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

“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