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

in Camko City. The Camko City area of Phnom Penh was a new development financed through investment from South Korea. This ultra-modern district of the capital represented the future of the country.

From the top floor, Dylan found it sterile. The white tower blocks and planned city streets could have been anywhere in the world. Even the parks, designed for relaxation, had a sterile, meticulous feel about them. Most of his time in the apartment was spent in the sitting room. Song preferred to hole himself up in his bedroom and usually only came out for meals. He wondered if Song feared him.

“Sir Richard?” said Dylan into the phone as he reclined on the sofa in front of the TV. He turned the volume down on the Khmer pop video.

“Your update?”

“Shao has me protecting a man named Song Wen. He’s a Chinese sent by the Party. I was told that when Shao’s work is finished, Wen will be the man to run the country from the background.”

“Predictable,” said Sir Richard, sounding bored by the explanation.

“Is there anything you want me to do? I can’t even communicate with Song because he doesn’t speak English. I’m not sure that I can do much good spending time with him all day.”

“Your brief is clear,” said Sir Richard. “Your role is to obey Shao Fen. Whether he takes Sen or not is unimportant. We get paid either way.”

Dylan’s mouth dropped open. “What? You told me that our job was to advance the coup.”

“Our work will advance Shao’s little coup against Hun Sen. However, we are paid based on our time, not a target. The longer he takes, the more he pays us. Don’t trouble yourself with matters that are none of your concern. Obey your orders and nothing more.”

Dylan bit down on his tongue. He hated being a glorified armed grunt. When he considered the mission undertaken by James and Sinclair, it sent him into a bitter spiral. They had control over their destinies, and they made a difference. If he wanted a life like this, he may as well have taken an easy but boring job of guarding celebrities against their rabid fans.

“Anything else, Dylan?”

“Yes,” said Dylan. “Blackwind is moving against Shao and General Narith. If I sit here all day, one of them is going to die. I feel that I have to inform you that they’re way ahead of us in everything.” He paused for dramatic effect. “They’re making us look like fools.”

Sir Richard raised his voice. “Now you listen here, we stick to our mission. We do the job we are paid to do and nothing else. Your orders are to stay where you are. Regardless of what Blackwind is doing, your role is to protect Song Wen from harm.”

“But what if our client is making the wrong decision?”

“Then he makes the wrong decision. That is none of our business.”

“We’re not going to get paid anything more if both of them are lying in caskets, though, are we?”

“Silence!” Sir Richard snapped into the phone. “That’s about enough of your lip. You will do as you are asked. Our interest in a successful coup is precisely zero. If both of them die, so be it, but you will do as you were ordered. That is your mission now.”

Dylan tossed his head like a petulant child. “Yes, Sir Richard.”

He dropped the phone on the cream-coloured cushion next to him. Dylan lingered for a couple of seconds before hopping up from the sofa. This wasn’t why he picked up a job with Xiphos. It wasn’t the life he wanted to lead. Bodyguard duty and being talked down to by Sir Richard never figured in his ambitions. Perhaps it was time for a change?

He looked to the closed-door hiding Song from the world. His charge would be fine. Nobody was coming to kill him, and if they did, he wouldn’t fight James. The American was tired of doing what he didn’t believe in for people who didn’t believe in him. No amount of money was worth this life.

Dylan closed the front door behind him, abandoning his Xiphos posting forever.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Siem Reap, Siem Reap Province, Cambodia

Blackwind moved quickly to leverage its contacts and outfit James with everything Sinclair had requested. It still shocked James how impressive the organization could be when necessary. He inspected the array of weapons and explosives Blackwind had sent them in an unmarked crate.

“You know that the guesthouse owner isn’t going to believe this, don’t you?” said James.

“Who cares? We’re leaving later today. We’ll never see him again, and he doesn’t even have our real names. You need to worry less about Cambodian guesthouse owners and more about General Narith.”

Suitably chastised, James equipped himself for battle like he’d done hundreds of times before. To keep himself mobile, he wore just a Kevlar vest. It could only stop shrapnel and low-velocity rounds, but it kept him agile. Taking a stand and fighting a pitched battle would get him killed no matter what he wore.

He holstered a set of Beretta M9 short recoil pistols and then looked over the piece that could save his life. A new M4A1 carbine. They’d used one in the Cardamom Mountains on their mission to assassinate Tep Prak. Unsuitable for a hike in the mountains, the best there was for a major battle.

“Is this going to be enough?” asked James. “We don’t know how many men Narith will send.”

“That’s why we’ll hide some ammunition crates in the temple. We don’t want you having to rely on stealing someone else’s weapons, do we? I’ve also got something rather special for you.” Sinclair gestured at the only unopened crate sitting underneath the small colour TV. “Open it.”

James lowered the carbine onto the sheets and bent to open the box. He eased off the wooden lid.

“How did