by James Samuel
“Over there, my friend.” Qiu gestured to the little cubicle overflowing with urine.
Qiu gave it no thought as he trudged across the room. The spinning grew worse and his vision began to blur. He felt drunk, even though he’d had nothing but fruit juice. It didn’t make any sense. He reached out against the cubicle to prevent himself from falling. Qiu took in deep breaths. Maybe the bad air had taken its toll on him?
He looked back at Prak, who had already begun to stand. There was no concern on his face. Then it dawned on him. Prak had lured him into a trap. Qiu reached for the gun hidden in his suit jacket. His movement seemed to slow to a crawl.
Then the floor rushed up to meet him. His body tipped forward. His heavy eyelids closed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
The four men spent the better part of the day hatching plans. Blake still hadn’t answered Sinclair’s summons. He no longer responded to any calls. Each time, the phone continued to ring, he grew angrier with every attempt. James could only speculate on what Blake had cooked up.
A tuk-tuk pulled up outside the Riverside Guesthouse. It blared its horn, dragging everyone’s attention towards it.
“Mr. James!” Nhek called happily from atop the bike. “Mr. James, how are you?”
James tried to raise a smile as Nhek jogged over to him and shook his hand with a fury.
“Mr. James, how are you? You like Cambodia?”
“Yes, Nhek. I do.” James’ eyes refocused on a girl in the back of the tuk-tuk dressed in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans. “Who’s that?”
“Ah, Mr. James. I bring you a friend. Barangs need friends in Cambodia. Many friends.”
James thought about it for a second. “Wait, what?”
“I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing,” Adam smirked. “Bit early in the day, though, don’t you think?”
James' cheeks went pink. “Nhek, I don’t want a prostitute.”
“No, no, prostitution is no good here. She’s not a prostitute. She’s Chantou. I bring Chantou here to help you.”
His compatriots at the table were now openly snickering at his predicament. Although Nhek continued to grin in that innocent Khmer way, he didn’t realise every sentence that left his mouth sounded like a euphemism.
“Nhek, no.” James raised a finger. “No.”
Nhek looked crestfallen. “You don’t want friends? But she help you. She help you. You remember the Palace? She come from the Palace. Everyone know the Palace.”
“Christ,” James muttered.
“You come. You come. It not good to leave a woman waiting.” Nhek grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the tuk-tuk. “She very good friend to you.”
James allowed himself to be dragged towards the woman. She gave him a shy smile. The closer he got the more he thought he recognised her. Without the makeup and the cocktail dress, Chantou looked like a completely different person.
“Chantou, this is Mr. James. You must remember Mr. James?”
“I do,” she replied in silky English. “I worked for Mr. Chea for five years. He’s a very bad man. Thank you, Mr. James.”
“Just James, please. Don’t worry about it. It’s just part of my job.”
“I wanted to tell you, Mr. James, you saved my life. So, I deleted the video when you go. Some men come and they check cameras, but they find nothing. I did it for you. Thank you.”
“Oh.” James gulped. “Well, thank you. If there’s anything else I can do for you, just tell me.”
James grew tongue-tied as the words tumbled out. In his line of work, nobody ever thanked him for the lives he took. He preferred that nobody knew anything about his work at all. He didn’t know how to react to admirers.
“You did everything for me. Nhek says you are looking for someone else.”
James cast a vicious look at Nhek, which he returned with the same silly smile.
“I talk to Preap, another friend. He says he can help you. But don’t mention Mr. Chea. He always likes to spit.” Chantou shivered.
“You get in, Mr. James. We go to Preap now. He help you.”
“How can he help me? I thought he only worked at the Palace and that was it.”
Nhek had already started climbing back onto his bike, gesturing at him to get in.
Chantou shuffled back to allow James to get in. The moment he placed his foot on the side of the tuk-tuk, a boisterous cheer exploded from the three mercenaries he was leaving behind. James blushed again as Nhek waved frantically at his colleagues as the tuk-tuk whirled around and started its journey back to the river.
The journey only took them ten minutes. On a crowded stretch of river, Nhek brought the tuk-tuk to a halt. His passengers climbed out and waited at the top of the hill, scanning the banks for the figure of Preap. To James, the homeless all looked much the same.
“There he is. I go.” Nhek bounded down the hill and clapped Preap on the back.
Preap turned around and raised a hand in salute to them, before throwing himself at the hill and leaping up it like a gazelle.
“James, good to see you again.” Preap shook his hand. “I’m sorry we haven’t met since Mr. Chea.” True to form, he spat an enormous globule of spit down the hill. “I couldn’t have been more pleased to find out that it was over. So many years of hoping and then it finally happened.”
“Nothing to it. Chantou here said you were able to help me.”
“Ah, yes. This is something I find difficult to talk about.” Preap moved towards the tuk-tuk and perched himself on its side. “To tell you the truth, my life is more complicated than I originally let on. I didn’t trust you before. But since you killed Mr. Chea.” He spat again. “Now I can trust you completely.”
“What are you getting at, Preap?” asked James.
“Well, I lied to you. What’s true is that I did study in London, but I didn’t study in London during Kampuchea. I was here. I was a part of it, and I’m ashamed that I was.” Preap no longer faced James. The whites of his eyes glared at the street as if he was relieving his own mistakes all over again. “I rose to my position in the Palace because I worked for the Khmer Rouge. I killed for them. It was what everyone did at the time.”
“Oh...” It was all James could manage. “I’m sure things were different back then.”
“They were. Do you still want to kill Tep Prak?”
He narrowed his eyes at him. “How do you know that?”
Preap threw a lazy finger at Nhek, who returned it with another wide smile.
James pursed his lips. Was there anyone in town Nhek hadn’t told?
“I never knew Prak. But I retreated to the mountains and the forests near the Thai border. Those bases were never found. I’m sure the Khmer Rouge still use them today. Without someone who knows where they are, you have no chance of finding them. I want to help you.”
“Help me?” James tilted his head. “Why?”
“To fix some of the mistakes I made. I killed… a lot. I’ve dreamed of it ever since.”
James analysed Preap up and down. The idea that Preap could have once been a mass murderer seemed farcical. The well-spoken man who had studied in London didn’t fit the model of a vicious Khmer Rouge.
“People of this country forgot. They wanted to forget.” Preap turned his eyes on James. “There was no peace agreement after Kampuchea. Most of the Khmer Rouge returned to normal life. You don’t know what the older Khmer did during Kampuchea, and they won’t talk about it. It’s a strange culture in many ways.”
James wanted to say something profound or try to comfort Preap. But why bother? He, himself, had never confronted his sins. Unlike Preap, his victims didn’t keep him awake at night. Every evening he slept soundly. Was it some sort of hypocrisy or had he become less human over his years of military service and mercenary work?
“But why philosophise?” Preap asked. “We have much to do. I want to do this for you, James. Bring me to your friends an
d I can lead you to where I think they keep their base.”
“Do you remember after all these years?”
“You never forget something like that.”
Chapter Thirty
Pen Thom stood in the shadow of the Royal Palace. Despite the prominent position the palace held overlooking the Mekong, the building was barely 150 years old, relatively new compared to some ancient sites. The imposing gates of the palace were guarded by the palace guard in their pristine white jackets. From the outside, Thom could only be in one part of the four main compounds that made up the palace.
Thom stood near the wall where visitors could see most of the Moonlight Pavilion. Classical Khmer dance events took place there. Thom had attended them on a number of occasions. He rested on the wall separating the palace from the river, grimacing as he sat his aching joints down.
He pushed his glasses up from the end of his nose and stood again as Commander Chan Chhaya arrived. He’d popped out from behind a group of three Buddhist monks dressed in bright orange.
Shorn of his uniform, Chhaya wore a pair of sunglasses and no hat. To all but his closest allies, he appeared as no more than an ordinary civilian. Slightly round but built of solid muscle, he extended his paw-like hand to Thom in the Western fashion.
“Commander,” Thom said. “Thank you for meeting me today. It is an honour.”
“A public place. I don’t think you’ve assessed the risk of meeting here.” Chhaya sent a glance at the palace. “In front of the palace as well. Why here?”
“If we’re seen going in and out of the same building it confirms everything. If we’re seen here, just a coincidence.”
Chhaya tightened his lips. “Why did you want to meet me? Keep it short before someone notices I’m not on duty.”
Thom nodded and gestured to the wall again. His joints showed the first signs of arthritis. He couldn’t stand for long without clenching his teeth and trying to hide his discomfort.
Chhaya sat next to him. “General Narith is becoming increasingly insular. I think he knows that I’m watching him on behalf of the prime minister.”
Thom nodded. “San Peou was found dead. Tortured. He must have spoken.”
Chhaya shifted, the commander losing some of his usual composure. “Then you must speak to the prime minister and have him remove me. If not, it’s only a matter of time before he moves against me.”
“You know he won’t.”
“I’m the head of his personal bodyguard. I can’t make any sort of request to the prime minister. I’m employed to follow orders. Nothing more. My fate is in your hands.”
“And I’m just an advisor. I can make a request, but I’ve known him long enough to know he’ll dismiss my concerns without evidence. How can we have evidence because we feel that General Narith knows, Commander?”
Chhaya gazed up at the Royal Palace. “If there’s a more pressing concern, the prime minister will act.”
“What could be more pressing than a coup d’état from the general of the Royal Cambodian Army?”
“I can think of one thing.”
“Do tell me. We can’t afford to lose you, Commander. You’re one of the reasons why he hasn’t made a move against the prime minister already.”
“A false flag attack.”
Thom’s breath caught in his throat. “That’s treason, Commander.”
“No, it’s preserving the country. Like cutting off an infected part of the body to save the rest.”
Thom considered it. A false flag attack would mean certain death if caught. Hun Sen needed Chhaya to save his own life and to give them time to plot the downfall of General Narith. But there would be an investigation likely led by General Narith himself. If he found enough evidence, it would only strengthen his position and weaken their own.
“It’s an enormous risk. You know the consequences.”
“I know the consequences,” Chhaya said through gritted teeth. “We need more time. In a few months, we’ll be ruled by a military dictator. It’ll be just like Kampuchea again. Neither of us will survive it.”
Thom nodded. He’d grown old and knew he didn’t have many years left. Thom spent as much time with his doctors as he did with his family these days. Even though he knew the end would come soon, he couldn’t let his family suffer for his failure.
“What did you have in mind?”
“The one thing that would bring the country to a halt. Something that unites all Cambodians in horror. It would postpone any attempt to take power. The King.”
“You’re not suggesting –”
“No, that would be too much. We just have to make it look like an attempt on the King’s life. None of the royal family would be touched.”
Thom weighed it up. King Norodom Sihamoni had taken the throne in the early 2000s, after the abdication of his father Norodom Sihanouk, Cambodia’s legendary king who had seen them through colonialism, independence, Kampuchea, civil war, and the transition to democracy. In the eyes of most Cambodians, King Sihamoni was Cambodia.
“If you can be sure –”
“I am sure,” Chhaya snapped, rising to his feet. “The King will be fine. The royal family will be fine. It should buy us a few weeks. I can arrange a small explosion in the palace.”
Thom kept his eyes on the tranquillity of the palace, hidden behind its defensive walls. It acted as a sanctuary away from the chaos of Phnom Penh. A group of spindly three-plank boats sailed past them. A single man stood on the bow with a long oar. It reminded him that attacking the palace would shatter the relative peace so foreign to the country in modern times.
“I must think about this.” Thom pressed a hand to his temple to fight off the comings of a headache. “What you are asking is –”
“It is necessary to save this country from going back to the days of Kampuchea. Any leader who would use the Khmer Rouge to help him is no different.”
“I… I must think. I must consider.”
“I need an answer now. I could disappear by next week.”
He withered in the face of Chhaya’s leering. His head pounded as he weighed every risk, every possibility.
“Thom,” Chhaya hissed.
“Yes, fine. Yes. I will authorise it. But if you get caught, I’ll plead ignorance.”
Chhaya laughed. “You worry too much, Thom.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Cardamom Mountains formed the final bastion of the Khmer Rouge. Largely inaccessible in the past, a single highway from Thailand had cut the mysterious green heart of Southwestern Cambodia in two. Foreign trekkers had begun their slow invasion, following the footsteps of the advancing Vietnamese soldiers more than forty years ago.
“Most of the mountain range remains inaccessible,” said Preap. “Don’t let recent developments fool you.”
Six men stood around the plastic table. Empty beer bottles flanked folders, papers, and maps outside the doors of the Riverside Guesthouse.
Other guests peered at them as they moved in and out. If anyone questioned them, they made up an excuse about planning a private trip. Mr. Arun spent most of his time running back and forth bringing them drinks.
“You still couldn’t find them without knowing the land,” Preap confirmed. “That’s where I can help you.”
“And we’re gonna trust some homeless guy who lives on the river. Great,” Blake piped up.
“Keep your mouth shut,” James growled. “It’s your fault we have to do this in the first place.”
“You have a short memory.”
“Enough,” Sinclair warned. “We don’t have time for this. This is the plan, Blake, and that’s the end of it.”
Blake frowned at them and just guzzled his beer.
“Sorry, Preap,” said James.
Preap dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He picked up the corner of one of the maps. It showed the topography of the Cardamom Mountains.
“Look.” Preap indicated a squiggly dotted line. “There’s the border with Thailand. This is why i
t’s such a powerful position. The camps are high up in the undeveloped parts of the range. The Thai border is close. You can access it from the camps. In the past, it provided a supply line for Chinese support and a way to flee. Today, its advantages are much the same.”
“So how are we supposed to get up there?” asked Dylan. “Surely they’ll see us coming?”
Preap pointed at a road map of the Cardamom Mountains and tapped on a thick line. “That’s the highway. We will have to stop around here.” He pointed at the red line scratching its way through the mountains like a thick artery. “Then it’s on foot and taking refuge on the way.”
“How long is this going to take?” Adam folded his arms. “We’re entirely in your hands.”
“Two days minimum, depending on how slow or fast we move.”
James shrugged. “That seems reasonable.”
A momentary silence fell over the group. Any number of things could happen in forty-eight hours. They would have satellite phones to radio into Sinclair, but what use would they be if they were ambushed or someone twisted their ankle? Now the consequences of Blake’s kill felt all the more real.
“Let’s take a break,” Sinclair suggested. “We need to think about this and then come back to it with a clear head in a couple of hours.”
Everyone agreed. Blake couldn’t get away from them fast enough. Only Preap, Adam, and James remained behind.
“Preap, could you give us a few minutes please?” said James.
“No problem.”
The former Khmer Rouge seized the papers and piled them together before shuffling inside the guesthouse.
“What do you want?” Adam steepled his fingers in front of him.
“Nothing. But I could tell by the way you were looking at me that you wanted something.”
Adam smirked. “Can’t get much past you, can I?”
“You made it quite obvious.”
“Fine. I don’t think we should take Harrison. He’s a liability to us. His heart isn’t in it, and he’ll betray us if he thinks it’ll save his own skin.”