Intent to Kill

by Ryshia Kennie

  “You have an in.”

  “In?”

  “The Phnom Penh police. You dated an officer for a while, right?”

  “Tevvy? Right. But I’m not seeing him anymore.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s still interested in you, isn’t he?”

  “No, Claire. I think we back out now while we can.”

  “Not you too, Vanna?” Claire held back a sigh.

  “Just listen, would you?” Vanna did nothing to hold back her impatience. “I didn’t know how dangerous it was until I spoke to the head of the antiquities faculty the other day. He has a long memory of names and faces of people who have fought to conserve the antiquities and Cambodia’s heritage. He listed names of people that had gotten involved. Tried to save our heritage—asked too many questions, shall I say.” She brushed glossy black hair from her face with her fingers, using them like a rake. “They’re all dead, Claire.”

  “We’re not doing anything dangerous. What we’re going to do is talk to Tevvy,” she said. “Something’s not right with this whole alliance they have with Phnom Penh. It’s just a feeling.” She took Vanna’s hands between both of hers. “You could get the evidence.”

  “How?”

  “Let him believe that you’re still interested and see what he knows. Sometimes an accusation with no basis can bring out the truth. Maybe suggest they might be involved in what’s going on . . . you know.”

  The cab pulled into the airport. They got out, carrying a knapsack each. She jogged across the tarmac, not waiting to see if Vanna was behind her.

  • • •

  Once the plane landed in Phnom Penh, Claire hurried ahead as they waded through the terminal bustle and the quick scanning of tickets and passports. Outside, she made her way to the nearest cab.

  Five minutes later they arrived at the little shop Simon had so accurately described.

  A thin man with a shock of white hair and a relatively unlined face moved silently on bare feet through rows of well-worn books. His white hair matched the stark white tunic he wore over loose-fitting white pants.

  “Hello,” she said tentatively as she breathed in the sweet edge of incense and looked around. In one corner was a wicker basket chair and on the counter were neatly stacked bookmarks. A few discreetly placed price tags marked this as what it was, a secondhand bookstore.

  She took a step forward and held out her hand. “Claire Linton.”

  He took her hand, his grip confident and surprisingly strong. “Simon sent you.”

  “Yes. You’re Soheap?”

  He nodded. “Simon told me you were coming. He thinks quite highly of you.” His face was expressionless. “It’s interesting that Simon trusts you. He hasn’t had many people in his life he can trust.” He led the way to the back room, where he motioned for them to have a seat in canvas sling-back chairs that looked more like patio than inside furniture.

  “So you took a rather rare artifact back across the border into Cambodia. Puts you in rather a unique position.” He stretched out his legs. “I take it you no longer have the bust.”

  “Why do you think that?” Claire looked around. The walls were covered with Khmer art. All were brightly colored and many with a preponderance of Angkor images either shadowed in the art or clearly in the forefront.

  “Simon told me.”

  Soheap stood up, reached for a watering can and began to pour water into a small ivy that sat on the window ledge.

  He set the watering can down and brought his full attention back to Claire and Vanna. He seemed to be in his own world. Minutes ticked by.

  “This is a waste of time,” Vanna whispered.

  “Shhh.” Claire warned. There was something in the old man’s face that made her think that there was much he was leaving unsaid.

  “We were sent here to pick something up for Simon,” Vanna threw in, despite Claire’s warning.

  “And I will give it to you. Simon’s request was fortuitous.” He looked at Claire. “It gave me access to the person who might be able to stop what might well be a train wreck.” He held up his hand as if warding off any interruption. “Simon’s my friend. I’ve known him since he first arrived in Cambodia. As such, I thought I knew his tastes. Interesting that he has taken to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are unlike others in your profession—I can see why he has overcome his aversion to reporters for you.”

  Claire frowned. Simon had mentioned on more than one occasion his disdain for reporting methods, but she’d never thought that disdain might apply to her. “I’m here for the story but I don’t want him hurt, or Arun.”

  He stood up and opened the brightly polished bamboo drawer of a nearby desk. He pulled out a thin letter-sized envelope and dropped it down on the counter.

  Claire was feeling more and more confused as her gaze shifted to the envelope. What was in it?

  “He has no use for reporters. Doesn’t trust them . . . He believes reporters were responsible for the last fiasco, where Samnang escaped and my Akara died.”

  “Your Akara?” Vanna asked.

  “She was my niece. Ah, but I digress. It was a reporter who tipped off Samnang.”

  Claire’s heart was pounding. Was it coincidence? She hadn’t connected the dots when she spoke to Simon, but now . . . “I talked to a man who covered the whole incident from the Siem Reap Post. Were there others?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that one reporter had done his homework. He questioned Samnang and in doing so tipped him off to law enforcement’s trap.” He coughed gently into the back of his hand.

  He turned on the tap and again filled the watering can before turning to face them. His eyes were focused solely on Claire. “This story is important to you, and I suspect Simon Trent more so.”

  She nodded.

  “You have a stake in this even though you have not an ounce of Cambodian blood. That threw me at first.”

  Claire could feel her heart pounding at the possible mention of her uncle. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Because of that and because of the integrity I see in you, there is something I will trust you with. You will not tell Simon Trent. He will not believe it. Promise me.” He cleared his throat. “He will ask questions that may stir up trouble.” His eyes met hers. “You will promise your silence?”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Claire replied. “It depends on what it is you’re going to tell me.”

  “I trust your judgment. At this short notice there’s no choice.” He set the watering can down. “There is a deal poised to move antiquities illegally across Cambodian borders.” He paused and sat down across from her. “But you know that.”

  Claire and Vanna both nodded.

  “The police are aware of the deal. Both Siem Reap and Phnom Penh. But here lies the rub. The Phnom Penh police have told the Siem Reap force to hold back. That they will handle it.”

  Claire frowned, not sure where this was going. “Why?”

  “There are rumors that there is a ring within the Phnom Penh police who are operating with some of the smugglers for a cut of a deal of one of the biggest antiquities to ever leave Cambodian borders.”

  He leaned closer, as if there were someone else in the room that might hear them. “It is rumored that the police chief might be part of that ring. Chief Chan has promised Simon he will be there. I doubt if he will make good on that promise. As he heads the Phnom Penh police force, that means that Simon and Arun would be there without backup.”

  “Oh, my God,” Claire breathed. “Simon trusts the wrong man.”

  “Exactly.” Soheap nodded. “Simon had already left when I discovered it. Which was why I was unable to tell Simon and why I insisted that you come here. But I don’t know if he’ll believe it coming from anyone, even me.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Claire.”

  “No, I know.” Regret sliced through her. “I’m a reporter and a newbie at all of this and I’m getting the information sec
ondhand. Who knows what I might have misinterpreted.”

  “Precisely. Besides that, I trust nothing but face-to-face communication now. Electronics can be compromised, tapped, if you will, too easily.” His eyes locked with hers. “It worked out very well. Simon left something for you on his last visit. Without that I don’t know who I would have enlisted for help.” He smiled, a half turn of his withered lips. “He obviously cares for you—and I believe what is here, what he’s left you, is invaluable to you.”

  “Or he wanted me out of the way. And this turned out to be something he didn’t plan.”

  “True, it was lucky for me you came back but . . .” He reached for her hand, taking it in both of his. “He is an honorable man, Claire.”

  “I know.”

  “He loves you,” Soheap said softly. “I sense it. That wasn’t easy after Akara.”

  Claire pulled her hand free and stood up. Her legs shook. She reached for the counter and steadied herself.

  It was too much and all she could hear was that name, Akara. Yet she had suspected all along. Simon would never trust her, and all because of a memory she couldn’t fight, a dead woman.

  Soheap stood up, coming to stand beside her. “By the way, your Uncle Jack contacted me.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed as she remembered what Jack had said, I’ll get in touch with my contacts. How else did Soheap so easily gather information that even Simon and Arun had been unable to obtain?

  “You! You were Khmer Rouge?”

  “For a time, some of us had little choice. It was not a lifestyle that I condoned.”

  “You killed people.” She fingered the emerald. She should have gotten rid of it days ago.

  “Ah, Claire. You are so naïve. I did no such thing. And despite the affiliation, I met some amazing people. Whether you believe it or not, your Uncle Jack was one of them.”

  “He was part of the killing, the torturing . . .” They were hard words to say about a man she had once loved and respected. But love didn’t die that easily, and even now, in the face of the pain of betrayal, she clung to the tattered threads of familial loyalty.

  “Jack was no angel.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’ll admit that, but there was one incident that turned the tides for him.”

  “What was that?”

  “He’ll have to tell you. Let’s just say he went to the other side after that. And it wasn’t long after when he made his escape.”

  “It’s impossible to imagine,” she said thickly.

  “It was a long time ago. It’s the present that concerns me. Your Uncle Jack told me what he did to Samnang.” He paused and looked at his hands.

  “The jewels,” she whispered.

  Soheap looked at her, his eyes dark and rheumy with age. “He told me that Samnang threatened to kill you. And I told Simon. I suspect that is why he sent you here. Why he left the envelope rather than giving it to you directly.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” Claire said.

  “That’s it, that’s all you’ve got?” Vanna stood up as she looked at Claire and then whirled on Soheap. “What made you think you could interfere in—”

  “Vanna,” Claire said. “It’s done, there’s nothing we can do to change it.” She looked at Soheap. “You had no idea what you were doing.”

  This time he smiled. “Oh, I think I did. And it worked out exactly as I planned, it brought you here.” He picked the envelope up from the counter and handed it to her. “It’s sealed,” he said, and the look in his dark eyes was unfathomable. “What is in that envelope is very powerful. Simon is a good man,” he emphasized.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Simon asked for your promise that you will not read it until you are ready to leave the country.” The eyes that held hers were dark and brooding with secrets. “He made me promise that I would detain you here, hold off giving you the envelope. But in that we both know Simon was wrong. He is in over his head. You must go to the Siem Reap police force and get help.”

  “I will,” Claire promised.

  “Soon,” he insisted. “It’s all happening Saturday,” Soheap said. “This Saturday.”

  For a moment she had to remind herself to breathe at the reminder of how little time there was. “Two days from now.” She pushed away from the counter. There was no time for further talk. “We’re going back immediately. I’ll take care of it—notify Siem Reap,” Claire promised as she took the envelope.

  “Thank you,” Soheap said as she stood at the door and he waved tentatively, more like a lonely old man than one with connections that were decidedly questionable.

  “I think you should open it,” Vanna said as soon as they were back on the street.

  She fingered the envelope. “I can’t. Not now.”

  Vanna nodded. “Your choice. I’ll talk to Tevvy.”

  “No.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “We need to work out a plan, figure out what you’re going to say. Otherwise, he won’t tell you anything.”

  • • •

  Two hours later she watched as Vanna stepped out of the cab and sauntered into the police station, and two hours after that she met her at the coffee shop they had walked past earlier.

  Vanna smiled, a sly tilt of seductive full lips, and Claire thought, not for the first time, that she’d hate to be the man on the other side of that smile.

  “Don’t tell me he’s still in love with you.”

  “Maybe.” Vanna’s smile slipped. “I hope not. But definitely interested enough to be led for a while.” She ran a thumb over the rim of her coffee cup. Both their coffees sat untouched.

  “How’d he react to the suggestion about smuggling?”

  “That startled him. It was like you said, he didn’t expect it.” Her sloe-eyed, dark gaze rose to Claire’s. “When I said his force was corrupt, that’s when he broke. I don’t think he expected anything like that.” She pushed her coffee away. “Oh, I don’t mean he broke down and told all but . . .”

  “But?”

  “When I mentioned that the corruption could affect his career, that’s when he began to crack. I gave him the line, the one you told me.” Vanna cleared her throat and repeated the memorized statement. “I know a reporter that’s about to blow an antiquities smuggling story wide open. Should be a story that’s front page on every paper in Cambodia. I wouldn’t be surprised if CNN doesn’t pick it up.” She smiled. “I thought he was going to fall off his stool. I actually felt sorry for him, despite the fact that he can be such a jerk. Of course he wanted to know what I was talking about, as if he didn’t know.”

  “What’d you say?” Claire leaned forward, enjoying the moment and their success.

  “That the police were going to look like fools. That worse, it could mean his job if he were linked to the corruption in the police force.”

  “And then?”

  “I gave him the clincher. Told him I had an in at Interpol and that they were very interested in what was going on in the Phnom Penh force and that we might be able to save his job if he helped. Not only that but he could look like a hero in the end.”

  Claire bit her lip. “Let’s hope.”

  “Hey”—Vanna waved her hand as if commandeering the floor before a group—“it gets better than that. Turns out he was thinking of quitting. So when I told him you planned to expose everything and he could look like a hero or part of the problem, well, then he spilled.” She took a breath, her eyes sparkling with success. “Turns out he thought the smugglers—I’m assuming that would be Samnang—were once undercover police, that’s what Chief Chan told him.”

  “Unbelievable.” Claire pushed her coffee cup aside. She only wanted to hear the rest of this and get back to Simon as quickly as possible.

  “This Saturday is when it’s all happening—Lake Tonle, Siem Reap.”

  “Saturday,” Claire murmured. “Exactly like Soheap and Jack said.”

  “That’s not all.” Vanna’s voice had an
excited edge to it. “Samnang is selling to Burmese—two different buyers. Neither knows of the other. And the police, well, again as Soheap said, they’ll be arriving too late to be a backup for Simon and Arun.”

  Claire frowned as a knot formed in her stomach.

  “The chief is getting a cut along with Samnang and some of the other officers that were involved. Vanna batted her thumbs together before giving Claire her full attention. “So now we’ll tell Arun and Simon—”

  “No,” Claire cut her off. “Soheap’s instincts were right. There’s no time for Simon or Arun to verify whether this is true or not. And you know that’s what they’ll want to do. No, we go to the Siem Reap police. C’mon, we’ve got work to do and a flight to catch.”

  “I don’t like this, Claire.”

  “We go back,” Claire repeated firmly as she swung her knapsack over her shoulder.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Simon’s fingernails dug into the windowsill. It was a small building, worn soft beneath the Cambodian sun and now used only infrequently by various charitable groups. Wood slivers embedded in his skin as the rotten wood peeled back. The pain was only an annoyance as he scanned the shadowed room from outside. It was empty. He scouted around the building. It appeared deserted. The doors were locked, the windows latched.

  “We’re going to have to break in,” a familiar voice said directly behind him.

  He turned to face Claire. “What the hell are you doing here?” He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. He was relieved to see her, safe and at his side, and pissed that she was here at all.

  “Looking for Arielle, same as you.”

  “I wish you’d stayed in Phnom Penh.” The thought of her here, with danger breathing around them, was almost too much. Behind them there was nothing but the beaten, sand-like dirt that seemed to cover the area and the always present land mines. And here children had once played; it was a mind-stopping concept. Almost as mind-stopping as this moment.

  His heart thumped at her foolish bravado. He suspected the building was empty of any threat. In fact, he’d gotten a report that Ella was recently seen on the grounds of Angkor Wat.