by James Samuel
“Mr. Howser. Welcome.” Shao took Dylan’s hand. “This is a most special occasion. I have expressed my gratitude to your boss, Sir Richard.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fen.”
Dylan and Shao sat on opposite silk cousins with the usual gongfu tea table separating them. Shao didn’t say a word but displayed a thin smile as his aides went about making tea in the traditional Chinese manner.
“Mr. Howser,” said Shao. “I understand that Tep Prak is dead and the Khmer Rouge are in disarray.”
“That’s right, sir. But I would like to add that I couldn’t have done it without the men on my team.”
“The men on your team? I understand you lost your comrade in arms. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Me too.” Dylan tried to shut the memory of Adam from his mind. He didn’t need the nightmares. “But James Winchester is the only reason why we got Prak and why any of us managed to escape the mountains at all.”
Shao tilted his head out of curiosity. “James Winchester? I’ve never heard that name before.”
Dylan paused. “Yes, well, he did a great job.”
Shao nodded. “I have to be honest and say that I would have liked Prak to survive at least through the coup. But Sambath’s death made things rather difficult for us. Prak became unstable and gave me the impression that he wouldn’t be able to follow my orders. This was a job that had to be done at some point. A pity it had to come now.”
“What would you like me to do next?”
Shao leered at him. “There are so many things to do. However, for now, you’ll be staying in Phnom Penh.” He pressed a button on his phone sitting next to his knee. A Chinese voice answered.
Dylan didn’t understand a word of what Shao said. He tried to decipher some meaning from Shao’s facial expressions, but they never changed. Only when he pressed another button to end the call did Shao lift his gaze again.
“I am going to introduce you to someone who will play an important role in our plans.”
The door opened and a man who appeared completely unremarkable entered the room. He bowed his head to them both.
“Song, this is Dylan Howser, a foreigner helping us to make our plans a reality. Dylan, this is Song Wen, the future ruler of Cambodia.”
Dylan raised his eyebrows.
Shao smiled gently. “From behind the curtain, of course. We could never have someone from China acting as the public face of Cambodia. It would only invite the world’s attention and cause significant disruption to our operations.”
Song didn’t come to shake Dylan’s hand in the Western fashion. He crossed to his left side, where another cushion waited. After removing his shoes, Song bowed to both of them again and sat on the cushion with his knees tucked underneath him.
“What do you want me to do, Mr. Fen?” asked Dylan.
“We don’t know what Sen and his agents know about me or our plans. For this reason, I need to be cautious or Song will become a target. If I were them, I would want to assassinate Song to set back my plans.”
“I’d go along with that.”
“Good. Then you will act as his bodyguard until after the coup. When General Narith takes power, events will move quickly. Song will have his own detachment of guards, but until that time, I’ll need to make do with you and Song’s driver.”
He said the words as if there was some unspoken animosity accorded by this extra responsibility. Dylan couldn’t decipher any of it. Shao shared little. Sir Richard even less. He wasn’t party to the real extent of China’s plans for Cambodia.
“Mr. Howser, tell me about your friend… Mr. Winchester.”
Dylan tilted his head. He felt queasy as he realised the mistake he’d made. The two men had developed a healthy respect for each other, but they were still working for opposite sides. He never should have mentioned James’ name at all.
“Mr. Howser? Are you feeling okay?”
“I don’t know much about him.” Dylan blurted out. “All I know is he’s an Englishman who works for Blackwind. We didn’t exchange any personal details. It’s considered unprofessional.”
Shao let the words settle for a few seconds before inclining his head. “Very well, Mr. Howser. You may go.”
Dylan stood and bowed to both men in an Asian show of respect. He couldn’t get out of the room quickly enough, throwing on his shoes and crushing the backs as he stumbled out of the room. Did Shao think he was hiding something? He had to assume so. He had to warn James that Shao would be hunting him soon enough.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
Wat Phnom marked the perfect geographical centre of the historical city of Phnom Penh. Built upon a hill, a golden stupa rose into the sky to pierce the mist of pollution drifting above the city streets.
James and Sinclair arrived outside the gardens in Nhek’s tuk-tuk. These days, James felt like Nhek was one of the few people inside this country he could trust.
“You be careful,” said Nhek. “Thom is a bad, bad man.”
“Not to worry,” said James. “We’ll be fine here.”
A low iron fence protected the picturesque gardens, and a line of koki trees formed a natural barrier, keeping the space sacred.
“You know,” said Sinclair as they moved towards the entrance. “I’m surprised you trust Nhek so easily. He wasn’t completely honest with us.”
“Just because I trust him easily doesn’t mean I trust him fully. If he has a problem with Thom that’s not our business.”
“Still, we don’t want him to interfere.”
“He won’t. He already drove Thom without trying to slaughter him, so we have nothing to worry about.”
Sinclair made a low humming sound from the depths of his throat. “If you say so.”
Thom had agreed to meet them in front of the central pagoda of Wat Phnom. The two of them handed a dollar bill each to the ticket inspector standing outside the entrance.
The central pagoda, complete with colourful prayer flags fluttering in the breeze, sat high above them. A long set of stone steps climbed to the top. A pair of seashell sculptures stood sentry over the bottom steps. Tourists crowded the temple complex. James and Sinclair manoeuvred around the visitors on the steps as they thrust their selfie sticks high into the air.
Sinclair stopped halfway up the steep climb, his breathing ragged and sweat beading on his forehead.
“Come on, Sinclair. It’s only a few steps.”
Sinclair stood with his hands on his hips gazing wistfully at the way up. “I’m not designed for this. I wanted to be in intelligence.”
James crested the steps well ahead of Sinclair. The set of flags twisting up a long bronze pole rustled as a breeze whipped through the temple.
A flourish of gold decorated the pagoda, with sunburned orange tiles covering the sloping roof. Two white stone lions guarded the entrance to the temple, their teeth bared.
“Let’s never do this again,” said Sinclair.
James grinned. “Alright, alright, where’s Thom?”
“I don’t know, let’s just wait for him here.”
As they waited, James sat on a wall overlooking the gardens below. He couldn’t help but notice he saw no signs of any monks outside, just tourists. Most of them were flushed tomato red when they got to the top.
“Sinclair.” Thom emerged from the temple. “Good of you to have made it. Thank you for your good work in the mountains.”
“No problem.” James clutched Thom‘s hand without any warmth. “I wanted to speak to you about some new information.”
Thom nodded. “As you wish. Let’s move over here. Just in case.”
The three of them walked across to the side of the pagoda. Most visitors seemed more interested in taking selfies than exploring the complex. A collection of temple buildings appeared in a state of dilapidation. Through the doors of one such building, James glimpsed men in orange robes praying in front of a life-sized golden statue of the Buddha.
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br /> “Very well, Mr. Winchester,” said Thom. “What did you want to discuss?”
“Have you heard of a man named Shao Fen?”
He shrugged. “Yes. He’s a businessman from China. He owns many casinos in Sihanoukville, and he’s investing in expanding the shipyards there.”
James took a deep breath. “Prak and his friend Preap told me that they’re working with him. That he’s the real power behind General Narith.”
Thom’s mouth fell open as he digested the words.
“This could be bigger than the Cambodian army,” James continued. “It’s almost a state-sponsored coup against Sen.”
“That... that would be frightening if it were true. But Mr. Fen has invested a lot of money in Cambodia.”
“Wasn’t there a dispute over the expansion of those shipyards?” asked Sinclair.
“There was. The entire deal with China to let them place their navy in Cambodia. The prime minister changed his mind and, naturally, Mr. Fen didn’t support that decision.”
“So, there’s a motive,” said James.
Thom shifted from one leg to the other in discomfort. “I understand, but we need proof. To assassinate a prominent Chinese citizen on Cambodian soil could create an international incident. It could even mean war.”
James nodded. He knew that China didn’t need much of an excuse to expand its influence. As recently as 1979 China and Vietnam had fought a brutal war. China wouldn’t hesitate to repeat that action if it felt it could use its military might to get what it wanted.
“Find proof first,” said Thom. “I can’t authorise you to add Mr. Fen to the list without evidence. It would destroy Cambodia.”
“I agree,” said Sinclair.
James fought back the growing bitterness in his mouth. If Prak had admitted it, he already knew the truth. Prak had no reason to lie when he had him in his power.
“To the other matter.” Thom ran a hand over his head. “Do you have the identity of the traitor?”
“I do,” said Sinclair. “Vang Kravaan.”
Thom nodded. “We had our suspicions. He was hailed as a hero after the incident at the Palace. How sure are you?”
“One-hundred percent.”
“Very well. You have my permission to eliminate him. The information I provided you in those files should be sufficient.”
“But what about Fen?” James piped up.
“Mr. Winchester, I’ve made my position clear. Without proof, we can do nothing.”
James bit his tongue as Thom abruptly departed. He despised this ridiculous bureaucracy. Did Thom fear the truth that the plot to overthrow Sen extended further than his nation’s borders?
Chapter Forty-Eight
Sinclair sighed as they contemplated the hit. “We don’t have time to plan this out like we normally would.”
Vang Kravaan appeared to the public like any ordinary Khmer. He had a family, he kept his chin clean-cut, and his face had nothing discerning about it. Nobody would ever know he was a trained killer.
“This is going to have to be a hit and run.”
Back inside Sinclair’s rented hovel at the Riverside Guesthouse, the smell of Doritos and the crackle of empty Coke bottles kicked out of the way signalled work. James had been in the dark room for what felt like hours.
“The longer we leave it, the greater the risk. Kravaan is now a commander in Sen’s bodyguard. So, who do you think is going to take Hun Sen into custody? That’s why he’s there.”
“Because of Thom trying to buy time with that stupid false flag operation.”
“Well, we have to do something quickly.” Sinclair turned his chair around. “Narith has everything he needs to launch this coup. Losing Prak and the Khmer Rouge won’t set them back that badly. He was just a loose end we had to get rid of.”
“Then what’s the best way of doing this?”
Sinclair clicked his tongue. “Just find him and shoot him.”
“That’s your plan?”
“That’s the plan. It’s the best we have at short notice.”
James had to stop himself from cursing. He didn’t like going in unaware like this. Then again, every strategy they’d come up with so far had ended in disaster.
“Look.” James leaned forwards. “I need something else to go on. We’re professionals, not a gang. What about the police? Thom isn’t going to get me released, is he?”
“Then don’t get caught,” Sinclair shrugged.
“If I’m even noticed, it won’t be difficult to find a white British man in Cambodia. We don’t really blend in, do we?”
“Then be careful.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
Sinclair snatched at a piece of printer paper next to his keyboard. He folded it and tossed it to James, perched on the bed.
James unfurled it and read Sinclair’s elegant cursive but saw nothing more than an address.
“Alright, fine, if that’s really where we’re at.”
“It is. This is a simple assignment. Kravaan doesn’t know we’re coming or who we are.”
James rolled his eyes. “He’s special forces.”
“Exactly, and that’s what gives us the advantage. Special forces always have their identities hidden. It’s the sort of thing that makes them drop their guard in public. They believe that because they wear a mask on the job nobody will recognise them when they’re off the clock. You can take advantage of that.”
James refolded the piece of paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He didn’t have the inclination or the patience to continue arguing.
“I’ll need supplies.”
“Already done it. Everything you need is in your room. Keep radio silence in the meantime. If you have any trouble with the police, we don’t want your phone leading them back here.”
James stiffened up and left Sinclair’s stifling room fuming. Intelligence always made it sound so easy. Killing a target rarely bothered James. Yet it was always the simplest targets that presented the biggest problems.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dylan climbed out of the back of a minivan in the centre of Phnom Penh after the long ride from Sihanoukville. The minivans plying the towns and cities of Cambodia bounced and bumped over potholes and seemingly random bone-jarring hills. His back ached and he felt unsteady on his feet as he treaded upon stable ground again. He vowed never again.
After fighting his way through the advancing hordes of tourist touts, he strolled alongside the Wat Phnom temple and onto the promenade straddling the Mekong. He kept checking behind him in case someone had tailed him. Standard practice in his line of work.
He had to tell James. He needed to warn him that Shao knew his name. They didn’t have much time. Even though they worked on opposite sides. Dylan owed him. He flagged down a tuk-tuk. Within seconds, a tuk-tuk left the stream of traffic and pulled to a halt.
“I know you, Mister,” said the smiling Khmer driver.
“What?” Dylan’s hand hovered near the gun hidden underneath his shirt.
“You are a friend of Mr. James. From the hotel.”
Dylan blinked as he tried to think back. “You know him?”
“Yes, my name is Nhek. It is a great honour to see you again. Where you want to go?”
Dylan settled into the backseat of the tuk-tuk, still wary but satisfied the driver meant him no harm. He didn’t remember him, but, then again, Dylan had been too preoccupied planning the foray into the mountains to pay much attention to a hovering tuk-tuk driver.
“Name’s Dylan. Take me to the Riverside Guesthouse.”
“Yes, I am sure Mr. James will be there waiting for you.”
“Nhek.” Dylan checked the time on his phone. “I’ll pay you double fare if you get me there fast.”
Nhek didn’t need telling twice. He revved his much-abused bike and veered into the road. He almost sideswiped an unfortunate motorbike and nearly sent another careering off into a market stall.
Dylan gripped the sides of his seat as they hu
rtled through Phnom Penh. As they turned the corner towards the Riverside Guesthouse, Nhek lifted off the throttle and they rolled onto the open patio.
He didn’t wait for the tuk-tuk to stop. Dylan jumped out with a hurried thank you to Nhek and sprinted into the guesthouse. It reeked of carbolic soap used by the cleaners. He hammered on Sinclair’s door.
“Sinclair, open the door. It’s urgent.”
A bleary-eyed Sinclair wrenched the door open. “Dylan, what do you want?”
“Is James in there?”
“What? No. He went out.”
Dylan ran his hands through his sandy hair. “Damn it. Can you call him for me?”
“What’s this all about?”
Dylan sighed and leaned an arm against the door frame. “He’s in danger. It’s a Chinese businessman, my client. He knows his name. He’s going to be the next target.”
Sinclair arched his head into the corridor. “Alright, come in.”
Dylan entered the crash site of a room. He looked around for a place to sit, his heart racing. After observing a pair of discarded underwear on the edge of the bed, he decided to stand. He had to stay calm. He had to be more like Adam.
“You know, I shouldn’t let you in here at all.” Sinclair shut the door. “You’re working for the other side, after all.”
“Look, Sinclair, my client is a man named Shao Fen, a businessman from China. Well, not really. Sir Richard told me he also works for the Chinese government. He knows about James. He knows you’re on Sen’s side.”
Sinclair’s face dropped. “How did he find out about this?”
“I... I’m sorry. It just came out after the debrief. Slip of the tongue, you know?” Dylan hung his head in shame. “It’s my fault. But I wanted to make things right. That’s why I came here straight after the meeting.”
If Sinclair was furious, nothing indicated it. His calm exterior remained unmoved. The information soaked into the intelligence agent’s crinkled brow like a sponge.
