Spy Mom

by Beth McMullen

  But at the time I didn’t know that. So instead of taking Blackford’s advice and calling it a day, I did the next best thing, which was to go and visit Sovann directly. I was sure that if I could convince Sovann not to sell his wares to Blackford, no matter what the silver-tongued ex-spy had promised him, I could stop the chaos on the horizon.

  Sovann lived in a huge house, protected by a twenty-five-foot security fence, topped with tightly coiled razor wire. Dogs and armed guards patrolled along the inside perimeter of the fence. From the outside, the place resembled a federal prison. And with good reason. If you wanted something done in Siem Reap, or anywhere in Cambodia really, Sovann was the guy to see. He specialized in illegal weapons, but was only too happy to engage in human trafficking, drugs, and stolen antiquities if given the opportunity. Rangsey cut the bike and we both sat there looking at the compound.

  “Big,” Rangsey commented.

  “Looks secure,” I added.

  “Lots of guards. Carrying guns.”

  “Dogs.”

  “High-voltage fencing. I think I’ll wait here.”

  “Who said you were invited anyway?”

  Rangsey laughed. “I’ll stay right here for you.”

  I climbed off the back of the bike.

  “Don’t wait for me,” I said. “Go home. I could be a while.”

  Rangsey shook his head before I’d even finished the sentence. “I’ll be right here when you come out.”

  “If I come out,” I said, suddenly tired.

  “Of course you’ll come out. Karma owes you one.”

  “How do you figure?” I asked.

  Rangsey grinned in the darkness. “You saved me and Ary. Spiritually, that is pretty high up there.”

  I thanked him for his positive energy and began my long slog to the fortified gate in the distance. A deafening din rose from the jungle insects, beginning to assemble for the night.

  There are a lot of ways to get into someone’s house. You can dress all in black, paint your face like a soldier, climb a tree, jump over the fence, and elude the guards and the snarling Dobermans waiting to rip you to pieces on the other side. Then you can shimmy up an outside wall of the house like you’re free climbing El Capitan, wiggle through an open window, and fall, if you’re lucky, into an empty room. And there you are. Broken and entered.

  Or you can crash the gate with your Kevlar reinforced SUV, shoot the guards, and break down the front door. Then you can take hostages and demand information. Less subtle certainly, but in the end no less effective.

  Or you can knock and hope the occupant invites you in, which was my choice on this sticky, hot night. I figured Sovann would find it so strange that I’d come right up to his door that he’d let me in simply to satisfy his curiosity.

  The guards, of course, held me at gunpoint while they asked Mr. Sovann if he was expecting me. He wasn’t but that didn’t stop him from opening the gate. One of the guards drove me to the mansion’s front door in a golf cart while holding his AK-47 across his lap, barrel casually pointed at my stomach.

  Once I was inside, the maid led me to the library. Surrounded by rich cherry paneling and antique oriental rugs, among bookcases holding a multitude of unopened classics with oiled leather covers, sat tiny Sovann. He was dressed up like an English gentleman, relaxing at the country estate the night before the annual foxhunt. Satin smoking jacket, silk ascot, slippers with a Chinese dragon motif. I smiled. I couldn’t help it.

  “Welcome, Miss Sally Sin!” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I’ve been expecting you. Please sit down. Make yourself at home. My home is your home.” He puffed deliberately on a cigarette held in a long ivory holder, spinning it ever so slightly between his delicate fingers.

  I did as I was told although I wasn’t convinced by the “my home is your home” bit.

  “I am assuming you are here to see the temples, to take some special time among our beautiful wonders of the world. Perhaps a chance to rekindle your spirit after a trying year?” Sovann’s English was formal, the result, I found out later, of a long affair with his private tutor who learned English from old Masterpiece Theatre reruns such as Upstairs, Downstairs. She obviously enjoyed the upstairs part the best.

  “Who doesn’t want to see the temples?” I asked. “Why would I come all this way and not see the temples?” Sovann smiled. It was not a warm and fuzzy smile.

  “If that were true, I’d be happy to offer you tea and let you be on your way. But …”

  “But?”

  “I fear that you are not telling me the truth. There is no honor in deception, Sally Sin. I suggest you head back home. The jungle is no place for a nice girl like you.”

  Boy, people were really anxious to get me to go home, although I did appreciate that he thought I was nice.

  “Who are you selling to?” I asked, starting to sweat a little in the heat of the room.

  “See? There you go again. Are you not paying attention?”

  “I never was very good at following the rules.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve been told.” Sovann looked thoughtful, as if trying to figure out how to dispose of me without messing up the carpet. Behind him, mounted above his massive mahogany desk, was a row of surveillance monitors. One of the eyes kept a steady gaze on two armed guards standing outside of what looked like the hulking shadow of a warehouse. Was this where he kept what he was preparing to sell to the Blind Monk? Was I that close?

  “Listen,” I said, peeling my eyes from the monitor, “you made a deal with the Blind Monk. If you back out of it, he will kill you. And it won’t be pretty or fast. I don’t know what Blackford has told you, but none of it is true. He can’t protect you from the Blind Monk. He wants what you have stockpiled out there and will say anything to get it. You can’t listen to him.”

  “Are you giving me career advice?” Sovann asked, breaking into a wormy smile. “How kind.”

  Suddenly, I heard a scream. There are many kinds of screams. Those of surprise or shock or terror or hysteria. Or those of pain, excruciating or otherwise. This was one of the latter. The doors of the library flew open and two men entered, dragging a third man between them. The two men standing were Cambodian. The man on the floor was none other than Roger, the scientist who had been out looking for pretty purple flowers.

  “Oh shit,” I said. Roger was bloody, although not so much so that he was in danger of anything beyond passing out. His face was bruised, but cautiously. These men had knocked him around but not in any serious life-threatening way. They dropped Roger at my feet. He moaned pathetically. Sovann, still in his chair, examined the both of us.

  “It’s my day for Europeans, I suppose,” he said.

  “I’m not European,” I said.

  “What’s the difference? You all look alike to me.”

  Sovann pointed at the crumpled Roger with his cigarette holder. “This fat man was caught snooping in places he ought not to have been. He’s lucky he’s still in one piece, being as he won’t tell us who he is. Perhaps you can tell me? Is he one of yours?”

  “No. He’s not mine. He’s a scientist.”

  With that, Sovann squealed with laughter. “This fat man? A scientist? In the jungle? And pigs will walk!”

  “Pigs will fly,” I corrected.

  “What about pigs? Oh, never mind. Who cares who he is? My inclination is to kill you both and be done with it. I have things to do other than deal with intruders all day long.”

  I didn’t think reminding him that he had invited me in would improve things much.

  Meanwhile, Roger had pulled himself up to sitting, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes wide at the sight of blood and sweat that appeared there. He leaned heavily on my legs, almost knocking me over backward.

  “Hey, down there,” I whispered, “take it easy.”

  Finally, Roger looked up, a surprised expression replacing the one of abject fear.

  “You? From the train?”

  “Yup.”
/>
  “I’m confused. You were sightseeing. Temples. Nirvana. That sort of thing.”

  “Um, not really.”

  “Where am I? Who are these people?”

  “Now is not a good time,” I said, gesturing at our grim hosts.

  “Right. Of course,” Roger said.

  “So before I dispose of the two of you,” Sovann interrupted, “I want you to understand something, Sally. I’m not afraid of the Blind Monk. I’m not afraid of Ian Blackford. This is my country. I own it and I’ll do what I want.”

  Roger stared at me, eyes huge, lips quivering. I could feel him shaking against my legs.

  “These men are not your friends. If you agree to turn yourself over to me, my organization can protect you.”

  Sovann snorted at the audacity of my suggestion, accidentally getting smoke up his nose, causing him to lapse into a coughing fit. He turned so red I thought he might actually pass out, which would have improved our situation immensely. But no.

  “Why would I ever do that?” Sovann sputtered.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “But I had to mention it.” My gaze floated up to the ceiling. Constellations, painted in the finest detail, brought the night sky into Sovann’s library.

  “Must have cost a fortune,” I said quietly. “Beautiful work.”

  “Yes, an Italian artist. Enjoys Cambodian boys and working on my ceiling.”

  “You didn’t need to tell me that,” I said. “Why would you tell me that? Now you’ve gone and ruined the ceiling for me.”

  “Are you stalling, Sally Sin, trying to think of a plan to save yourself and your scientist? Don’t think you can use any spy tricks on me, dearie. I’m better than that.”

  Before he could properly finish putting me in my place, I heard a loud pop. A split second later, the huge picture window behind Sovann’s throne exploded. I threw myself over Roger, hiding my face and closing my eyes. Sovann shrieked. It sounded like a small animal caught in a trap. The glass rained down on us. I felt a shard slice my exposed arm, the warm blood running down toward my wrist. Sovann continued to scream. His soldiers, still huddled near the floor, hands protecting their heads, made no move to save the general.

  I shook the glass off me like a wet dog after a swim. Pulling Roger to his feet, I made sure he had on shoes and I shoved him forward, toward the broken window.

  “Go! Now.”

  “What? What’s happening?” Roger was confused, shocked, but did what I said. The glass crunched under our feet.

  “Stop them!” Sovann howled.

  I heard another pop.

  “Down!” I shouted. Roger fell to the floor, covering his head and face as best he could. The second picture window exploded. More screaming from Sovann.

  “Shit!” No time to wait. We were going to resemble colanders by the time we made it out of here.

  “Up. Now.” I shoved Roger toward the gaping holes, ragged as shark’s teeth. And before he could consider alternatives, I pushed him out of the second-story window. I knew there was a lush tropical garden bed under there. Maybe our luck would change and we’d land on it. I heard Roger hit the ground with a sickening thud. Or maybe not. I jumped. I figured we had about ten seconds before the guards would come bursting out of the house, spraying bullets like water from a fire hose.

  The landing was not soft. My skin was slick with sweat and blood. Roger lay still among the sweet-smelling frangipani. But I could hear him breathing, so all was not lost. About fifty feet to our left, beyond Sovann’s exquisitely manicured gardens and lawns, was the jungle. Like at the temples, it was simply biding its time until it could once again consume all these pathetic attempts at civilization. Now, the jungle at night was about as appealing as an evening swim from Gansbaai Beach with one of your legs cut off, but it wasn’t as if we had much choice.

  “Get up. Time to go,” I said. “Or die here in a bed of lovely tropical flowers.”

  A small voice came up from the heap that was Roger. “I’m considering all options.”

  “Well, your demise won’t be nearly as poetic as it sounds.” I hauled him to his feet and pushed his great mass toward the dark edge of the jungle.

  It’s not easy to move through a dense jungle in the best of circumstances, which these certainly were not. A short distance in, we huddled down and tried to be as still as possible. The guards spread out across the lawn, weaving through the gardens, shouting commands, and trading insults. A squad of six headed down the driveway, the most obvious escape route because even they wouldn’t believe we’d be stupid enough to go into the jungle at night.

  “Don’t even blink,” I whispered to Roger.

  Flashlight beams swept right in front of where we sat. But this jungle was so thick that unless the guards were actually upon us, we would remain invisible. Ten long minutes passed and they gave up. I could hear them berating each other for losing us, working up the nerve to go back inside and tell one very angry Sovann that not only were we gone, but there was no sign of whoever had shot out the windows. We stayed completely still for another five minutes, and right around the time when I thought we might be able to wait them out and kind of creep down the driveway undetected, I heard a most unpleasant noise, the snorting, snarling growl of a guard dog.

  “We need to go now,” I said, turning to head deeper into the thicket.

  “That way?”

  “Yes. Why? You have a better idea?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Fabulous, get moving.”

  We plunged, unwilling but desperate, deeper into the tangle. Behind me, I could hear Roger wheezing with exertion. But I suspected he would rather die of an asthma attack than let me get too far ahead.

  “This is dangerous,” he managed between gasps. “A jungle like this, well, something very bad could happen to us.”

  “Other than being shot at, you mean?”

  “You are not the easiest person to talk to,” Roger said. He hunched over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His bald spot was shiny with sweat and glowed in the darkness.

  “I get that sometimes.”

  “Who are you? And what are you doing here? Because this has turned out to be a very unusual day. If you don’t tell me, I swear I will dedicate the rest of my life to finding out.”

  “Here’s hoping that will be longer than ten minutes. Now please shut up, will you?” All around us was silence. The guards had retreated. The dogs had retreated. Better to lose one’s prey than to follow it into the jungle in the dead of night. Great.

  “Let’s take a moment and assess our situation, shall we?” I suggested.

  I spun around in a slow circle, trying to find anything to orient myself in a darkness challenged only by a silvery sliver of moon. Roger sat down on the thick jungle floor.

  “We are in the jungle,” I began.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Roger muttered from his position at my feet.

  “Hey! Enough of that. You are not allowed to be snippy unless you have a better plan and I think we already agreed that you don’t.”

  “I might come up with one if I had more time and perhaps a piece of paper and a pencil,” he sniffed. I ignored him.

  “It’s night,” I said. “We have no supplies. There is practically no moon and I can’t remember how I’m supposed to use it to navigate anyway, so that’s a complete loss. But the jungle. We have the jungle. All this jungle. So much jungle.” I sat down next to Roger.

  “I hate the jungle,” I said.

  “What have you got against the jungle?”

  “Where does one begin?” I asked. “Hot, wet, bugs, spiders, snakes, land mines, angry man-eating vines that grow six inches a minute, unexploded ordnance from a war that never happened. And oftentimes, if I’m really lucky, like now for example, men with guns trying to kill me.”

  “That was a rhetorical question, but the way you describe it sounds lovely, especially the land mines part.”

  “Yes, that’s certainly a highlight,” I sa
id. “Now let’s go. Get up.”

  “Which way?”

  “I have no fucking idea,” I said. “How about that way?”

  “We’re going to die,” Roger moaned.

  “Maybe. It’s always a possibility. Up. Time to move.”

  We began a slow, arduous trek through the nighttime jungle in a direction I hoped would run parallel to Sovann’s long driveway, eventually dumping us out on the dirt road I came in on.

  “Can you please explain to me what made you think you could go poking around Sovann’s place without getting caught? Do you know who he is? Whatever you are searching for, it cannot be important enough,” I said, trying to stomp down a particularly dense section of vine.

  “Your name is not Camilla, is it?” I could hear Roger close behind me, swatting at the plate-size mosquitoes that had finally discovered our hot, sweaty bodies. If we were truly blessed, we’d both leave this jungle with a whopping case of malaria.

  “No, it’s not. What were you thinking?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to end up there,” Roger said, grunting as one of the vines whipped him in the face. “I was given some information and paid rather well to follow up on it.”

  I took a minute to digest that.

  “Who do you work for?” Roger asked, waiting for me to clear the way. “What is the Agency? What was Sovann talking about back there?”

  “I think a better question is who do you work for?”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you that. I signed confidentiality papers.”

  “Well, in that case, maybe I’ll leave you here.”

  “No! Wait. Being as we’re probably going to die anyway, I suppose it can’t do any harm. I was hired anonymously to see if I could find the mythical Blue Wing Lily. My source was supposed to have found new evidence of its existence. I rarely go into the field anymore, but how could I say no to all that money?”

  “Did your source tell you why he was looking for this particular flower?”

  “Well, everyone knows about the Blue Wing Lily and its ability to alter consciousness.”