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

“No, it’s preserving the country. Like cutting off an infected part of the body to save the rest.”

Thom considered it. A false flag attack would mean certain death if caught. Hun Sen needed Chhaya to save his own life and to give them time to plot the downfall of General Narith. But there would be an investigation likely led by General Narith himself. If he found enough evidence, it would only strengthen his position and weaken their own.

“It’s an enormous risk. You know the consequences.”

“I know the consequences,” Chhaya said through gritted teeth. “We need more time. In a few months, we’ll be ruled by a military dictator. It’ll be just like Kampuchea again. Neither of us will survive it.”

Thom nodded. He’d grown old and knew he didn’t have many years left. Thom spent as much time with his doctors as he did with his family these days. Even though he knew the end would come soon, he couldn’t let his family suffer for his failure.

“What did you have in mind?”

“The one thing that would bring the country to a halt. Something that unites all Cambodians in horror. It would postpone any attempt to take power. The King.”

“You’re not suggesting –”

“No, that would be too much. We just have to make it look like an attempt on the King’s life. None of the royal family would be touched.”

Thom weighed it up. King Norodom Sihamoni had taken the throne in the early 2000s, after the abdication of his father Norodom Sihanouk, Cambodia’s legendary king who had seen them through colonialism, independence, Kampuchea, civil war, and the transition to democracy. In the eyes of most Cambodians, King Sihamoni was Cambodia.

“If you can be sure –”

“I am sure,” Chhaya snapped, rising to his feet. “The King will be fine. The royal family will be fine. It should buy us a few weeks. I can arrange a small explosion in the palace.”

Thom kept his eyes on the tranquillity of the palace, hidden behind its defensive walls. It acted as a sanctuary away from the chaos of Phnom Penh. A group of spindly three-plank boats sailed past them. A single man stood on the bow with a long oar. It reminded him that attacking the palace would shatter the relative peace so foreign to the country in modern times.

“I must think about this.” Thom pressed a hand to his temple to fight off the comings of a headache. “What you are asking is –”

“It is necessary to save this country from going back to the days of Kampuchea. Any leader who would use the Khmer Rouge to help him is no different.”

“I… I must think. I must consider.”

“I need an answer now. I could disappear by next week.”

He withered in the face of Chhaya’s leering. His head pounded as he weighed every risk, every possibility.

“Thom,” Chhaya hissed.

“Yes, fine. Yes. I will authorise it. But if you get caught, I’ll plead ignorance.”

Chhaya laughed. “You worry too much, Thom.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The Cardamom Mountains formed the final bastion of the Khmer Rouge. Largely inaccessible in the past, a single highway from Thailand had cut the mysterious green heart of Southwestern Cambodia in two. Foreign trekkers had begun their slow invasion, following the footsteps of the advancing Vietnamese soldiers more than forty years ago.

“Most of the mountain range remains inaccessible,” said Preap. “Don’t let recent developments fool you.”

Six men stood around the plastic table. Empty beer bottles flanked folders, papers, and maps outside the doors of the Riverside Guesthouse.

Other guests peered at them as they moved in and out. If anyone questioned them, they made up an excuse about planning a private trip. Mr. Arun spent most of his time running back and forth bringing them drinks.

“You still couldn’t find them without knowing the land,” Preap confirmed. “That’s where I can help you.”

“And we’re gonna trust some homeless guy who lives on the river. Great,” Blake piped up.

“Keep your mouth shut,” James growled. “It’s your fault we have to do this in the first place.”

“You have a short memory.”

“Enough,” Sinclair warned. “We don’t have time for this. This is the plan, Blake, and that’s the end of it.”

Blake frowned at them and just guzzled his beer.

“Sorry, Preap,” said James.

Preap dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He picked up the corner of one of the maps. It showed the topography of the Cardamom Mountains.

“Look.” Preap indicated a squiggly dotted line. “There’s the border with Thailand. This is why it’s such a powerful position. The camps are high up in the undeveloped parts of the range. The Thai border is close. You can access it from the camps. In the past, it provided a supply line for Chinese support and a way to flee. Today, its advantages are much the same.”

“So how are we supposed to get up there?” asked Dylan. “Surely they’ll see us coming?”

Preap pointed at a road map of the Cardamom Mountains and tapped on a thick line. “That’s the highway. We will have to stop around here.” He pointed at the red line scratching its way through the mountains like a thick artery. “Then it’s on foot and taking refuge on the way.”

“How long is this going to take?” Adam folded his arms. “We’re entirely in your hands.”

“Two days minimum, depending on how slow or fast we move.”

James shrugged. “That seems reasonable.”

A momentary silence fell over the group. Any number of things could happen in forty-eight hours. They would have satellite phones to radio into Sinclair, but what use would they be if they were ambushed or someone twisted their ankle? Now the consequences of Blake’s kill felt all the more real.

“Let’s take a break,” Sinclair suggested. “We need to think about this and then come back to it with a clear head