do you. Nevertheless, it’s not important whether agents are happy or not as long as they get the job done. Update me on your progress.”
Blake explained everything about their current situation. He’d got everything he needed from Sinclair. Gallagher occasionally grunted after a particularly important piece of information.
“I received something important from Mr. Sen, but you are not to share this with anyone, least of all with Winchester and Wood, you understand?”
“Of course.”
Gallagher took in a long, loud breath. “Sen has issued an additional contract that I want you to take care of. The new target is Pen Thom.”
Blake didn’t say anything for a long time. His stomach and legs wobbled, and he had to grab the dented side table.
“Blake?”
“I’m here. I just don’t understand. Thom is our main point of contact for General Narith.”
“I know. This is why this situation must be handled delicately. Sen issued this new contract quite a while ago. That is the reason I ordered you to Cambodia. Sen believes Thom is a traitor in the making.”
“And is he?” Blake breathed.
“It’s none of our business. He is the client. You must let Thom lead you all to General Narith and when the right moment arises, finish Thom off discreetly. Make it look like General Narith’s forces were involved... or Xiphos. We need Thom alive until we can assassinate the general.”
“Okay.”
“Very well. I leave the matter in your capable hands.”
The line went dead, and Blake lowered the phone. It made sense. James would never agree to deal in duplicity. He’d never had the ice-cold heart of a professional mercenary. His unmatched skills covered for his unfortunate sense of morality.
Blake mulled over the information as he dressed to meet James.
On the other side of the thin wall, James removed his ear from the cold brickwork. He’d heard everything.
Chapter Twenty
Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia
Since the intervention of China in Cambodia’s domestic and foreign affairs, Sihanoukville had grown into a town of significant military importance. The Cambodian military had bases all over the surrounding area. The military cadre had purchased property throughout Sihanoukville, so they never truly had to leave home. General Sen Narith was
no exception.
When Shao called General Narith to meet him, the general seemed perturbed at being summoned like a common soldier. Shao didn’t care as he sat in the back of his long black car at the isolated beach twenty miles from the centre of town. China ruled here now. If Cambodia wanted investment, they would kowtow.
Shao opened the blacked-out window a crack, letting in the salty sea air. The waves lapped gently against the white sands of the Cambodian coast. He revelled in peace and tranquillity. For a moment, he closed his eyes and took it all in, resetting his mind.
A powerful engine shattered the calm. Another black car, similar to his, pulled up alongside him. The two large cars barely managed to fit at the end of the little dirt road. Narith climbed out of the driver’s seat dressed in a uniform of dark grey and a peaked cap trimmed with gold. His large sunglasses obscured most of the hard lines cut into his face.
“Get in,” said Shao through his window. “We wouldn’t want anyone to know about this meeting.”
Narith got into the car without saying a word. His paunch stuck out like a beer barrel as he dropped onto the leather seat beside him.
“We could have met in a restaurant or somewhere nicer. It’s a long drive out here,” Narith spoke in broken Chinese as he smoothed down his uniform over his girth. “I couldn’t take a convoy, so I had to sit in the traffic.”
Shao stiffened. He hated idle complaining.
“One of my associates was murdered in Phnom Penh. A man who goes by the name of Mr. Chea.”
Shao shook his head. He’d never heard of a Mr. Chea before.
“Part of my business interests,” Narith explained. “I have many businesses, and he was found dead in his office in Phnom Penh. The Palace, a brothel, you heard of it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t partake in whores. So, why does the death of one of your brothel keepers impact me?”
“I can replace him, just like that.” Narith threw a dismissive hand forward. “I don’t care much about him, but it’s the way it was done. My men tell me he was killed professionally. It wasn’t quick and it was a target. Not just some drunk from the streets.”
“Professionally done. If we assume it was a targeted assassination, then the person clearly has business with you.”
Narith nodded. “I’ve got a lot of enemies, Shao. A lot of enemies. But this must have something to do with all of us.”
“Were there any cameras in the establishment?”
“Yes. It’s impossible to reach Mr. Chea’s office without being seen by a dozen cameras. There are cameras in the office as well. We checked them. Two hours of video was deleted. Whoever it was must have been a professional. This I know.”
Shao stared at Narith for a moment. This had grave consequences; unexpected consequences. Perhaps their attempt at removing Sen wouldn’t go as smoothly as he’d intended? Shao had to give his opponent credit. He hadn’t become complacent over his many years in power.
“The prime minister must have people working for him. He has become aware of your bid to remove him.”
Narith sneered at the idea, little flecks of spittle making their way onto his lips. “Sen knows what I think of him and where I’d like to put a bullet. But he knows he can’t get rid of me. It’s been like the Cold War. He wouldn’t dare move against me. I’m the only reason why the army hasn’t hung him.”
Shao maintained his steady look in the face of Narith’s outburst. “You are well aware that I have a foreign mercenary group working for me, Xiphos, aren’t you?”
“For all the good they’ve done. Foreigners have never done any good for Cambodia. Never.”
“Well, there are other mercenaries in the world. If Sen were intelligent – and I’m confident that he is – he would have never had Mr. Chea assassinated using a Cambodian. Cambodians are traceable, foreigners aren’t.”
Narith’s bulky shoulders rose and fell as he took the information in. “I see.”
“A Xiphos agent mentioned to me that the Blackwind group are a threat to their organisation and often come into conflict with them. I would assume that Blackwind is working for Sen. Look for the white faces and you’ll find the agents targeting your interests, General.”
Narith propped his elbow up on the bottom of the window. “White faces. This country is crawling with white faces. I will have this matter investigated. The Royal Cambodian Army will find them. They will suffer before they die. I’ll kill them personally.”
Shao inclined his head. “If there is nothing else, General.”
Narith opened the door and shuffled out, once again straightening his uniform as he stalked back to his car.
Shao watched him go, watching his animalistic movements. He’d never liked Narith. Like most commanders in the army, he’d risen from the ranks of the Khmer Rouge. When the cause started to cannibalise itself, he’d turned tail and run.
He rapped his knuckles on the glass partition separating him from his driver. The driver pressed a button and the partition whirred as it retracted. The sound of the air conditioning softened.
“Sir?” said the driver.
“Send a message to Qiu. I want to hear about the progress of Narith’s investigation alongside our own.”
“Of course, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kampot, Kampot Province, Cambodia
The Khmer Rouge could be compared in many ways to the Russian revolutionaries who had deposed and executed Tsar Nicholas II. Led by middle-class academics who spoke foreign languages, the peasantry revolted in a mad frenzy of killing. Centuries of crushing serfdom made it easy for their leaders to transform them into fanatics. Like many of the current leadership of the Khmer Rouge remnants, Prahn Sambath’s family still worked the land.
Blake had the good sense not to approach the Sambath farm in the saloon car. They rode silently in a tuk-tuk from the hotel. Across the rickety grey and black iron bridge that had become Kampot’s symbol, they drove a little way out of town.
Within ten minutes, James and Blake reached the open country, where emaciated cows lingered on the sloping banks of the dirt roads.
“Let’s keep it calm,” said James. “There’s no need to hurt anyone. They’re only farmers.”
“If they cooperate,” Blake replied.
James clamped his mouth shut. He tried to put what he’d heard from Blake’s room to one side and focus on the job at hand, but it was useless. Should he call Blake out? Was it time to raise the issue with Gallagher? He didn’t know what was right and what was wrong.
James paid the tuk-tuk driver his fare and an exorbitant sum to wait around until they said otherwise.
“Alright,” James sighed. “Act like tourists. Boupha said it’s not uncommon for backpackers to visit the farmers around the town. Foreigners often pay the farmers for tours.”
“Whatever you say.”
James and Blake followed the little dirt path up towards a collection of ramshackle huts sagging to one side. The verdant green fields on either side of them glowed in the midday sunshine. As they came closer, the fields turned into rows of ploughed earth, little green shoots starting to spring from the soil.
“Blake.” James stopped. “We need to take Sambath alive when he comes, okay? Without him, we won’t have a way of finding his leader Prak. If we can’t take out the Khmer Rouge leadership, Narith still has too many cards to play.”
“Sure, sure, just don’t be too nice to these people. We need them to cooperate.”
“Cooperation doesn’t mean pulling your gun out, though.”
Blake didn’t reply.
They carried on trudging towards the huts. When they arrived, they found children sitting on the dirty ground, some young, some almost ready to start ploughing the fields alongside their relatives. A Khmer woman in a long pink dress sat at the threshold of a hut scrubbing clothes against a washboard. She looked up with warm yet suspicious eyes.
“Hello,” said James.
“Hello,” she replied without offering
anything more.
“Do you speak English?” Blake snapped.
She shook her head but climbed up from her work, letting the washboard and a pair of jeans fall into the grey, soapy water. The woman shouted something into the hut in Khmer whilst drying her hands on the front of her dress.
A boy who couldn’t have been no older than sixteen emerged. His long, lanky limbs covered the distance in a couple of steps.
“Hello, you tourists, yah?” said the boy.
“We are.” James gripped the boy’s hand. “We can come back if you’re busy.”
“No, no, my name Rith. You stay. It’s no problem.”
“Thank you, Rith. I’m James and this is my... friend, Blake.”
Blake managed to raise a close-lipped smile as he greeted Rith.
“You want tour of farm? I show you, my family. Come.”
Rith introduced them to each member of his family in turn. The woman they’d spoken to earlier was in fact his mother, the young sister of Prahn. None of them spoke any English. Rith himself had learned English through the tuk-tuk drivers who had taken him under their wing when he was young.
After their little tour of the farmstead, James handed him a small number of bills. Rith never asked for a fee, and he showed no displeasure at the amount he’d received. He insisted they sit down and relax next to the empty fire pit.
“You’d make a good tour guide in the city,” said James.
“I never visit the city.”
“Don’t you want to see what’s outside of Kampot?” asked James.
Rith’s smile drooped like a dying daffodil. “I do. There are many things. I want to go to America.”
“That’s great,” said Blake. “Real great.”
“Maybe one day you will, or at least to Phnom Penh.”
“Yah.” The smile reappeared on his face. “One day.”
The dreams of Rith were like the dreams of so many Cambodians. They wouldn’t come true. Like the rest of them, he had to keep the farm running, so leaving Kampot for even a few days was out of the question.
