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

James understood what he meant when they reached the wide-open space, where they met a row of cubicles with stern-faced immigration agents wearing the red-and-blue Cambodia flag stitched into the biceps of their dark uniforms. Sinclair grabbed their immigration forms and quickly filled everything out as they waited their turn.

Their line passed quickly, with the immigration officer not taking much of an interest in two British passport holders. The less fortunate non-westerners in the other lines found themselves subject to a slow, agonising questioning. James felt sorry for them as they collected their bags and entered the arrivals area.

“So, where to?”

Sinclair looked towards the main doors at the hordes of drivers waiting to harass the new arrivals into hiring their bright red tuk-tuks, the three-wheeled motorized rickshaw of Southeast Asia. They all crowded around an extended plaza leading out to the road.

“Sometimes it’s best not to be the first man out of the airport.”

“Well, in the meantime, you can tell me about our client and who we are supposed to meet. We’re not on a crowded plane anymore.”

Sinclair glanced around him, paying special attention to the police officers patrolling the concourse. “Maybe not here.”

James rolled his eyes as the first wave of people leaving the immigration desk slammed into the tuk-tuk drivers competing for a lucrative fare. He and Sinclair also joined the throng, but instead of looking for a tuk-tuk, Sinclair led him across the parking lot to a brand-new white stone platform.

“I didn’t know Cambodia had trains,” said James.

“They didn’t until last year. You see this train? It goes straight into the city centre. It’ll save us from dealing with the tuk-tuk drivers. Plus, I’d rather as few people spoke to us as possible until we get our bearings.”

A couple of intrepid travellers joined them on the platform, but there was enough distance between everyone to put them out of earshot.

“So, what’s the assignment? Who’s our client and what does he want us to do?”

Sinclair lowered his voice. “Regime change, or the prevention of one. There’s a general in the army called Sen Narith. The Royal Cambodian Army. Our client has evidence that he’s plotting a coup against Prime Minister Hun Sen.”

“So, our client is the current prime minister of Cambodia?”

“No, no, god no. Hun Sen either isn’t aware of this plot or refuses to believe that this is a problem. We are dealing with Pen Thom, his unofficial chief of staff.”

James narrowed his eyes at Sinclair. “An unofficial chief of staff?”

Sinclair shrugged. “A politician who never makes speeches or appears in public, at least that’s what I gathered from our brief.”

“Corrupt businessman. Got it.”

“Well, it’s semantics all the same. Oh, look, our train.”

James followed the tracks with his eyes. Something out of another world rumbled towards them. The train, consisting of two single carriages, belched jet-black smoke into the air. The carriages were of a make better suited to the 1960s than the 21st century. It chugged and squealed as it pulled up to the platform.

He shook his head as they climbed aboard. Rather than the compartments he expected to find, two long wooden benches stretched across the length of the carriage. Everyone placed their bags at their feet and stared through the dirty windows as the smiling Khmer staff chatted and made cursory checks.

James angled his head to follow the tracks towards the city. Two flimsy barriers had come down on either side of the road. The tracks went right across the road, passing slum houses on the way. Soon the train’s engine fired up and they reversed back down the line towards the centre of Phnom Penh.

The journey into the heart of Phnom Penh followed a single track between the slums on the outskirts. Dirty children with their knockoff western fashions waited patiently for the train to pass before they carried on playing on the tracks. Mothers who looked like children themselves looked glumly at the train as they cradled babies in their arms. The sheer number of plastic bags and discarded bottles on the sides of the tracks would have sent any climate change activist into a rage.

“The Riverside Guesthouse,” said Sinclair. “That’s where we’re staying. The middle of the Doun Penh District. It’s where all the tourists go.”

James took a long look at the passengers in the carriage for the first time. Nearly all of them were backpackers of various ages. Long hair, tank tops, and a severe lack of personal hygiene brought this ragged band onto the only free way to leave the airport.

“Good for the image, I suppose,” said James.

“That and it’s where everything happens. We’re meeting Pen Thom at a restaurant near the Royal Palace. He said to go as soon as possible, so I would assume we should put the gears in motion fast.”

James went back to staring out of the window as the train continued its crawl towards its only stop. As he looked out at the grinding poverty, he wondered whether he would have been better off retiring after Mexico. His years in the army and as a mercenary for Blackwind were starting to take their toll. He’d seen enough of human tragedy.

Chapter Three

The Riverside Guest House would never make it into a travel guidebook. One step above a homeless shelter and many steps below anything resembling luxurious, the Riverside Guesthouse gave James and Sinclair little more than a hard mattress and an ineffectual fan to try to banish the relentless humidity.

Stained tiles covered every floor, with cracked, crumbling plaster walls of the same dull colour. Despite the signs declaring smoking to be strictly prohibited, the smiling Khmer owner didn’t seem to care much as James lit a cigarette in the middle of their tour of the guesthouse.

“You want a beer?” asked the stick-thin owner, who looked barely more