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

country’s only well-maintained roads. Their bus commanded the highway, with a driver who wouldn’t allow anything but the nippiest bike to squeeze by.

“This is madness,” said Sinclair, once again. “We should have at least waited until Blake could fight.”

“Fuck Blake. He’s a liability. Always has been.”

Sinclair turned away from him towards a herd of cows being whipped along the side of the road. “This again?”

“Yes, this again. I can’t trust him.”

“Why not? He’s an arsehole, but he can fight. You’re trying to take on a whole army by yourself.”

“He’s here to kill me,” James blurted out.

Sinclair didn’t reply. He eased himself up in his seat. “What?”

“I heard him on the phone in Kampot. The walls in the hotel were thin, and I heard everything.” James let out a sigh. “Gallagher wants him to kill Thom after we finish the job.”

“So why does that mean he’s going to kill you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

“He knows I’ll step in, and I’ll die in the fighting. It’s Gallagher’s way of getting rid of me. You know he wants me out, especially after Mexico.”

Sinclair dismissed his explanation with a wave of his hand. “You’re paranoid.”

“Don’t believe me? When Narith’s dead, Blake will find a way to be there with Thom during the debrief. Wouldn’t be surprised if Gallagher gives us the order himself.”

“Paranoid.” Sinclair resumed window watching.

The rest of the trip to Siem Reap continued in silence. It hurt him that Sinclair of all people wouldn’t even entertain what he’d just said. After so long working together, James thought he would believe him.

The bus soon bore down on the city of Siem Reap. The city consisted of that wonderful mix of modern buildings jostling with temples and old stone buildings. The streets were clean, and the roadside restaurants all looked freshly opened.

The bus struggled to bully the traffic out of the way. Their driver spent the last few minutes with his head lolling out of the window screaming at the traffic with a cigarette lazing from his fingers.

They were soon assaulted by a gaggle of guides the moment they stepped off the bus. Colourful laminate cards were shoved in their faces. All advertising tours of various kinds to Angkor Wat. James stared straight ahead, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.

“Quick, let’s hurry up,” said Sinclair. “He’ll do.”

Sinclair picked out one of the few tuk-tuk drivers not trying to assault the new arrivals, and they were off to the Krong Siem Reap Guesthouse.

What became clear as they rode through the streets was Siem Reap had become one big tourist town. Every building seemed to offer tours of some kind. Each word written in broken English, not a single inch dedicated to the Khmer language.

“Well, we have two days to set this up,” said Sinclair. “Tomorrow we should visit Angkor Wat and see what we have to work with. I’ve already picked out some of the quieter areas.”

James looked around him at the orderly unKhmer-like streets. “If there is one.”

“There’s always somewhere. As much as I think this is a terrible idea, you made the decision. My job now is to make sure it works out for the best. Can we contact Dylan?”

“Yes, I have his number. He should make the call to Shao soon. He’ll tell me when it’s made.”

“Fine. Let’s make it quick. I’ll send a message to HQ and try to get as much help as possible. We need some weapons here for a start. Something heavy.”

“In two days, is that possible?”

“Remember who we work for.” Sinclair gave him a wink.

The tuk-tuk driver dropped them off at the Krong Siem Reap Guesthouse. The three-story building sat at the end of a dead-end street. A collection of wicker chairs and a sofa huddled outside the door. It barely looked more than a couple of years old.

After being directed to their rooms, they set about their work. James booked a private guide to visit Angkor Wat the following day, and Sinclair started tapping away on his computer. For once, they didn’t bicker or debate. Each of them knew their roles as part of the well-oiled machine.

James sat downstairs with a beer late that evening when his phone rang. The mosquitoes already danced beneath the hanging lamps. He finished slathering some tiger balm down the sides of his neck to keep the insects away. The thick waxy substance opened his nostrils with its stench.

“Hello?” James said.

“It’s done,” Dylan confirmed.

“What did you say?”

“Shao was so happy with what I told him. He never complimented me like that before. You’re meeting with your contact at 6 am at the Phnom Bakheng temple.”

James screwed his face up. “Wait, wait, what?”

“Phnom Bakheng.”

“Why did you choose the location?”

“It’s quiet. It’s the sunset temple. The rest of the time it’s quiet. I already did my research.”

“Fine, fine. It’s too late to change our minds now anyway.”

Sinclair shrugged and gestured opposite him.

James mouthed the name of the temple.

“So, you still have time. You have tomorrow to make a plan,” said Dylan.

“How do we know he’s going to send the general personally?” asked James.

“He said as much.”

James nodded. “Good, call me again with any updates.”

He lowered the phone. He didn’t appreciate Dylan deciding for him. It changed the game entirely. Now he had to make this work.

“Do you know it?”

Sinclair clicked his tongue. “Not in detail. All I know is it’s on a large hill. There’s only a single trail leading up to the temple at the top. It’s surrounded by sheer cliffs and the jungle, based on what I saw on the maps.”

James nodded. “It might be the best candidate after all.”

“The odds will still be in their favour.”

James picked up his beer and drained the last of it. He understood that