Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) by James Samuel (psychology books to read txt) 📗

some journalist writes about what’s left of the Khmer Rouge. Prak is its leader. They say he hides out in the mountains near Thailand, mainly smuggling guns across the border.”

“You are correct,” said Heng. “Prak and his Khmer Rouge will form part of the rebellion. He has been smuggling unregistered weapons into the country for many years. He has many agents in the villages. He follows the same strategy as Pol Pot.”

“So, Prak will be in the mountains, and you want Sambath to tell us where he is?”

“That is correct. We have no need for Sambath. Interrogate him then kill him.”

James shrugged. “Sounds simple enough.”

Heng finally displayed what passed as a thin smile. “Mr. Winchester, you underestimate our country. The mountains and jungles of Cambodia are dangerous places for a barang. They are dangerous for Khmer. Dangerous for everyone. This country is covered in landmines and unexploded bombs.”

“I’ve faced worse.”

“Very well, Mr. Winchester. Then I go. I leave you with this.”

Heng removed a manila folder from his briefcase, identical to the one containing the briefing on Mr. Chea, and departed, leaving his water untouched.

“You really should take his warnings seriously, James. I’ve read about Cambodia. Apart from Laos, it has more unexploded ordinance than anywhere. The government only tries to get rid of the mines when the UN sends money. And they stopped sending money a long time ago. Most of it will be along those mountain roads.”

James dismissed Sinclair’s concerns with a wave and a grumble. If the locals operated in the countryside without too much trouble, he would too.

“Go on, bookworm. You get to work.”

Two steaming piles of bok choy in oyster sauce arrived. The baby bok choy had been fried, releasing their strong aroma around the restaurant. James looked down at the dreary green mess in the muddy sauce, wishing he’d chosen a better restaurant.

Chapter Fourteen

Sinclair returned to the Riverside Guesthouse to begin bookworming his way through Heng’s file. Not content with getting drunk on the patio all day, he decided to do something productive by going to find Nhek. They hadn’t met since Nhek had taken possession of the boy Kosal from The Palace.

He gave him a call, set a location, and James made his way along the Mekong towards the Phsar Reatrey market. Known as the Night Market to the tourists, this open-air market often showcased musicians and dancers on a central stage. In the middle of the day, locals toured the shabby stalls at a crawl.

Around the Phsar Reatrey market, motorbikes were parked like bric-a-brac between the cars. Enormous cooking pots released delectable aromas, like a makeshift Cambodian air freshener. The spicy smells covered the stench of raw muck that seemed to inhabit every gutter in the city.

“Mr. James. Mr. James.” Nhek called from his tuk-tuk. “I bring Kosal, you see?”

Nhek’s tuk-tuk stuck at an awkward angle with the backend protruding into the road. The little Khmer boy also sat on the tuk-tuk. He gazed around wide-eyed at his surroundings, as if he’d never been outside The Palace before. James greeted them both. Little Kosal grabbed his hand as he looked up at him with a cute smile.

“He is a healthy boy now. My wife loves him. He is very welcome in our home. You are a good man, James.”

James felt the heat rising in his cheeks a little bit. He’d never intended on doing a good deed. It just happened purely by chance.

“I need your help again, Nhek,” said James.

“Anything, Mr. James.”

“I want you to tell me about the Khmer Rouge. About Prahn Sambath, in particular.”

“Prahn Sambath.” Nhek clicked his tongue for a moment. “Ah, yes, Prahn. He is a very bad man. But he was only a child under Kampuchea, so he never knew what was happening. But as he grew up, he joined them and now he works in the mountains. A very bad man, Mr. James.”

“Yes, yes,” said James. “I understand. Do you know anything about him now or where I could find him?”

Nhek screwed up his face for a moment. “Ah, I don’t know where he is. Only in the mountains. Nothing more.”

James couldn’t hide his disappointment as he let loose a frown. “Would Preap know? He had some power before he started living by the river. Maybe he might know something about Sambath.”

Nhek’s eyes widened at the thought. “No, no, you must not ask Preap. Please, don’t go there.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

Nhek waved his arms around. “Don’t do it, Mr. James, please, for me. Don’t talk to Preap about this. It would be very bad for him and you.” Nhek gripped his arm. “I beg you, Mr. James, don’t go to Preap.”

“Okay, fine, fine.” James tore his arm away from Nhek. “No Preap.”

The tuk-tuk driver sighed like the heavens had opened up above his head and he’d received good news from the gods. “You are a great man, Mr. James. A truly great man.”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t understand why Nhek had flown into a terrified frenzy when he mentioned the possibility of asking Preap. After all, Preap must have known some powerful people during his time working for Mr. Chea. He could have been a big help. Nevertheless, out of respect for Nhek being so helpful and trustworthy, he vowed not to approach Preap about it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Mr. James. I want to take Kosal back to his village. To his family. It is only a little place. I was wondering if you would do me the great honour of coming with me. Kosal is very proud of knowing you. He tells me so. He admires you greatly.”

James looked down at the little boy, who, doubtless, had no idea what the two men in front of him were talking about. Indeed, Kosal held a certain reverence