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

for him. He could see it in his eyes. He did look up to him. Not having any experience with children, he couldn’t understand why. He’d spent a grand total of less than half an hour with the boy.

“When I have the time, Nhek. Right now, I have a job to do. I might be out of Phnom Penh for a little while. I’ll call you when I return.”

Nhek seized his hand without warning again and grasped it, shaking it like he wanted to dislodge it from its socket. “Oh, thank you, Mr. James. You are a great man.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia

 

The bustling shipyards of Sihanoukville had grown more chaotic since the Chinese had moved in. Everything needed to expand to accommodate the massive warships that the People’s Republic would soon deploy to Southeast Asia, thus further expanding Chinese power in the region. Shao spent much of his time monitoring the yards.

Shao’s main ally from Beijing stood next to him. Dressed in a tailored dark suit, Qiu Fu’s eyes appeared black from a distance, and a coldness radiated from him. Like Shao, his family had high connections within the Chinese Communist Party’s ranks. Success meant eternal glory. Failure meant the loss of everything their respective families had worked to achieve.

“Hun Sen will move soon to delay our work in these shipyards,” said Shao.

“Should I tell General Narith to accelerate his plans? Beijing will not allow any delays. The Americans and their allies will reinforce their forces to deter us if we don’t act first.”

“Patience,” Shao cautioned.

“Patience may cost us. China has been patient for too long.” Qiu spoke to Shao as an equal. They were equal in the eyes of the Party. “If what you said about the foreigners is true, we may have no choice.”

Shao observed the blue cranes hanging over the new dry docks and the brand-new buildings springing up around the shipyard. Khmer in bright yellow jackets called out to each other in their own language.

“Beijing should have sent Chinese workers.” Shao tightened his lips at the scene before him. “These Khmer are slow and inefficient. Our advisors can only do so much to account for what they lack.”

“That would be too open. We cannot allow our operations here to acquire more attention than necessary. The West must not see our movements in Cambodia as a threat.” Qiu switched subjects. “Do you have San Peou?”

Shao gave a solemn nod of the head. The whole business with San Peou saddened him. He’d spent his whole life in the Cambodian Army. He’d long stayed on whichever side China supported, whether through intention or dumb luck. The more he’d been promoted, the more he abandoned his ideals. These days, Peou enjoyed his position as a leader of men, but he’d sided with Sen against General Narith.

“Good. Where is he?”

Shao inclined his head towards the building to their right. Part of the original Sihanoukville shipyards, the metal roof winked under the pewter sky. Fragments of rust clung to each metal sheet. Little cracks snaked their way up the building. Shao had chosen it because it had become the graveyard for broken pieces of shipping equipment nobody cared to take away.

“Excellent. Has he talked?” asked Qiu.

“Not yet. I asked my men to leave when I arrived. Peou has been held in place, with no chance of escape.”

“I hope you are right. If he escapes, he has his supporters.”

“This way.” Shao gestured to the rusted iron door. “You may take as long as you like.”

Qiu went first, with Shao shadowing him. He trusted Qiu implicitly, but he disagreed with his methods at times. His strategy came straight from the Party with little to no creativity. Shao preferred to use his own tactics to achieve his goals. Qiu’s answer to every problem typically involved torture of some kind. He’d purposely avoided eating lunch to fight off any future feelings of nausea.

They entered the building. The smell of mould hit Shao as they crossed the metal floor. Two sets of steps led down to an open plan area. Drops of water pattered on the soiled ground from a pipe hidden in the shadows.

Lit by a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, its wiring exposed, the main floor of the building contained a small open space. Shao’s men had pushed the rusted metal to the side, carving out a place for San Peou. Long pieces of rope bound the bleeding, beaten Khmer to a chair. A dirty gag prevented him from eliciting anything more than terrified grunts.

“We need two men.” Qiu’s eyes seemed to grow a shade blacker as he spoke. “I want you to operate the rheostat control.”

Shao nodded. The nasty device sitting on a trolley next to Peou had been popularised in South America during the dictatorships of the last century. The picana looked like a cattle prod. Its bronze tip would poke the flesh, whilst the rheostat controlled the voltage. The high voltage of the device would cause injury, but its low energy pulse would keep the victim alive.

“Don’t put the voltage too high,” said Qiu. “I want him alive… for now.”

Shao knew how to operate the variable resistor to maintain the voltage. Qiu enjoyed this method of torture and – Shao couldn’t deny – it had delivered the results they needed in the past. It made Shao feel uneasy knowing that Qiu gained pleasure from these intimate torture sessions. Necessary as they were, Shao preferred having his men carry it out away from him.

Qiu ripped the gag from Peou’s mouth. He spoke in English. “Peou, we have a few questions.”

Peou took deep, gasping breaths. Shao’s men had already pounded him into pulp the day before. His facial wounds festered, and deep bruises had already turned black and gangrenous. Peou’s skin had started to resemble the rust colour that