by James Samuel
Sinclair’s smile stretched from cheek to cheek. “In a land as corrupt as this one, it isn’t as difficult as you might think.”
He shuddered to touch the RPG-7V2. The shoulder-launched grenade launcher had become almost as widely used as the AK-47 on modern battlefields. Manufactured by the Soviets in the 1960s, it still packed a punch today. James noted the UP-7V sighting attached to it.
“Just make sure you’re in range. Don’t try to fire it over 200 metres. We only have three rounds. Even at 200 metres, the chances of hitting your target are about fifty percent.”
“Thanks.”
“The Mujahideen in Afghanistan wouldn’t fire it until they were within 80 metres of their target.” Sinclair paused. “Don’t worry, though, you won’t be fighting any tanks up there. It’s just as effective against ordinary troops. Just don’t make a mess by blowing up the temple or it might attract the attention of the people in Siem Reap.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll take that into consideration during my last few moments.”
Sinclair shrugged. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Got any grenades?”
“A few. Three RGD offensive grenades.” Sinclair picked them out of the box. Their thick bodies came to a short handle at the top. “From North Korea, although they’re pretty much the same as the Russian F1 grenade. Still, the mechanism is the same as any other grenade. Just pull and throw.”
James nodded. He was ready, or as ready as he ever would be. Without any reliable intelligence on their enemy, he would have to adapt. Now he had everything he could possibly need to face any situation.
“Let’s get these in the tuk-tuk. It’s our guide from before. He won’t ask any questions. He’ll think it’s for our archaeological work. Just put on a coat to hide the Kevlar.”
James sighed and did as bidden. His mind had been transported wholly to the mission at hand now. As he helped Sinclair transport the various crates down to the waiting tuk-tuk, he thought of nothing but the bloodbath about to be conducted atop an Angkor Wat temple.
The ride to the temple took them through the blackness of night. Only the stray dogs gathered in packs wandered the empty streets of Siem Reap. They would scatter at the sight of the tuk-tuk bearing down upon them and reply with subdued barks. The night began to lift like a theatre curtain as they rounded the main Angkor Wat temple. They had just over an hour to prepare before their scheduled meeting.
When James got out at the bottom of Phnom Bakheng the half-light that came before sunrise shined enough to light their way. He sniffed the air and smelt the stench of death fresh on the tail of the morning freshness.
“Let’s go,” said Sinclair.
The route to the top took a little under 30 minutes when taken at pace. For once, Sinclair didn’t bellyache about the trip to the temple. He had to get away from the scene before the army arrived. Together, they transported the weapons to the top of the temple. It would be up to James to manage himself from there.
“You know,” said Sinclair as they crested the top. “This is actually a temple to Shiva, the Hindu deity. They built it in the 9th century.”
James put the crate on the ground with a thud. “Sinclair, I truly couldn’t give a shit.”
Sinclair shrugged. “That’s everything, then. You remember what I told you about the chokepoints and vantage points?”
“Yes.”
“When you’ve taken enough of them, counterattack and start making your way down. I doubt that Narith is going to come up here personally until he knows you’re dead. The fight down will be harder as there’s no cover.”
“I remember everything.”
“Good.”
An awkward silence passed between them at the bottom of the steps leading to the highest point of the temple. Like men of honour, they shook hands and without a word, Sinclair left. Even that simple action had a profundity to James. They never said goodbye or showed any affection before a mission. It shook him and he watched Sinclair until he disappeared behind the trees.
James sighed and went to work. He affixed his weapons and made careful hiding places for spare ammunition. He kept the RPG hidden well away from the fighting. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to use it at all. High explosives never led to good things.
As the sun rose behind him, he felt its orange glow on his back. From his position atop the temple, he had a clear view through his iron sights at the only way up. Every engine he heard roaring below made him tighten his grip on the weapon. As the minutes passed, he willed Narith and his forces to come to him.
He wanted the shooting to start.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
Dylan felt lost in the streets of the capital. Little time had passed but every minute he left his post abandoned expanded the bitterness inside him. Sir Richard had barely mentioned Adam’s sacrifice at all. Tossed aside like so many others in the history of Xiphos, his mighty leader grew fat from the bones of his underlings.
Now, walking the dirty streets of Phnom Penh, his newfound freedom came with vibrations of fear jolting him to his very core. Years spent doing the bidding of others in the military, and now with Xiphos, had robbed him of what it was like to have free will.
Dylan didn’t want to dwell on what abandoning his posting would mean. He knew he had now become a marked man, targeted for death by Shao Fen and by his former employer. Organisations like Xiphos didn’t let a man go easily. They knew too much and could easily switch sides and become a threat.
He sighed as he made his way towards the Riverside Guesthouse. With nowhere else to go, it seemed appropriate. James and Sinclair wouldn’t be there but perhaps he could use Mr. Arun to contact them.
A great cascade of filth bumped up against the curb outside the guesthouse from the rains the night before. He stepped over it with caution, spotting the grimy plastic and used condom entangled within the mud.
Mr. Arun looked up from serving beers to the two foreigners at tables near the door and rushed over. His great, gleaming smile lit up his face, and Dylan couldn’t help but return it like a tennis serve. Friendly faces in this country appeared hard to come by for him.
“Sir, good to see you again, and so early. Your friends are not here. They go away for some nights. I am very sorry, sir.”
“I know,” said Dylan. “Have you seen Nhek?”
“Nhek… Nhek… ah… no.” Mr. Arun made a great show of racking his brains with his frantic gestures. “I call him for you, sir. I bring him here.”
“No, no, it’s no problem. Just a beer for me.”
“I call him for you.” Mr. Arun rushed back into the guesthouse to fetch his beer.
Dylan sighed and took up a seat at one of the tables. He didn’t know what to say to Nhek as Mr. Arun delivered the moist bottle and went to summon the tuk-tuk driver. Lost and confused, he weighed up the pros and cons of getting on the next plane out of Cambodia and disappearing into obscurity.
As he sipped at his beer, he banished these thoughts from his mind. No, he couldn’t go into hiding. This job paid well, but he didn’t have enough to bankroll his retirement. As a relatively young man, he still had to earn a living. Besides, he owed James for getting him through those tumultuous days in the Cardamom Mountains. Disappearing wasn’t an option.
The beeping of a horn shook him from his thoughts. Nhek arrived with his usual cacophony of noise. Dylan looked up, happy to see someone with whom he could speak a few words. Nhek had proved his worth, although Dylan still couldn’t understand why he spent so much time aiding a few foreigners.
“Mr. Dylan. I’m very happy to see you again.” Nhek clapped him on the shoulder and proceeded to speak in Khmer with Mr. Arun.
“Good to see you, Nhek.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Dylan?” Nhek sat down. “Very happy you called me. You barang have become very good friends to me. You are warm-hearted people. I know this.”
Dylan doubted that, but he let the comment pass. “James
and Sinclair are in Siem Reap on business. I had nothing better to do. You’ve known James longer than I have; I want to help him.”
Nhek pounced upon the beer Mr. Arun had delivered to their table. He took two enormous gulps and wiped the suds from his chin. “Mr. James tells me nothing about his business. Only when he needs me.”
He chewed on the inside of his mouth and took another sip of his beer, wiping his wet hands on his trousers.
“Mr. James is a good man. A very good man. He will be safe in Siem Reap. No problems there. Safest place in Cambodia for barang like you. My cousin works there. Tuk-tuk driver like me.”
“Nhek, can you keep a secret? A really big secret?”
“Of course, Mr. Dylan. Anything.”
“You’ve been on business with James before?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Dylan. Did Mr. James tell you about the last time? These very bad men shoot guns at us. Very lucky not to get hit, but Mr. James is a good man, and nothing hit us.”
Dylan sighed as he waded through Nhek’s unnecessary excitement. “Then, Nhek, how much would it cost me to have you drive me somewhere. Somewhere quickly.”
Nhek considered the offer. “For tourism?”
“Not for tourism. Business. I need you to be silent about what happens afterwards. We’re going to Camko City. You sit outside the building and when you see me, I jump in and you drive away quickly.”
“Five-hundred dollar.”
“Five-hundred dollars?” Dylan almost choked on his beer. “Is that what James pays you?”
“Ah Mr. Dylan, this is a business. Private business. You buy my eternal silence.” Nhek made a motion of pinching his lips closed. “I never say a word to anyone, even Mr. James.”
Dylan pursed his lips. He had more than enough to pay for Nhek’s services, but he still felt like the Khmer driver was taking him for a ride. At this point, he didn’t care. He took out his wallet and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills for Nhek.
Nhek bowed his head and clapped his hands together like a Buddhist monk. “You are too kind, Mr. Dylan.”
“Something like that…”
“When would you like to go, Mr. Dylan?”
“After your beer.”
Dylan checked himself to make sure he still had everything. His Glock 19 hadn’t gone anywhere. To kill Song Wen and cut his ties with Shao and Xiphos forever would clear his conscience and repay the debt he owed to James. Maybe James and Sinclair would be able to help him start a new life after all this was over?
Nhek gulped his beer and they were soon flying back towards Camko City. Their tuk-tuk took command of the roads, swerving towards cars and other tuk-tuks with menace. In record time, they passed into the new Phnom Penh.
Nhek pulled up outside Song’s apartment block in Camko City. Did Song realise he’d departed his post yet? Either way, Shao wouldn’t have been able to send reinforcements to protect Song just yet. He still had time.
People like Nhek would never be able to afford to live in a place like this. He wondered what the tuk-tuk driver thought as he idled on the pristine streets. Did he feel any jealousy towards these people? Did he feel any anger against the government for investing in this neighbourhood and leaving people like him to rot?
“We are here, Mr. Dylan,” said Nhek. “I’m not sure if my tuk-tuk is fast enough to run, though.”
“We won’t need to run from anyone. Just make sure we get out of here before the police can respond.”
“I know, I know, Mr. Dylan, but tuk-tuks are not common here. Everyone has cars. People ask questions.”
Dylan shrugged as he got out of the tuk-tuk. “You said they’re not common, not that they’re banned. Just tell the truth that you’re waiting to pick someone up. Not that it’s any of their damn business anyway.”
“Yes, Mr. Dylan.”
Dylan left the tuk-tuk and entered the palatial apartment block. The lobby smelt of fresh soap. A janitor rubbed the elevator’s keypad with a cloth to make it shimmer. Dylan passed without a word and punched the button that would take him to the posting he’d abandoned less than a few hours before.
Using the keys Shao had given him, he unlocked the front door and re-entered the apartment. The TV continued to blare. The groove left by his ass on the sofa remained untouched. He relaxed a little, knowing Song hadn’t yet departed his room.
Dylan rapped on Song’s door and stood back a little. It took a couple of seconds for Song to appear, dressed in a pair of light blue silk pyjamas.
Song inclined his head and said something in Chinese.
He pulled his pistol from his waistband in one smooth arc and fired a single shot directly into Song’s heart. The older man went down, his glasses skittering across the floor. The blood quickly spread enveloping the front of his pyjamas. Song died with little more than a croak and a gurgle.
Dylan’s first instinct was to flee back to the safety of Nhek’s tuk-tuk and head to the airport. Instead, he pushed open Song’s door and stepped over him. He took a look around the room as Song’s blood fanned out across the floor. Maybe he could find something to undermine Shao. Something to aid James in his quest to take down Shao.
He rooted through Song’s belongings, finding nothing of any real value. When he came across a briefcase filled with documents, he looked at a page at random. Dylan cursed. Of course, anything Song had of any use would be written in Chinese. Nevertheless, he took the documents with him and left the apartment.
Nhek sat on the back of his tuk-tuk, his palms together in front of him. Had he heard the gunshot from this far down? As Dylan emerged from the apartment block, the driver looked up with a mixed expression.
“Let’s go,” Dylan ordered.
“Yes, Mr. Dylan.” Nhek raced back to the front.
“By the way, you can’t read Chinese, can you?”
Nhek tilted his head to one side. “Chinese, Mr. Dylan?”
“Never mind. Do you know anyone in this city who can speak Chinese or at least read it?”
“Ah, yes, I know one man, Mr. Dylan. But he is a very busy man. Very busy man.”
Dylan sighed. “And if I pay him?”
“Then he’s not such a busy man.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The two of them climbed on the back of the tuk-tuk and left Camko City without anyone noticing their presence.
With Song dead, there was no going back.
Chapter Sixty
Siem Reap, Siem Reap Province, Cambodia
James’ phone rang as he waited. When he saw the caller ID, he clamped it to his ear. Sinclair calling. Something must have happened. He lowered his weapon and sat on the edge of the deserted temple, his legs dangling over the edge.
“What is it?” asked James.
“I just left with the driver. They’re on their way. We passed them on the way out of the complex,” said Sinclair.
James’ fingers tightened around his phone. “What’s going on? Did they see you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. They just thought we were tourists going for an early morning drive. They didn’t even stop to check our IDs.”
“How many?”
“Enough. No artillery or anything else, like I said. But there are at least two trucks. Maybe they’re sending more. None of the soldiers is in uniform.”
“They’re not wearing body armour?”
“Oh, they’re equipped with everything they need. But no insignias. This is an operation strictly off the books.”
“And Narith?”
“They went past too quickly for me to see if he was there. But on an operation like this, I guarantee that he’s somewhere. No reason to change the plan, I just thought I should inform you.”
“Thanks.”
“Good luck.”
James ended the call. The battle would spark again soon enough. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were already ascending the hill. He tried to calculate how many soldiers two trucks could transport. The answer wasn’t a positive one. They could ove
rwhelm him if he let his guard down.
He put his phone back in his pocket. From his vantage point atop the temple, he dominated the only way up. James took the M4A1 carbine and checked it over one final time. Switching the safety catch off, he positioned himself, waiting for the first sign of life. He’d gone through this moment a thousand times in his mind.
The minutes passed, and James grew more and more restless. He levelled a glance at the point where the soldiers would appear. And no sooner did he think that thought they did appear, with a man stepping out into the clearing.
James noted the AKM assault rifle, the modernised version of the AK-47, held tightly in the soldier’s arms. Another soldier joined his compatriot, sniffing the air as he did, carrying an RPD light machine gun. The soldiers dressed in black shirts and camouflage pants without insignia.
James continued to wait, flattening himself against the stones in a prone position. The light still wasn’t good enough for them to get a clear view of him. The gentle mist still partially obscured him. For now, he had the advantage. The soldiers didn’t know where to look.
He allowed the soldiers to begin massing at the clearing. James knew these troops were nervous. They’d heard the stories from Narith about the threat he posed. None of them came any further. They wanted to mass their strength before searching the temple.
James’ lips tightened into something resembling a smile. When at least eight or nine soldiers had crested the hill, he opened fire with the carbine. The assault rifle burst into life and three men dropped to the ground. The others scattered for cover, throwing themselves into the brush.
He stopped firing and disappeared from his position to hide behind the jutting stone sculptures. A lesser man would have kept firing. James wanted to keep them on their toes. To keep his position hidden for as long as possible.
The soldiers shouted and screamed at each other. More reinforcements entered the clearing with their weapons raised. They stepped over the fallen bodies of their comrades without a second look. The new arrivals formed a perimeter around the clearing, their weapons pointing forwards.
