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

He melted further into the foliage, hoping to lure them away from the camp. Both guerrillas had their weapons pointed straight at him, but they couldn’t yet see him. His thoughts darted to the cyanide capsules in his pocket. Preap’s mercy.

The firing started out of nowhere. Blake let rip with the M4A1 carbine. The two men fell with cries and without firing a shot. Without waiting for orders, Blake charged towards the camp, gunning down anything that moved. Preap, Dylan, and James followed his trail, but they had no chance of getting a shot off without Blake stealing the kill.

In total, six Khmer Rouge in total disarray lay dead. None of them had ever known what was happening to them.

“Good,” said Preap without emotion. “Many of these men would have been in these mountains for years without ever seeing anyone other than villagers on the lower trails.”

“They got sloppy,” Blake grinned. “Serves them right.”

Blake preened around the camp checking the bodies and removing the dead men’s weapons. Other than weapons and a couple of pieces of sticky fruit, they found nothing of any real use.

The fire continued to crackle, sending skittering shadows over the bloodied corpses. James stepped around them. He didn’t like seeing the bodies of the dead. Their eyes wouldn’t leave his dreams for weeks afterwards.

“The next stop will be the central base, where we should find Prak,” explained Preap. “Our best option is to approach at night. It’s completely covered by a canopy of trees. The foliage is thick and there’s a little stream next to it.”

“Why don’t we wade up the stream?” Dylan suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea, Dylan,” said James. “As far as I know, the Khmer Rouge won’t have planted landmines in a stream.”

Blake scoffed at the idea. “Oh, come on. We’ll catch them by surprise if we just rinse and repeat. Look.” He gestured at the AK-47s and the plentiful bounty of ammunition. “If four of us move in with these strapped on, we can finish them before they even know what’s happening.”

Preap sent a cold look at Blake. “This was a small outpost with six men. They would have heard the mine earlier. That they could explain away. Gunshots like this.” He threw a hand at a corpse with its dead eyes reflecting the flames. “They know someone is coming for them. They’ll be ready.”

“Do they have any fuel here?” asked James.

Everyone turned to him, taken aback.

“Sure, I saw some motors and a couple of bikes parked at the back,” said Blake. “Why?”

James rushed into one of the empty huts and performed a sweep of the premises again. He found what he wanted. In a mini-fridge with mould growing on the inside of the door, he found some beer bottles.

“I’ll siphon the gas,” said Dylan excitedly.

“What are you doing, Winchester?” Blake leaned against the door as James busied himself by popping open the beer and pouring it onto the bamboo floor.

“Just get me some rags. I’ve got an idea.”

When James had emptied the bottles, he found Dylan siphoning the gas from the tanks using a rubber hose he’d procured from one of the generators. He sucked on the hose until the gas got close to his mouth and then filled the empty bottles. The painstaking process crawled by.

James kept his eye on the position of the moon as it floated across the sky. They needed the cover of night for this mission. By daybreak, the trails would be swarming with Khmer Rouge investigating the shooting from the previous night. This was their chance.

Dylan spat some gas out of his mouth. “There. That’s all they have in there.”

He inspected the bottles. They had three beer bottles of gas floating inside. James stuffed in the rags Blake had procured.

“Molotov cocktails?” said Blake. “Isn’t that a little simple for us?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Let’s just hope they burn well enough.”

“The buildings will be made from wood,” said Preap. “It hasn’t rained in a long time, so they should burn nicely. We just need to be prepared.”

James, Dylan, and Blake each collected a Molotov cocktail and made their way back onto the trail. They still had time to get to the camp before daybreak. The moon shone brightly, promising a couple more hours of cover. Just enough time to get the job done.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia

Sinclair had spent the last twelve hours examining the files Thom had given him. Basic Internet searches had yielded nothing public about any of the men forming part of Chhaya’s group. These men were ghosts. Sen’s carefulness hadn’t taken into account the possibility of these men going rogue.

He sighed and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. The files were piled high next to the portable monitor he always kept in his travel bag. The computer fan whirred as he settled into his thoughts. Without some inside help, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Computer hackers weren’t like they were portrayed in the movies.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, he grabbed his phone and dialled the number for Gallagher.

“Sinclair?” Gallagher said. “What do you want?”

“Did you authorise this assignment?” he asked. “To find out who the traitor was.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sinclair.”

“You do. Thom said you authorised an expansion of the project. The plastic explosive planted in the palace in Phnom Penh. Commander Chhaya was shot by one of his own men and handed over to General Narith.”

Gallagher paused. “Is this a secure line?”

“Of course, it is. This is the phone you gave me to call you. I need answers to these questions. The files I have on the members of that team are of no help to me. These people are ghosts.”

“I authorised it. It was Thom’s idea,