The contrast between the two buildings was plainly apparent. The architecture for the Cambodian immigration building resembled that of Buddhist wats, temples, found throughout Thailand. It had red-tiled, tiered gable roofs complete with ornate bargeboards and a golden chofa, a decorative ornament, sitting on top. The lack of an economic zone outside of the gates was another drastic contrast to Vietnam—flat farmland as far as I could see.
Everyone exited the bus but the driver didn’t bother to collect our passports this time around.
“Here everybody must talk to the immigration official,” Akil whispered to me as we walked toward the building. “Give me one hundred euros, and I will give it to the official at the counter.”
We proceeded into the building and stood in line. Thirty minutes later, I had a tourist visa placed inside my passport. I waited by the exit for Akil, who was still at the counter. Almost all of the passengers from our bus had their passports stamped and were filing out of the building back toward the bus. I looked around for the bus driver and spotted him talking to one of the officials. Just as I started to think Akil might be having a problem, he turned around with a smile and walked toward me.
“Everything is okay,” he said.
We exited the building and got onto the bus. When the bus driver returned, he walked toward our seats and pointed back at the office. He had a smile on his face, and he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. Apparently one hundred euros wasn’t enough to allow passage.
“Don’t worry. They’re just greedy.”
I handed Akil another hundred euros and sat back down in my seat but the driver pointed to both of us and to the office.
“Why do we both have to go?” I asked.
Akil shrugged. “In case another hundred euros isn’t enough?”
“You’ll wait here for us?” I asked the bus driver while pointing at Akil and me and then at our seats.
He smiled and nodded eagerly. “Yes, bus wait. Hurry.”
We exited the bus, and no sooner had we taken a few steps than I heard the familiar hissing of the bus’s air brakes. I looked back, and the bus had begun to drive away. Akil pounded on the glass door, but the driver ignored him and continued driving, leaving us stranded at the border.
Chapter 29
“What just happened?” I asked, turning to Akil. “Didn’t he say he would wait?”
“I think leaving us here was the plan.” Akil spun on his heels as he looked around us.
“I saw the bus driver talking to an official earlier who could have something to do with it.”
“Anything is possible. Let’s get out of the open.”
We quickly walked away from the immigration building. “We need another way across the border,” he said, leading the way. “Maybe one of the guards operating the gate can be bribed. That one, smoking a cigarette.”
A lone guard stood about twenty feet away from the small office that manned the actual gate. He wore a neatly pressed tan uniform and had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. He looked young, possibly new to the job. In my experience, those individuals weren’t always susceptible to bribes, as they seemed to be intent on following the rules, unlike their older counterparts who were over it, but there was always the anomaly.
Three other guards were mingling inside the office, and two more stood next to the gate. All five were engulfed in lively conversation with one another and not paying much attention to their surroundings.
“Let’s make it count this time around.” I handed a sizeable sum of euros to Akil.
I stood a few feet back as Akil spoke to the guard. I watched him slip the money to the guard via a friendly handshake. He then turned and motioned for me to follow.
We walked a few steps behind the guard. As he approached the other two guards near the gate, he said something and casually waved his hand to open the gate. The guards did as he said without so much as a break in their initial conversation, and we were officially in Cambodia.
“That went smoothly,” I said.
“Here everyone can be bought. He’ll split the take with those men.”
At that point, our bus had long disappeared. “Surely there are other buses heading to Phnom Penh,” I said, casting a sweeping gaze to the left and then right.
“More will be coming. We can wait… Shit!” A dark frown appeared on Akil’s face.
“What?”
“That’s why the driver left us.” Akil said, pointing at the Cambodian immigration office.
I followed his line of sight and saw three young men standing near the entrance, their eyes scanning the area. They were all dressed in skinny jeans and fashionable button-downs with the sleeves rolled up, showing off their tattooed forearms.
“Those are KK members.”
We crouched as we hurried over to an area where food vendors were set up. There were also two small tents housing a couple souvenir shops. We slipped into one of the tents and stood behind two circular racks—one filled with magnets and post cards, the other with cheap sunglasses.
“They know we’re here. We can’t risk waiting for another bus.”
“Well, let’s make it harder for them to find us.” I bought T-shirts, sunglasses, and hats for both of us. We were the only shoppers in the stall, so we stayed put and changed.
“I think after last night, the gang sent men to watch the border,” Akil said as he changed shirts. “They probably talked to every bus driver passing through.”
I pulled a shirt over my blouse, slipped a ball cap over my head, and put on a pair of Ray Ban aviator knock-offs. “I don’t see them.”
“They’re by the gate, talking to the guards.”
Akil turned back to me. “The gang might be offering money to get people to talk. If that’s true, the guards, the food vendors, everyone will give us up for a few dollars.”
I took in the vendors around us, working tirelessly to eke out a meager living at best. I couldn’t disagree with Akil. We moved out of the stall and behind it, heading away from the gate.
“There’s a taxi there,” I said but no sooner had those words left my mouth, two white women jumped inside it. I watched our ride drive off. “Damn!”
“It’s okay. We’ll pay someone to take us.”
I looked back toward the guard gate; the three men had just passed through. “We better hurry.”
“That car there.” Akil pointed at a small Toyota parked next to a fruit vendor. In the driver’s seat was an elderly man, maybe mid-fifties. A woman of similar age had just finished purchasing sliced pineapple and was opening the passenger door.
We hurried over to the vehicle. Akil knocked on the diver’s window and motioned for him to lower it. I kept an eye on the gang members while Akil spoke to the man about a ride to Phnom Penh. I couldn’t be sure if he understood everything Akil said, but smiling while shaking his head “no” was a pretty clear indicator he wanted nothing to do with us.
“Akil, those men are heading in our direction.”
Akil continued to plead as he dropped a fistful of euros into the man’s lap, but still he refused our proposition.
I removed more euros from my pocket and placed it directly inside the man’s palm. “Please.”
But he shook his hand free from mine and returned the bills. He then closed his window.
“The gang is getting closer,” Akil said urgently.
I rapped my knuckles against the window, this time making eye contact with the woman. She only smiled and at me and then looked straight ahead.
Akil grabbed my arm. “Forget it. We’ll find someone else.”
“There is no one else,” I said as I watched the elderly man put the car in gear.
“We have to go!” Akil said in an elevated voice.
I pulled more euros out of my pocket and slammed all of the bills against the window.
“Shit! I think they see us.” Akil grabbed my arm and began to pull me away from the vehicle. “We have to go!”
The old man fumbled with t
he power button for his window and lowered it about three inches.
“Phnom Penh. Please,” I said.
He let out a breath and looked as if he were reconsidering our offer until he saw Akil point to the three men heading toward our location. His eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head “no”.
Chapter 30
Everyone can be bought. It was a matter of agreeing on a price. For the elderly couple, it was four hundred fifty euros. I turned the money over without argument, and we drove off just before the gang members reached us.
For the first thirty minutes or so, Akil tried to make small talk with the man and woman, but they didn’t know much English aside from saying “okay” and a few other phrases. For the rest of the trip, everyone remained silent as the radio belted out a variety of Cambodian songs. Traffic on the highway was minimal and the man had a lead foot. The entire trip took two and a half hours. We even passed our bus on the way.
As we entered the outskirts of Phnom Penh, I waved more euros in front of the husband. “Thailand?”
“What are you doing?” Akil asked.
“I don’t think heading to the bus terminal is a good idea. If the gang had the border covered, it’s safe to assume they’ll have some men waiting at the terminal. Convincing them to take us to the Thai border makes sense.”
“We can’t go there just yet,” Akil whispered to me.
“Why not? That’s where the nurse is.”
“Bribing a Thai official doesn’t always work.”
“But you don’t have a passport.”
“I do. I just don’t have it with me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, raising my voice.
“I rent a small apartment here. I’m sure I left it in there.”
Akil quickly motioned for the husband to stop where we were. “We can get out here.”
The husband pulled over and we quickly exited the vehicle onto a busy sidewalk, cluttered with street food vendors and hungry people pointing and waving money.
“This way,” Akil said has he led me onto a small side street, away from the main thoroughfare.
I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “This is what I’m talking about. You continue to withhold information.”
“I needed to be sure you would keep your word. If I tell you everything, you’ll have no reason to help me.”
“Do not presume to know what I might or might not do. And what makes you think that it’s safe to go back to your apartment? Surely the gang has every location you could possibly be staked out, especially now that they know you were on your way to Phnom Penh.”
Akil licked his lips. “We have no choice. I need that passport if I want to cross the Thai border. Maybe the gang doesn’t think I’m that stupid to go back to my apartment,” he said, looking back at me.
“But you are.”
He shot me a look. “They might not have men there.”
I sighed. “Your life,” I said as I followed.
Akil led us through a series of backstreets until we reached a small market selling produce and seafood. We wove through the crowd of shoppers, passing wooden crates filled with mangos, papayas, dragon fruit, lychee, and other local fruit until we reached a stall that had a large group of people gathered in front of it. I didn’t have to see to know what they were buying; my nose picked up the undeniable smells of rotting meat and sour milk. As we passed, I saw three women cutting open large, spiky durian fruit and packaging the custard-colored delicacy for the eager customers.
“There,” Akil pointed across the street. “The building in the middle with the red door.”
Across the street was a row of five-story apartment buildings. We moved around the durian stand and stood near another vendor doing brisk business with red, prickly rambutan fruit. We blended with the crowd and took a few minutes to survey the entrance.
“I don’t see any of them,” Akil said. “I think it’s safe.”
We hurried across the street, entered the building, and made our way up the stairs to the third floor. What I saw when Akil opened the door to his studio apartment wasn’t encouraging. All of the dresser drawers were open and the contents strewn across the carpeted floor. The pillows on the sofa were sliced open, and the mattress from the bed was off kilter, revealing a torn box spring. The small flat-screen TV sitting on a desk had been smashed with a portable single-burner stove.
“Did you forget to pay the rent?” I asked, closing the door behind us.
“They were here looking for me and probably the money I owe them for the girl.”
“And how much would that be?” I asked, thinking it might be easier to pay and be done with them.
“Two hundred thousand. American.”
So much for that idea—it was a lot more than what I had on me.
“Do you think they found your passport?” I rested my hands on my hips and looked around.
“No,” Akil said, smiling as he walked over to a small vent on the wall. He got down on all fours and peered through the grating. He clapped his hands together. “My passport is still there. You see, I’m not so stupid.” He stood up, still smiling at me.
“What are you waiting for? Get your passport,” I said as I eyed the peeling wallpaper above him.
“I need a coin to unscrew the grate.”
I patted my pockets. “I don’t have one on me.”
“It’s okay, I’m sure there’s one here somewhere.”
While Akil rummaged through the desk drawer, I kicked through a pile of old newspapers and unopened junk mail.
“Found one. You see, we have nothing to worry about.”
“Until you have your passport in hand, let’s refrain from celebrating.”
Chapter 31
Shoppers shouted out orders for the purple mangosteen piled high in wooden crates, but the fruit vendor turned away and continued with his cell phone conversation.
From the moment Akil fled town, the KK gang had made the vendors at the market aware of their interest in him. They had a powerful presence and no one wanted to be seen as unhelpful, so the vendors remained vigilant for the first week or so, keeping watch on customers and the building across the street. But over time they had all given up and returned to the everyday hustle—all except Narith.
Narith turned away from the crowd and stuck a forefinger into his ear so he could hear the person on the phone more clearly. “Yes. I’m sure,” he said, as he eyed an apartment window across the street.
He nodded eagerly as he spoke into his phone, even with customers walking away to purchase fruit from another vendor. Narith wasn’t concerned about the lost business; he knew one day that foreigner would return to his apartment, and he would be the one to collect the large finder’s fee.
<><><>
At the bus terminal, a white van pulled into a stall and six passengers exited. Privately run vans cost more, but they also travel faster than a bus. Mdivani was the last to exit the vehicle.
He made his way over to the arrival board and saw that the bus from Ho Chi Minh City had just arrived. He hurried over to the parking spot assigned it. The last of the passengers were debarking, but he didn’t see Sei or Akil.
The bus driver was busy unloading luggage, and Mdivani tapped him on the shoulder. “Was this man on the bus?” he asked as he showed him a picture of Akil.
The bus driver ignored his question and returned to his work. Mdivani tapped him once more, held out fifty euros, and asked the same question.
The bus driver looked around briefly before snatching the bill. “He get off at border. Not come to Phnom Penh.”
“There was a woman with him. Did she get off too?”
The driver nodded.
Mdivani wasn’t expecting to hear that; he walked away a bit dumfounded. What did I miss? He mentally walked through the steps that led him to believe they were traveling to Phnom Penh. Perhaps he had over looked something but nothing stuck out. Everything pointed to Phnom Penh.
Fearing he had
lost them, Mdivani returned to question the driver again, but upon his approach, he saw a group of men had surrounded him. The driver stood in a defensive position, hands out in front and appeared to be apologizing. Two of them were handling machetes, and they didn’t look like farmers.
The men searched the bus and the remaining luggage with no protest from the passengers. If they were after money, the driver had a crisp fifty in his pocket he could have turned over and surely the passengers had money for the taking. One of the men continued to badger the driver, who continued to plead.
The more Mdivani observed, the more he believed this wasn’t a shakedown. It was public, the men were spending too much time with the driver, and they didn’t seem concerned about any of the other arriving buses. It was too coincidental to ignore that they happened to be interested in the bus that had just arrived from Ho Chi Minh City.
Mdivani wondered if this had to do with why Akil and Sei exited the bus at the border? Was someone else after Akil? Another assassin hired by the Wolf?
Before Mdivani could rationalize another thought, the man questioning the driver took a call on his cell phone. After hanging up, he quickly huddled the others and they hurried out of the station without so much as another look at the driver. It’s not him they’re concerned with. Mdivani’s interest couldn’t have been piqued any more by their quick departure. Are we looking for the same person?
Chapter 32
Akil’s apartment also had a single window that looked out to a fire escape. A tattered curtain barely covered it. Just under it was the couch. I knelt on one of the cushions, and the springs gave way, forcing me to use my hands to steady myself. I moved the curtain enough to peek outside. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The street below had a steady flow of motorbikes, and the market across the street remained busy while locals trudged up and down the footpath.
I removed the souvenir shirt I had put on earlier, as well as the ball cap and shades, and fluttered the front of my blouse to cool myself. Aside from the mess, the heat in the room was noticeable from the moment we entered. Every breath was akin to opening a hot oven and inhaling deeply, but I refused to open the window. It might draw unnecessary attention.
Contract: Sicko (Sei Assassin Thriller Book 2) Page 10