Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) James Samuel (reading tree TXT) 📖

James smiled. “Do you speak English?”

One of them got off the folding chair positioned against the door. “Tourist? This is the wrong room.”

As the security guard approached him, James thrust his tactical pen into his throat. The metal tip hit its mark and blood exploded from the arteries in his throat. The guard gripped his neck to try to stem the bleeding as he fell, but it was already too late.

The other security guard screamed in Khmer. James leapt at him before he could make it more than a few steps into the inner office. He stabbed him repeatedly in the back, puncturing the skin above his spinal column.

The guard yelled out in pain before James tightened his grip around his neck. James cut off the airflow and dropped him to the carpet.

He stopped as the sounds of the skirmish settled. James heard no footsteps. Nobody called out in Khmer to stop the intruder. Things had gone suspiciously quiet. James wiped the dead guard’s blood on his trousers and advanced into the inner office.

This was the first room he’d found with windows. Three small windows gave Mr. Chea a view onto the main road in front of The Palace. The same vulgar decoration had followed him to the inner sanctum of Mr. Chea’s office. The only difference: it seemed like someone came to clean a little more often.

Mr. Chea cowered below his desk. James caught the whiff of urine after covering half the distance towards him. Checking his corners carefully, he still couldn’t understand why nobody had come. Why didn’t such an important businessman have more than two grunts guarding his office?

“Mr. Chea.”

“Who are you?”

“Get out from under the desk. Don’t be a coward.”

Mr. Chea hesitated, but he eventually crept out from his pathetic hiding place. A dark stain covered his trousers. His first look at the master of prostitution in Phnom Penh disappointed him.

He’d seen people who dealt in prostitution before. They were tough men, uncaring, and often sadistic. The businessman standing before him could have been little more than a brow-beaten lawyer. Such an unremarkable figure wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.

“Sit down,” said James. “Where’s your security? Are there any more than those two back there?”

Mr. Chea shook his head.

He wanted to believe the man, but his instincts told him not to. Did he really believe himself so untouchable?

“Who watches your cameras for you?” asked James.

Mr. Chea gestured to a bank of security screens hidden in the corner. Sure enough, he could see every part of The Palace from here, except the rooms where clients carried out their worst impulses. James clicked his tongue. At the speed James had moved from his room to the office, if he hadn’t been watching the cameras, he would have never seen him. The fat Khmer continued to gaze at his laptop.

James shook his head in bewilderment.

“Are you going to kill me?” asked Mr. Chea.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

James realised he had an opportunity before him. With Mr. Chea totally compliant, they could extract some information from him. He called Sinclair, never taking his eyes off Mr. Chea.

“I’m with Mr. Chea,” said James. “The security is terrible here. Is there anything you want me to ask him that might help us later on? I think we have an opportunity here.”

“Wow, that is a surprise. Usually, you shoot first and ask questions later. Ask him for any information on General Narith and his association with the prostitution business. You never know, he might know something, especially if he believes it will save his life.”

“Will it?”

“No, Thom wants him to be liquidated.”

James nodded. He wanted to remain coy to give Mr. Chea hope that he had a way out. A man who knew he would die had no reason to cooperate.

“Okay, Mr. Chea.” James lowered his phone. “We know about your business and we want to know more. Cooperate and you can go.”

Mr. Chea straightened up in his chair, like a child who had been promised a piece of candy.

“We know you pay General Narith a portion of your business every month. In exchange, he gives you complete control over organised prostitution in Phnom Penh. With the army behind you, you know another Khmer can’t move in and take your business.”

Mr. Chea nodded in ascent.

“Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.” James paused to take a quick look at the security cameras. “How likely are we to be disturbed?”

“No chance. My employees call before they come. Only Chantou comes inside when she likes.”

“Chantou?”

“The girl who takes the clients to the rooms. You must have seen her, wearing a red dress.”

James nodded. That was a worrying development. She would see the bodies instantly and cry out for help. He kept a watchful eye on the cameras for any signs of her entering the inner sanctum.

“How well do you know General Narith?”

Mr. Chea shrugged. “Not very much. I last met him in-person three years ago.”

“Do you know about his planned coup against Hun Sen?”

Mr. Chea’s eyes boggled at the suggestion. “No.”

James sat on the edge of Mr. Chea’s desk. He sensed he was telling the truth. This was the type of man who offered loyalty to nobody.

“How would I get to General Narith?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I told you I never meet with him. We’re not close. It’s a business arrangement. I don’t know anything about the military.”

James wandered around the back of Mr. Chea’s office chair. As he placed his hands on the back of the chair, a garrotte fashioned out of a piece of piano and two small wooden handles appeared. He’d kept the garrotte hidden inside his pockets, along with the tactical pen. He wanted to kill Mr. Chea brutally, a modicum of the pain he’d inflicted on