by James Samuel
“Interesting,” said Sinclair. “We found out about this man Shao Fen. James told me it was Prak who mentioned his name in the mountains. The real power behind General Narith and you just happen to be working for him.”
“We need to get to James,” Dylan whined. “He has to know. Fen could come for him at any time.”
“James is an expert. He can handle himself. Right now, James is on an assignment, and he doesn’t have any means of communicating with us.” Sinclair paused. “For security purposes. But you can inform me if you want to make amends.”
Dylan’s shoulders dropped in relief. He wished Sir Richard had as much faith in him as Sinclair had in James.
“Are you the man assigned to kill James?” Sinclair dropped into the chair in front of his computer.
“No, no, I wouldn’t do it. James saved us all. Fen didn’t tell me his plans. He doesn’t share much with me.”
“Intelligent. I wouldn’t share everything with someone who worked for me, either. So, we know Shao Fen is no idiot.”
“No, he’s not. I’m going to be assigned to Phnom Penh to protect a man called Song Wen.”
Sinclair crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “That name means nothing to me.”
“China’s puppet to control Cambodia after the coup. Fen is going to kill Narith when it’s all over.”
“Interesting,” Sinclair said, giving away nothing.
“And Song Wen will control whichever Khmer they want to be prime minister afterwards.”
Dylan shrank under the brilliance of Sinclair’s analytical gaze. No piece of information he gave seemed to faze him.
“Dylan, I admire what you’re doing to put things right. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate it, but you’re making a mistake. Why would you help our operation at the expense of yours?”
Dylan cocked his eyebrows.
“What would you lose if your mission were to fail?”
A few moments of awkward silence passed. Dylan knew his stock would almost certainly fall further. Sir Richard might never allow him to advance. It might even mean termination. Xiphos’s reputation would be in tatters.
“Be a professional, Dylan. Keep these things to yourself. That’s my advice.”
“Sinclair, I’m helping you, and you’re throwing it back in my face?” Dylan raised his voice. “Do you really think you can get all the answers yourself?”
Sinclair flicked his eyebrows almost mockingly.
The action made Dylan burn inside. “Look, I’m doing what’s right for me. If it means I get dropped on my ass because of it, that’s fine. But that’s my business, and I owe James a debt. You don’t know what it was like in those mountains. We were tortured, Sinclair. Sitting behind a computer all day, you wouldn’t know what that’s like, would you? I watched a man I respected go kablam when he stood on a mine. Your files can’t tell you anything about that. If it weren’t for James, I would have never made it out of there alive.”
Sinclair held up his hand to stop the barrage. “Whoa, calm down. I said I respect what you’re doing. I was only trying to advise you.” Sinclair straightened up. “We’ll take any help you want to give.”
Dylan took in a deep breath. The tension returned to his muscles, tightening, and squeezing his shoulders. He felt like his skull was pressing in on his grey matter.
“Where can I reach you whilst you’re stationed in Phnom Penh?”
“Here.” Dylan bustled over to the computer and scribbled down his number on the corner of a page sticking out from a folder. “Any time you want. Now, where can I find James?”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ve worked with James for a long time. This isn’t the first time someone has put him on a hit list. He’ll be back later today. I’ll give you a call, and you can talk to him about Shao Fen and this Song Wen.”
Dylan nodded. He didn’t know if he liked Sinclair, but this wasn’t about him. It was about James and repaying a debt owed. As he left the guesthouse, he could only hope it wasn’t too late.
Chapter Fifty
Toul Kork was once an undeveloped suburb of Phnom Penh. The country’s rapid expansion after decades of trouble had transformed it into one of the most desirable places to live in the capital.
Foreigners and powerful Khmer lived side by side in white-washed villas with elegant black iron fences facing wide boulevards. It seemed a world away from the chaos of the central districts.
James brought the motorbike he’d rented for an exorbitant price to a halt at the corner of a boulevard. Every villa sported freshly cut grass, flowers watered by wasteful sprinklers, and pressure-washed driveways. He wondered how people could live with themselves when so much poverty existed a mile away.
A loud blast on a horn jerked him from his thoughts. He swung around to find Nhek waving at him.
“Hello, Mr. James, how are you?”
James gawped at Nhek’s tuk-tuk. It looked as out of place in Toul Kork as would the neon of Khao San Road.
“Nhek,” James hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I see you and I follow you. What are you doing in Toul Kork, Mr. James?”
“This is business. Get out of here before something happens. It’s nothing to do with you.”
Nhek looked hurt. “Mr. James, I come to help you like you help me.”
“I don’t need your help. Leave. It’s for your own good.”
James dismounted his bike and stalked away from Nhek. He felt the puppy dog eyes of the tuk-tuk driver following him.
Vang Kravaan lived in one of these very villas. He’d already made one pass by it on the bike and caught a glimpse of the skinny yet strong soldier in the front garden.
This time James didn’t want to alert anyone. He couldn’t risk spooking Kravaan. He’d had been around soldiers long enough to know how they thought. Their paranoia controlled every movement.
James slowed his speed as he sidled alongside the large hedgerow blocking the villa from the street. He heard a delightful squeal of a little girl riding a pink and white tricycle. A pang tore at his stomach. James banished it, becoming the killing machine he was employed to be.
Inching up to the gate, he dared to take a glance. Kravaan came into view, completely entranced by the child. James licked his lips, his chest tight.
The girl squealed again and made off on her tricycle. Her little legs pumped fiercely as she bolted from her father’s loving embrace. She tricycled along the perimeter of the house and hit the sloping driveway.
James’ eyes widened as Kravaan’s daughter came right towards him. The tricycle rolled at speed down the slope. He pulled his Glock 19 and held it close in a two-handed grip.
Daddy chased his daughter speaking in fast Khmer. A wide smile stretched his ageing features.
The girl came to a halt. James gritted his teeth. His humanity willed him to pull back. This wasn’t right. How could he justify to his maker the shooting of a man in front of his child?
James broke and threw himself out from cover. He aimed the gun through the bars. His arms steady. Kravaan stopped in his tracks. For the first time, his eyes pulled away from his beloved daughter.
James fired. Kravaan’s soldier instincts failed him. He didn’t move, frozen in time. The bullet hit him square in the chest from just a few feet away. Another two bullets followed, putting Captain Kravaan down for good.
James lingered for a couple of seconds. Kravaan didn’t move. He fled on foot back up the street.
Dogs barked; the distant screams of panic erupted from the villas of these sheltered people. All James heard was Kravaan’s daughter screaming and crying. Those sounds followed him like a chasing ghoul. They never grew quieter. James sprinted away, desperate to escape what he’d done.
To his horror, Nhek continued to wait for him. The Khmer’s smile had gone. The light had left his eyes. James saw the judgement behind the steel expression.
“Mr. James? What you do?” asked Nhek.
“I told you.
It was business. Just like Mr. Chea and Tep Prak.”
“Okay, Mr. James. You need tuk-tuk?”
“No, Nhek. Just get away from here before the police arrive, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. James.”
The vicious buzz of motorcycles sliced at the air. James spun around in time as two motorbikes rounded the corner.
“Get down!”
James seized Nhek around the neck and dragged him off the tuk-tuk. He forced the struggling driver into the ground as bullets assaulted their position. They hammered into the heavy tuk-tuk.
The riders zoomed away. James threw himself off Nhek. His adrenaline pumped like water from a broken spigot. This wasn’t the end.
“Come on, get on my bike.”
“Mr. James,” Nhek cried. “My tuk-tuk.”
“It’s too slow. They’ll come back. You drive.”
James clapped him on the back as Nhek removed the kickstand and revved the bike. He heard the ominous throom of the two bikes about to make another killing pass.
He jumped onto the back of the bike and commanded Nhek to drive. They soared away from the tuk-tuk and barrelled onto the boulevards. He gazed behind him and saw the two bikes make a beeline for them.
“Where I go, Mr. James?” Nhek’s voice trembled. “Where I go?”
“Calm down, you’ll be fine with me. Just wait until we lose them. Drive anywhere.”
“But it’s not safe.”
“Just do it.”
They soon left the neighbourhood and entered Phnom Penh’s confusing set of main roads that formed the veins of the city and always promised chaos.
The two assailants were already gaining fast. James fired a warning shot down their gullets. The two bikes veered and took up flanking positions.
“Make a turn,” said James.
Nhek turned into another residential street. He seemed to understand. The tuk-tuk driver piloted the vehicle like an extension of himself. James remained perfectly balanced on the back.
“We need to get on the main roads. Get out of this neighbourhood.”
“I know, Mr. James, I know.”
They turned another corner onto the entrance to the main roads. The ping of a bullet followed them.
At each turn, Nhek strained to put some distance between them and their assailants.
“We lose them, Mr. James,” said Nhek as they pulled onto a busy intersection.
“Not yet. They’re not stupid. Keep going.”
James’ words came true as they gunned it. Behind them, the hunters suddenly appeared over the rise. The mess of Phnom Penh’s traffic slowed everyone down.
Tuk-tuks, luxury cars, trucks belching poisonous fumes into the air. The scrum required blind overtaking, sudden braking, and curses flying like magic spells across each lane.
Bullets flew yet again. The bikes crept closer. Nhek responded by shifting gears and accelerating.
James turned to stare down his assailants, took aim and fired a shot. The bike jerked at the last minute as if the rider knew.
“They’re getting too close. Where does this road lead?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. James.” Nhek was playing with his life as much as James was playing with his. He forced the bike across the lanes like a spear and emerged onto the oncoming lane.
James saw bumpers hurtling towards him. He caught the wild-eyed looks of each driver flying past them. James could only close his eyes and pray.
“You’re going to kill us. Get off this road.”
James looked back at the two riders. They hadn’t the stones to follow them into oncoming traffic. Instead, they hunted them on the opposite side, like two lions stalking their prey.
Nhek dodged away from an oncoming bus and dove towards a junction with a lull in traffic. He made it by an inch. James steadied himself as the air whooshed past him. Feelings of nausea bubbled around in his stomach. He sensed the rate of his own mortality rising by the second.
James thought about making a stand. This couldn’t go on forever. If they didn’t shoot him, they would see him smashed into pieces by a bus.
The streets narrowed, and Nhek started taking dangerous detours through the alleys. An old man towing a handcart like a beast of burden almost obliterated them with his cargo of mangos.
Once again, the riders appeared, tracking them like lasers. James clenched his teeth and fired at them down a narrow alley. The bullet struck paydirt, and James watched the bike shoot forwards out of control. The front wheel bounced off the ground and the bike flipped into the air. The rider hit the ground like a rag doll before Nhek turned the corner.
“I got one,” said James.
“Police, Mr. James.”
James saw a blue light parked off to the right. He didn’t need more chumps baying for blood. Firing at the cop’s bike, he watched a bullet strike a wheel, deflating the tyre. The unfortunate officer jumped out of the way and did not attempt to give chase.
“We need to end this,” said James.
A bullet from the remaining rider came so close James felt the movement of the air on his ear.
“I don’t know. You shoot, you shoot.”
“Find me some open ground.”
“I don’t know what’s ground for opening, Mr. James.”
“Here, here, that’s a park.” He thrust a finger at a collection of bushy trees. “Get some distance and stop.”
Nhek obeyed and manoeuvred like a professional. The park stretched for almost a mile. He mounted the pavement with a bump and drove into a wide path leading to a bronze statue of a former king in full regalia.
“Get to cover,” said James.
“I want to help. I want to help.”
James ignored him, jumped off the bike, and fired another shot from distance. It missed but the rider made a veering U-turn. To his astonishment, the rider gave up the chase and fled.
The locals screamed and ran, many with their phones to their ears, no doubt calling the police. In the eye of the storm around him, James’ mind shut down. Should he give chase or flee?
“Mr. James.” Nhek grabbed at his arm and pulled him towards the bike. “Come, we have no time. The police come.”
James watched the rider disappear and let Nhek return him to the bike. A simple hit and run had turned into something much bigger. Things like this never were as simple as Sinclair made them sound.
Chapter Fifty-One
Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia
Shao slammed his smartphone down on his desk. The screen splintered, sending a spider’s web of cracks across the protector. He’d entered his office at the shipyards with a feeling that something wasn’t right. Something as catastrophic as losing Kravaan? Beyond his calculations.
“Send that idiot Sok up here,” Shao commanded to a faceless aide.
His entourage hurried to summon his minion into his office. Sok bowed his head and wouldn’t look him in the eye. Shao smelt the fear on him.
“Mr. Fen, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sok, I gave you a job to do. You were supposed to keep Kravaan alive. He’s dead.”
“We tried, Mr. Fen,” Sok approached his desk overlooking the shipyards. “We tried. We chased the barang, but we couldn’t catch him.”
“Don’t sit down,” Shao growled. “Why are you here?”
“I survived. The barang killed my brother and Kravaan. I’m so sorry. I could do nothing.”
“You should have died in the attempt.” Shao stood behind his desk. “You came highly recommended to me. How many years have you worked in personal protection?”
“Twenty years in the business, Mr. Fen.”
“Twenty years,” Shao scoffed.
Shao felt his temples pulsing. The blood vessels around his head pressing against his skin. He turned away from the pitiful creature before him. Two decades in the underworld; how could Sok have failed him so badly?
“I try again. I can find the barang. Give me one more chance.”
“In China, there are no s
econd chances. You shouldn’t have come here until Winchester was dead, you hear me?”
“But this is not China, Mr. Fen.”
Shao heard Sok’s words clearly, but he wasn’t sure he understood what he said. He roared as he whipped his pistol out. Sok raised his hands at the quick movement. He fired and the failure dropped to the ground.
The smell of gun smoke filled Shao’s nostrils as he dropped the gun on the desk. He planted his hands in front of him, a ragged feeling challenging him like never before. He grabbed a half-full glass of water from his desk and guzzled the room temperature drink.
Shao shot a threatening glance at the aide standing off to the side. “Get me General Narith. Office phone. And clean up this mess.”
The aide stepped over Sok’s body and tiptoed around the pool of blood. “Yes, Mr. Fen.”
Shao smoothed down his hair and fell into his chair. Turning it towards the window, he let his eyes close for a moment until the call connected.
“Narith, Kravaan is dead,” said Shao.
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“We are still investigating. People are talking about it online. Some of the residents spoke to the papers.”
“And?”
“They don’t know who he was, only that he worked with the government. We’re clear to proceed.”
Shao’s eyes widened. “Kravaan was key to our plans. All that work was for nothing. We failed to capitalise on the situation.”
General Narith paused on the other end of the line. He heard the general blowing his nose.
“Enough of this. The foreigner is too dangerous. I’m putting the coup on hold until we deal with him. Until Winchester is dead, the risk is too great. He will come for us.”
“Shao, no,” said Narith. “We don’t need Kravaan. We can still do it. Winchester is only one man, and he can’t stop an army.”
“His performance so far tells us he can. Never underestimate your enemy. Everything is in place, but I will not give the green light until this man Winchester is dead. Place all your forces on high alert. I want his picture circulating.”