by James Samuel
Lieutenant Kravaan fanned out as Chhaya closed in on the doors to the King’s quarters from the right. Their pincer movement brought them to the doors of the golden Khmer-French building.
The two of them disposed of the guards with ease. All guards were soldiers, but they weren’t the elite.
“Lay the charge,” Chhaya ordered.
In the darkness, Lieutenant Kravaan armed the C4 explosive charge. He stuck it to the wall. The bright red light pulsed, indicating it was fully armed. It would cause no more than a small yet lethal explosion.
Chhaya turned away, “Same way out. Move quickly. No kills.”
Their strangleholds would only put the guards asleep for a few minutes. They didn’t have time to dawdle. If the guards awoke, they would have to use lethal force. Killing the men of the Cambodia Royal Guard was unconscionable to him.
Like four Khmer phantoms, they jogged through the dark gardens the way they came. All the guards slept soundly where they’d left them. With no complications, they departed through the palace gates.
“Commander,” said Lieutenant Kraavan. “Ready?”
“Give me the detonator. This is my responsibility.”
Lieutenant Kravaan handed over the unit.
Chhaya hesitated for a moment as he mulled over the point of no return. He blinked and pressed the red button.
The palace sprang to life in a cacophony of light and sound. The C4 exploded, sending a fiery, smoky blast into the air. The entire palace seemed to shake. The heart of Cambodia missed a beat as dogs barked, men cried in anguish, and four men in black watched in stunned silence.
“To the boat,” Chhaya ordered.
“Commander,” said the masked lieutenant.
“Yes?”
Chhaya turned to the lieutenant. He didn’t have the chance to run. The bullet hit him in his leg. The commander screamed and went down as his team fled to the river without a second thought.
Shock took him. His mouth opened but no words came out. The guards were roused, the dogs prowled the grounds, baying for blood.
Chhaya had no time to process. No time to feel anything. His pursuers were coming. He waited for the end.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sinclair hadn’t heard from the group since they left the highway in the shadow of the Cardamom Mountains the previous day. He worried about them. Even if he trusted Preap, they were outmatched by Prak’s men. They knew every ambush point and every approach. He didn’t like their chances.
Mr. Arun approached him at his table as he waited for any news from the mountains.
“Sir, I have good news for you. Very good news.”
“Is it a beer on the house?”
“No beer on the house. Only in the house.”
Sinclair stared blankly at him.
“A man called you and said he was coming now,” Mr. Arun continued unabated. “You make a new friend. I am most happy for you.”
Sinclair lowered his gaze at the grinning guesthouse owner. “What did he say his name was?”
“No name. He said he come for you though.”
Sinclair ran his tongue across his teeth. In this business, surprises were never a good thing. He debated running as Mr. Arun left him alone. He still had time to gather everything and switch to a safe place. In the end, Mr. Arun brought him another beer, and he decided to take the risk. What sort of assassin would provide a courtesy call to his target on a job anyway?
Sinclair waited, the tension biting into him. He drummed his fingers on the table and kept shuffling his leg. The possibilities were endless. Cambodia had already descended into chaos, so he had no real idea whether he would encounter an enemy, a friend, or someone who meant nothing to him.
He didn’t have long to wait. Nhek arrived in his tuk-tuk. The driver didn’t slam the palm of his hand against the horn or screech like an animal. He made a great show of parking the tuk-tuk carefully against the curb. Pen Thom climbed out of the back, stepping over the grime in the gutters.
His bodyguard Ros Heng joined him. He wore the same impassive look, tinged with a whiff of disdain. Sinclair gulped and stood from his table. He shook hands with the two men, projecting more confidence than he felt.
“I’m surprised to see you both,” said Sinclair. “You were more than welcome to call me, and we could have set up a meeting in some more comfortable surroundings.”
Thom and Heng sat on their little plastic chairs. They shifted, trying to find some comfort in the cheap furniture.
“You would not have been here had I called,” said Thom. “We know that Prahn Sambath was killed.”
“Oh,” Sinclair managed.
“Remember, Mr. Wood, we are the government, and we have access to information you don’t. I hope that Mr. Winchester and his friends are hunting down Prak. If he’s found, this issue will be rectified, and we can begin plotting General Narith’s downfall.”
Sinclair let his shoulders rise and fall as he processed the information. He expected Thom to hit him with everything he had for their failure. Despite such a catastrophic mistake, he sat with the same calm demeanour as always.
“We’re chasing Prak in the Cardamom Mountains as we speak. That’s why I’m here on my own.”
Thom nodded and leaned towards Sinclair. “Keep your voice down. Tomorrow morning, a big story is going to hit the newspapers. Have you visited the area around the Royal Palace today?”
Sinclair shook his head.
“An attempt was made on His Majesty’s life by the leader of Hun Sen’s bodyguard.”
“What?”
“It’s true. This means we have less time than we hoped. The prime minister has been weakened.”
“I’m… not sure what to say to that. What are the circumstances?”
Thom went on to explain how Commander Chhaya had planted some plastic explosive at the palace in a faked false flag attack. Chhaya was now in custody and would certainly be executed after a very public trial. Sinclair was alarmed at Thom’s stupidity. He’d risked his boss’s existence to pull off something that had so little chance of succeeding. The assumption that Narith would find himself tied up was wishful at best. Sinclair did all he could to bite his tongue.
“You see,” Thom finished, almost jovial. “We all make mistakes.”
“Yes, Mr. Thom. Is this why you came here today?”
“Yes.” Thom turned to Heng. “The files please.”
Ros pulled out a variety of identical-looking red plastic folders and shifted them across the table in the direction of Sinclair.
“We need to know who the traitor is,” said Thom. “The prime minister is planning a purge of his bodyguard. I’ve been tasked with finding out who it was. These files are the men who were on Commander Chhaya’s team that went into the palace.”
Sinclair glanced at the pile of red folders without moving to take them. “How do you know there was a traitor at all? The palace guard could have shot him on his way out.”
Thom’s brow furrowed as if it were the dumbest question in the world.
“The average Cambodian soldier is an idiot, and the same goes for the palace guard,” Heng intervened. “In combat, they panic. I should know. I served in the army when I was younger.”
Sinclair nodded.
“The bullet was too well-placed, like an execution. I managed to get the report from the scene before the army took over and General Narith locked everyone else out. You must understand, this is serious.”
“Why not just imprison every other member of the team until someone talks?” asked Sinclair.
“And risk a revolution?” Thom cried. “That would be insanity. These are high-ranking officers with a lot of friends. To imprison them all on nothing more than a feeling could destroy Cambodia. His bodyguard is the only thing that stands between him and the end. No, we need the name of the person and we need him to be dealt with quietly before he can do more damage.”
Sinclair nodded along with Thom’s explanation. Now it made sense. They could
n’t risk going after the traitor through the arms of the state. If a couple of foreigners made the kill – or made it seem like an accident – nobody would raise a fuss.
“I already spoke to Mr. Gallagher,” said Thom. “He accepts the need to expand the contract. He assured me that you and Mr. Winchester will both be paid extra to complete this assignment.”
Sinclair inclined his head and the two other men nodded. As quickly as they’d come, they were shaking hands with Sinclair and moving back to the silent Nhek sitting on his bike, waiting to go. There were no warm waves or invitations to come back soon. The situation had grown worse. Now they had someone else’s mess to clean up.
“Sir, sir.” Mr. Arun rushed over to Sinclair and his new folders. “Where are your friends? I bring them beer. Why do they leave now? You not so friendly with them?”
Sinclair turned his gaze away from Nhek’s tuk-tuk sweeping back towards the Mekong with the surety of a fired arrow. He found Mr. Arun’s face pleading for an explanation.
“Get me another beer, Mr. Arun. I’ve got a few meetings to prepare for.”
“Ah good. Very good, sir. I am happy you make friends in Cambodia.”
Sinclair resumed his seat and took the first folder from atop the file with a sigh. Sometimes he wished he would make fewer friends in Cambodia.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cardamom Mountains, Koh Kong, Cambodia
The words of Preap came true. They had camped too far down the mountains to become a target. Nevertheless, James didn’t sleep that night. He snatched a couple of minutes only to be jolted awake by the wind rustling through the trees or the grunt of someone turning over. At first light, he sat bolt upright with bleary eyes.
He stared briefly at Blake’s motionless form. James wondered if he could sleep soundly with that much duplicity on his conscience. Working against their interests. Always out for himself. Never taking responsibility for his mistakes. His nostrils flared at Blake’s apparent indifference.
Dylan had taken the final watch of the evening. He sat with the M4A1 carbine slung across his legs, his back to a crumbling statue; they’d brought the weapon as some heavy backup. James approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
The young American twitched as James squatted down beside him. The mosquitoes had left his exposed neck littered with angry red bites.
“You see anything strange?” asked James.
“I heard a lot of things,” Dylan replied. “I felt strange. Like someone was just out of sight watching us the whole time.”
James’ stomach turned at Dylan’s report. A novice though he was, a mercenary’s instinct never let him down. Maybe they weren’t alone after all. Had Dylan been the only man to spot it?
“Wait until Preap and the rest wake up and tell them.”
“No,” Dylan hissed under his breath. “None of them will believe me. They know I haven’t taken on a whole lot of assignments.”
“Your choice.”
First light brought a strange, cold film that slid over the mountains and forests. The sun, still below the horizon, gave the land a sense of foreboding. James tried to imagine if a few errant villagers had stumbled upon their camp and became curious. As he looked into the impenetrable emerald wall, he saw only death waiting.
“You keep your eyes open. Preap knows everything there is to know about these mountains.”
James gave Dylan a reassuring pat on the shoulder and straightened up.
He turned to find a pair of eyes staring at him. Preap, who had spent the night propped up against the steps, opened his eyes, instantly filling his vision. Always, the man was watching him.
Preap gestured at him to follow. He bounded to his feet with little more than a soft thud and began walking into the temple. James followed, taking care to avoid waking Adam and Blake.
He led him through the broken rooms, the treasures long since looted. Moss and roots had invaded the structure, leaving little green tripwires everywhere. Preap took him to a back room, deep inside the temple. It appeared like all the others but for a selection of nooks carved into the walls.
“The monks would have slept here.” Preap’s voice bounced through the room.
“A long time since anyone came in here,” James said in a vague attempt at sounding interested. “I’ve got something to tell you —”
“Shhht.” Preap raised a hand. “Me, first, if you please.”
James went silent and shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ve done so much for me, Mr. Winchester. I want you to know that. I know not all of us will survive this. The odds are against us. That’s why I want to give you something.”
James cocked an eyebrow.
“Do you know the Khmer Rouge once used this temple during the 1980s?” Preap dropped to his knees and fumbled with a loose brick. “I was here. I hid something I’d like you to have.”
Preap pried the brick free. A black abyss opened before him. He reached into it and pulled out a simple metal box. He wiped the encrusted dirt from the lid and opened it. From it, he pulled out three canisters. They rattled as he offered them to James.
“Cyanide capsules.”
“Cyanide?” James’ shook the canisters. “Why would I want that?”
“Listen, the Khmer Rouge are brutal. They won’t kill you. They’ll torture you until you beg them to kill you. Don’t go out like that.”
“Are you joking? I’m not committing suicide, Preap.”
Preap’s serious expression didn’t waver. “These are old, but a handful should do the job. If we’re captured, this is mercy.”
James didn’t feel like arguing with Preap. He wouldn’t take cyanide. He wouldn’t contemplate suicide. When a mercenary thought of death, it would come true. He pocketed two canisters, with Preap taking the other one.
“Just one question, why would you give me this and not the others?”
“It’s a gift. You’re the only one I care enough about. The others mean nothing to me.”
James nodded. “Dylan told me he felt like someone was watching us last night.”
“What did he see?”
“Nothing. It was just a feeling. In my business, you learn to take feelings like that seriously.”
Preap nodded.
“What could it mean? You said we were too far down for them to know we’re here.”
“I don’t know. It could have been anyone. I’ll tell everyone to stay on their guard today. The Khmer Rouge has spies in these mountains. The villagers sometimes supply them with information.”
“What about the driver from yesterday?”
Preap dusted off his hands and wiped them on the back of his trousers. “It’s possible he could have said something.
James tightened his jaw as Preap moved past him to return to the camp. He couldn’t imagine why Preap remained so calm in the face of this unsettling news. A strange feeling probed at his mind. Was Preap as trustworthy as they thought?
When James came lumbering down the broken steps, he found everyone had awoken. Shafts of light broke through the forest canopy. A warm glow hugged him as he shielded his eyes.
“How far have we got to go?” asked Blake.
“The driver managed to take us a good distance. It’s all uphill from here. We move slowly. These trails aren’t safe.”
“That didn’t answer my question,” Blake muttered.
James waited for Preap to announce what Dylan had felt the night before. He never did. Everyone packed their things, checked their weapons, and smacked the mud out of the crevices of their boots. He tried to catch Preap’s eye. Alarm bells rang.
The group pushed on through the forested mountains in silence. The flat road began to incline. Stone steps built centuries ago were the last vestiges of the outside world. The last of the trail took them over mud and fallen leaves.
After a couple of hours, the group panted, dripping with sweat. Only Preap – the only man without body armour – kept moving without pause. The foreigners begged for
rest at intervals. Preap urged them on, claiming it wasn’t safe to stop before nightfall.
James ducked underneath a hanging vine. The road became less and less visible. He felt like the trees were pressing in. Like the very forests wanted to crush them. He took in a gulp of the stifling air and powered towards Preap, coming side-by-side with him.
“What’s going on?” said James in a low voice. “We’re losing the road now.”
“These areas are remote. Not many people come through here. We’re well within Khmer Rouge territory now.”
“How far from the base?”
“Hard to say.”
“That’s not good enough. You’re supposed to be our guide.”
“I haven’t been here in decades, but I know what to look for.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“You’re being very evasive.”
“Now who’s the one being evasive?” Preap paused. “There’s a small clearing below a rockface here. We can rest there for a few moments.”
James felt Preap hardening. His warm Khmer spirit had grown cold. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back and find another way. Beyond the visible foliage, he sensed the bear trap threatening to snap tight around his ankle.
The path and trees suddenly parted to reveal the rockface Preap mentioned. A sheer overhang prevented him from spotting the true top. The clearing had a perfect view of the only trail leading onwards. He imagined how the Khmer Rouge must have fortified it against the Vietnamese as their gains were rolled back.
Preap and James stopped under the cliff. They looked back as the rest of the team emerged into the clearing. Blake came in the middle, followed by a nervous-looking Dylan. Adam, as steel-faced as ever, took up the exposed rear-guard position.
With sighs they all melted out of the trees, thankful to be away from nature’s prying grip for a moment.
Adam climbed over a fallen log and stumbled. He regained his footing with a curse. A click echoed through the mountains. It came louder than any animal, more deafening than any gust of wind. Everyone froze. A mine.
