by James Samuel
By the time he found his previous spot, sweat poured into his eyes and slicked his hands. His body screamed in pain and he willed himself to ignore the discomfort. His years of training came into play; nothing existed now but the mission, his target. He’d have time to lick his wounds when he’d vanquished the general and his army.
The soldiers still awaited him somewhere in the distance, searching for any signs of movement. He popped up and threw the RPG-7V2 into position. He stared down the UP-7V sighting. James had a lock, then the punch came.
The soldiers had spotted him. He threw himself back as their machine gun emplacement rattled away at him.
“Damn it,” James cursed, backing against a rocky outcrop that provided some cover.
If he still had a grenade, he could use it as a diversion. The RPG was all he had; he had to take the risk. Once again, he backed away and switched to the other side of the trail. The precious seconds it would take the Khmer to turn the emplacement might give him the chance he needed to break the strongpoint and leave the way open to General Narith.
James tried to forget what it would feel like to get one of those slugs in his belly. No question, it would penetrate his Kevlar armour. The bullet wound in his back twinged again, sending another little reminder for his mind to play with. He counted backwards and stood up.
His eyes pinpointed the sighting. He had a lock. The soldiers screamed for their compatriots to turn the gun around, to find him again, the pesky moving target. But it was too late. He hit the release and the projectile rocketed out of the tube towards the emplacement. A little puff of smoke rose behind him as James waited and watched.
Khmer yelled to scatter, but the rocket hit their emplacement anyway. What had once been human beings evaporated in a fraction of a second. The emplacement burned, giving off a stench of burning metal and barbequed flesh. James looked on in horror at what he’d just done. The survivors broke and fled.
James lowered the grenade launcher and let it fall to his waist. He shambled through the brush to the carnage he’d unleashed on these enlisted men. The blackened skin, the bloody flesh, and the missing limbs. He took one last look at the grenade launcher and threw it over the fence of the tourist viewpoint.
It vanished into the vast green void before him, hitting a thick branch and tumbling away.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
Dylan’s head only stayed above table level through the sheer will of his right arm. He’d been sitting here for too long without a word from Sor. The Khmer continued to stare intently at the hanzi in front of him, symbols incomprehensible to the majority of Khmer. Nhek, on the other hand, had disappeared to speak to seemingly everyone who came through the door.
“Are you going to tell me anything soon?” asked Dylan. “I want to know if this is just a bunch of garbage or not.”
Sor didn’t look up from the papers.
“Hey.” Dylan clicked his fingers. “Don’t ignore me.”
The Khmer shuddered like someone had woken him from a dreamless sleep. “Mr. Dylan?”
“Is there anything here worth reading, or should I throw these in the trash?”
“Trash, Mr. Dylan?”
Dylan’s brow creased in frustration. “The garbage.” He pointed at a trashcan in the corner of the room. “Is there anything valuable in here?”
Sor scratched the side of his head. “It’s strange. Very strange. Not something I expect to read this early in the morning. Where did you get these?”
“None of your business.”
“These documents are from China, Mr. Dylan. They’re… I don’t know how to describe it, Mr. Dylan.”
“Nhek,” Dylan called. “Can you come here for one minute?”
Nhek shook the hand of one man and clapped another on the shoulder. He was all smiles when he returned to the table.
“Can you ask him what these documents say?”
He shrugged and carried out Dylan’s request. The two men exchanged words in Khmer. Dylan couldn’t fathom what they were saying to each other, but when Nhek’s face became a mask of concern, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. Song’s papers meant something.
Nhek lowered himself into the plastic chair he’d left largely untouched since they’d entered the eatery. All the energy in the usually bubbly Nhek appeared to drain away like summer rain.
“Nhek, explain it to me slowly,” said Dylan. “I need to know.”
“Sor tells me that this is an official communication between a man called Song Wen, Shao Fen, and the Communist Party of China.”
“I knew it,” Dylan ejaculated, almost spilling his coffee. “What does it say?”
“Everything is about China’s plans for Cambodia. It says that Shao Fen will manage the transition after a military rebellion, and Song Wen will then take over control. This, Mr. Dylan, is what it says.”
“I haven’t even finished half of this,” Sor exclaimed. “This is scary. I am scared. Where did you get this?”
Dylan shook his head. “I can’t tell you but thank you.”
“Mr. Dylan, do you want me to read it all?” asked Sor.
He looked into the pleading eyes of Sor, and even Nhek looked like he wanted him to give his assent. The two Khmer became enthralled with the unfolding saga. Dylan finally nodded at Sor to keep reading.
Dylan left the table and went outside the eatery. He could barely contain his excitement at what he’d picked up. This was enough to implicate the entire Chinese state in a post-colonial takeover of Cambodia. It would send shockwaves across the world if it became public. He dialled Sinclair’s number. They would be delighted with what he’d uncovered.
The phone rang and rang. Each loop of the dial tone made Dylan’s pulse jump only to be disappointed again when it began its next round. He waited for two minutes straight before he gave up with a curse. Something must have happened. Sinclair used his phone more than the average teenage girl.
He clicked his tongue and went back inside to hear the full details of what China planned to do with Cambodia. Still, what had happened to Sinclair?
Chapter Sixty-Four
Siem Reap, Siem Reap Province, Cambodia
The road was clear. The number of bodies James had left in his wake had broken the Cambodian military detachment. He found the path to the bottom of the small mountain clear of troops. Every so often he would find a tag from a soldier or a fallen cartridge. Yet not for one second did James believe his job had come to an end. General Narith wouldn’t give up that easily.
The sky turned blue as the sun lifted itself off the horizon. He felt the warmth of the morning sun tickle the back of his neck as he moved down the hill to ground level. The tourists would already be gathered outside Angkor Wat with their cameras trained on the towers and walls.
James decided to try his luck again by putting in a call to Sinclair. Once again, the phone rang through without an answer. He sighed and wondered where his friend could have got to. It was highly unusual for Sinclair to go off the grid for this long. Forcing his worst fears out of his mind, he advanced.
He reached the bottom of the hill and witnessed the assembled trucks General Narith had brought with him. A detachment of soldiers waited in position for him to emerge into the open. James picked a secluded spot and watched them through the gaps in the trees. The ragged remains of Narith’s detachment were mainly centred on an armoured car parked in the middle.
James knew time was running out. Part of him wished he hadn’t been so hasty in throwing away the RPG. One rocket and he could end this now. Nevertheless, he loaded his carbine and pistols and moved out from his hiding place. He aimed and fired before the soldiers did. Bullets pinged off the armoured cars and the trees.
He dove for cover as the remains of Narith’s guard came for him. James slipped on some wet leaves and fell onto the sodden ground in the brush. His enemies smelled his vulnerability and came for him.
Unable to get his carbine free and on hi
s front, he pulled out his second M9 pistol and fired. Two careless men dropped, and the rest turned and fled. James gathered himself and unleashed another spray from the carbine. The M4A1 ripped through the poorly trained and terrified soldiers. More died and the rest shouted their fear. James kept pushing, expecting them to begin firing again. Only this time they didn’t.
He got out of cover in time to see the remaining soldiers fleeing for their lives. They climbed into a truck and sped away, the heavy wheels spinning in the dirt before skidding around a curve.
James held his weapon with two hands, checking the scene for survivors. All was quiet. With stealth, he crept up on the cabs of the two trucks left behind and carefully inspected the interiors. The military-grade vehicles were thick with armour and painted in a forest green camouflage colour. He went straight for the middle one and wrenched the door open.
General Narith cried out from the footwell of the vehicle. The overweight general clamped his hands together in the Buddhist prayer fashion. He spoke in the few words of Khmer James could understand as he begged for his life.
James grabbed him by the ankles and hauled him from the vehicle, making sure only the ground broke his fall. The highly decorated general’s ribbons and insignia flopped around as he lay on his back like a turtle turned upside down.
“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” said James. “But you seem to know me.”
Narith continued to chant the same statement over and over again in Khmer.
“You speak English? If not, then you’re not going to get any last words with me.” He pointed a pistol at him. “English?”
“I speak English. I speak English,” replied Narith.
“Shao Fen. Where is he?”
“Will you let me go if I tell you?”
“No, but I’ll make your death that much more painful if you don’t tell me where he is. You think someone like that cares if you die? You’re just a pawn to him and always was.”
Narith spat on the ground next to him. “What do you know, barang? You are a foreigner in this land. I would rule Cambodia until my death.”
James shook his head. “Your death would have come much sooner than you thought. Shao had already brought in someone from the Communist Party of China to run the country, a man named Song Wen, who’s in Phnom Penh right now. He was only using you to take power.”
“I don’t care what you think. Just kill me or let me go. Stop wasting my time.”
James fired a bullet straight into Narith’s enormous stomach. The hot metal punctured the flesh and embedded itself in his fatty insides. Narith screamed as blood spurted onto the ground. It felt like death, but James knew it was a gutshot. It would make him live in agony for hours before he finally passed.
“I can make it stop if you tell me where Shao Fen is. Admit it to me. Admit everything, and I’ll put you out of your misery.”
A great dark stain spread across the general’s shirt. The strongman mewled and cursed him in his own language. James knew by Narith’s reaction, he’d never experienced being shot before.
“Tell me.” He took out his phone. “Speak into this.”
“Okay, okay, I will. Just kill me.”
“Don’t move, it’ll only make it worse.” James turned on the recorder on his smartphone. “What’s your name?”
“Sen Narith.”
“What’s your position?”
“A general of the Royal Cambodian Army,” Narith barely managed to get the words out as the pain ripped through his insides.
James went through the interview, recording everything so Thom would have the proof he needed to authorise him to take out Shao Fen. The process was laborious, but Narith cooperated without even a groan.
“I want to know where Shao Fen is,” James said at last. “Stop your bellyaching. Where does he spend most of his time?”
Narith coughed and groaned as he held his hand tight over the wound in his belly. Blood continued to leak through his fingers. Every word had become an exercise in pain for him. James couldn’t pity the man. The crimes he’d committed needed punishing. This was a man who wouldn’t hesitate if their positions were reversed.
“General?”
“Sihanoukville. The shipyards. They were going to expand the shipyards to allow them to house Chinese battleships. The prime minister put a stop to it, and now it’s in limbo. This is what it’s all about, barang.”
“When were you going to launch this coup?”
Narith managed to raise his head to look him in the eyes. “The second you were dead, barang. We couldn’t do anything while you were alive. Your interference has caused great damage in Cambodia.”
James flicked his eyebrows. “You are the damage, Narith. The world doesn’t need another military dictatorship or to see China interfere in another country. You’re the traitor, Narith. You’d hand your entire country over to the Chinese just to get your way. And now you’re going to die here.”
Narith’s expression hardened. “I might not have killed you, but I’ve got my revenge.”
“What?”
“My revenge. We know where you’re staying in Siem Reap. Your fat friend is already dead. I sent my men there when you were up on the hill.”
James stopped. It couldn’t be true. Sinclair would have taken precautions to ensure he had covered their tracks. Narith couldn’t have found him. Then his mind went back to the unanswered phone calls. He couldn’t account for Sinclair’s disappearance. Could it be true?
He fired the fatal shot into Narith’s chest. The shot killed him instantly as the last of his lifeblood spilt onto the sun-drenched soil. James didn’t bother to hide the massacre. His mind could only focus on Sinclair, his colleague, his friend.
He would never forgive himself if Sinclair died because he wasn’t there to protect him. He hijacked one of the military vehicles and pulled away from Phnom Bakheng. It took only twenty minutes to drive back to Siem Reap and their guesthouse, but it was the longest minutes of his life.
He made it back in record time and ignored the gawping expressions of pedestrians observing him exit a Cambodian military vehicle. He rushed down the dead-end street on foot until he reached the guesthouse.
The young guesthouse manager looked shellshocked as James approached. He felt sick and struggled to stay upright. His knees threatened to give out as his worst nightmare seemed to have come true.
“What’s happened?”
“They come here. Soldiers come here looking for you and your friend. They make big mess. You are hurt, sir? There is blood on your shirt.”
James angled his head towards the wound in his back. It was nothing a few stitches wouldn’t cure. “Nothing to worry about,” James said weakly. “Show me the rooms. Now.”
The young man took the steps two at a time, his long legs moving easily upwards. James had to hold onto the handrail to steady himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see this, but he knew he had to.
“They come here to your room. Big mess.”
James peered into his room to find broken furniture and the boxy television smashed into pieces. The soldiers who had come hadn’t found any luggage to go through, so instead had torn open the pillows and the mattress with something sharp.
“And the other room?”
“Here.” The manager gestured towards Sinclair’s room. “I am very sorry, sir.”
James ignored him. He hesitated at the threshold to Sinclair’s room before he pushed open the door. Like his own, the room had been pillaged of anything of value. He stepped inside expecting to find a body or at least some signs of a struggle.
“Did they take anything or anyone?” James asked.
“They wouldn’t let me see.”
“Well, did you hear anyone fight? Any shouting or screaming?” James felt his voice growing hoarse from desperation. “Did they take him?”
The manager could only shrug. “I don’t know, sir. I’m very sorry.”
James made another sweep of the room. There were no indicat
ions that Sinclair had ever been here at all. He couldn’t even find any signs of the supplies he’d taken from Phnom Penh. It was like his friend had never existed.
“Would you like a beer, sir? Just for you. For free.”
He shook his head. “No.”
The manager waited in respectful silence.
“I want a tuk-tuk to the airport. I need to get to Phnom Penh as soon as possible.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
James got off the plane a few hours later. He tried calling Sinclair’s phone multiple times. It continued to ring with no answer. His only hope was that the phone kept ringing at all. When he got back into town, he went straight to the Riverside Guesthouse. Maybe Dylan could help him find Sinclair.
He put in a call to Dylan as he sat on the edge of his bed. Dylan picked up almost immediately.
“Dylan?” said James.
“It’s me. I’ve found something amazing. I have to show you in-person or you’ll never believe me.”
“Dylan, Dylan, I need to know where Sinclair is. I’ve tried to call him since this morning, but he’s not answering. This isn’t normal.”
Dylan paused for a moment. “You too?”
“What do you mean me too?”
“I’ve been calling him as well and he never picks up. It just rings every time.”
James’ insides tightened. It only made Sinclair’s disappearance that much more serious. Mr. Arun hadn’t seen him since they’d left for Siem Reap a couple of days earlier.
“Look, can you come over as soon as you can? We need to find him now.”
James cut the call and left his darkened room to go back into the reception. He didn’t know what to do with himself, or even where to start looking. Neither of them truly knew Cambodia.
“Sir?” Mr. Arun said. “You find your friend?”
“No.”
“Would you like a beer?”
“No,” James snapped. “No beer. Not now.”
