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

“In Asian culture, there is such a thing as ritual suicide. It is a warrior’s death. The Japanese made it famous, but it’s practised widely. I offered Somnang the choice, he refused. Now, I leave the choice to you. I demand your loyalty for I have no love of foreigners. Foreigners have betrayed us before. This falls to you to win my trust.”

“What? No. We always fulfil our contracts. We always have a reputation for doing our best for our clients.”

Shao tightened his jaw. “You will see that the money for the contract has not yet been transferred. This act will tell me if you are as serious as you claim. You can accept or you walk away, and I will find someone else.” He paused. “You wouldn’t want your employers to find out you were responsible for losing a contract of such magnitude, would you?”

Dylan went paperwhite at the choice before him. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he gulped. He got up without a word, moving over to the fallen general.

Shao rose and motioned for the short blade. It glinted off the light like a shooting star. He turned the handle towards Dylan.

Dylan took it between stuttering fingers. He glanced at Shao as if looking for a reprieve.

Shao folded his arms. “Strike deep and without hesitation. Make it clean.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“The choice before you is clear.”

Shao’s lip curled upwards in disgust. The classic Western mercenary. He could shoot someone with a gun from a distance but the touch and feel of a man’s life force seeping out made his stomach churn.

Long seconds of silence ticked by. Dylan seized the man’s head. His muscles tightened as he held Somnang in place. The general didn’t resist as Dylan snapped his head to the right. He screwed up his face and plunged the blade into his throat. He dragged it from left to right. Skin, tissue, and blood vessels tore and ripped apart like a chasm. Somnang’s crimson life sprayed out of him, soaking the gongfu and staining the cushions. The thick arterial spray lessened to a dribble. Somnang slumped to the side. Dead.

Shao hid his disappointment.

Chapter Two

Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia

The dark green heartbeat of Cambodia beat below the feet of Blackwind field agent James Winchester. The jungles appeared to go on forever as he looked through the window of the plane taking him from Singapore’s bustling metropolis to a rural backwater.

A land built on the foundations of ancient empires and knitted together with the cracked bones of the millions of dead. Now, the black tar of corruption coursed through its veins. Another middle finger to its long-suffering people. Moody grey clouds were the only future for those unlucky enough to be born here. Cambodia was a place like no other.

“At least the temples are nice,” Sinclair Wood said happily as the plane began its descent.

James looked away from the window and trained his forest green eyes on his supporting act. His chubby intelligence specialist Sinclair Wood led him to the next kill, making contacts and directing him towards his targets. He was also a jovial yet rather pompous ass, but with a name like Sinclair, anyone could have guessed that.

He blinked at Sinclair. “What did you say?” when his colleague broke into his reverie.

“The temples from the old Khmer Empire. The Khmer are what we call Cambodians. We should go and see them whilst we’re here. There’s a reason why Cambodia is filled with backpackers. That and it’s cheap.”

“You do remember why we’re here at all, don’t you?”

“I know, but we always get an opportunity to tour the country. I’m sure we can find some time to see what it has to offer.”

James sighed as he wrestled the seatbelt designed for smaller South Asian passengers over his British waist. The plane descended from the sky fast. His ears popped as the pilots dialled down from cruising altitude. Cambodia’s tragic capital of Phnom Penh came into sight as they approached the runway. The one city in the world where nobody had a legacy. The Khmer Rouge had seen to that less than 50 years ago.

The plane touched down with a little bump. The few foreigners scattered around the plane clapped for another happy landing.

“At least we know how many Americans are with us,” James grumbled. “Who are we meeting anyway?”

“Relax, James,” said Sinclair as the plane taxied towards its arrival gate. “I need to set up the meeting first and see when they want to start. This is a big job, or so Gallagher says. We’ll be dealing with some rather important people, on this occasion.”

“That makes a change.”

“Please, don’t kill the client this time, James, it would be much appreciated and would save us a lot of trouble.”

James gritted his teeth. Sinclair alluded to the incident in Mexico, where James had turned on their client and murdered him instead. In the end, everyone involved with the sordid scandal spanning both the US and Mexico had found their way into a freshly dug grave. Although eventually, James squared everything with their boss, Gallagher had thrown a tantrum lasting six months.

When the plane came to a halt, everyone scrambled to get to the aisle near their overhead compartments. The Chinese, despite their diminutive stature, elbowed most of their competitors out of the way. James looked on incredulously as a Chinese woman barely half his size pulled down a whole rice cooker from the overhead bin.

It didn’t take long for everyone to exit the plane and enter Phnom Penh’s ultramodern airport. Following the snaking corridors, James and Sinclair jogged ahead of the crowd.

“What’s the hurry all of a sudden?” asked James.

“A travel tip. Unless you want to spend hours trying to breach the immigration