The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller Peter May (intellectual books to read .txt) 📖

since he and his two younger companions had slipped stealthily through the midnight shadows of the deserted Phnom Penh docks to board the vessel in which he had so often ferried the leaders of the revolution: the pompous, self-important Pol Pot, with his fat face and fish eyes; the shrewd watchful countenance of Khieu Samphan; even, once, the darting, frightened, rabbit eyes of Prince Sihanouk himself, unwilling accomplice and virtual prisoner of the Khmer Rouge – a diplomatic sop to the constant stream of wary Chinese advisers in Western suits without whose backing the revolution could never have survived. And, in these last months and weeks, he had seen the corrupt confidence of absolute power gradually vaporize, replaced in his passengers’ eyes by a growing panic, that only fuelled their toxic fanaticism.

Fear stalked the empty streets of the capital now like all the ghosts of the Cambodian dead come back to haunt their murderers. The tattered remnants of the Revolutionary Army of Kampuchea were heading north in disarray. Phnom Penh was being abandoned to its fate, though the leadership were still there, clinging insanely to the hope that the Vietnamese, less than fifty kilometres to the south, could yet be stopped. Only hours before Nim had taken his fateful decision to escape the city, he had listened to Pol Pot announcing over Radio Phnom Penh that the Revolutionary Army of Kampuchea would achieve certain victory over the Vietnamese invader. But the procession of Chinese diplomatic personnel, technicians, military advisers, and dependants, heading for the airport, clearly demonstrated that the Chinese thought otherwise.

Nim, like his companions, had been a fisherman before the revolution – the old people as they had been called, as opposed to the new people from the cities. It was his knowledge of boats that had saved him from a wretched existence digging endless canals or toiling in the paddies. Their relatively privileged position, maintaining and operating the launch for the Party hierarchy, had meant they were well fed and well billeted in almost civilized conditions. But they were now under no illusion that the period of comparative security they had enjoyed in the last four years was drawing to an end.

It had been Nim’s idea to take the launch and head north across the Tonle Sap. Rath, the son of a former village chief and friend of Nim, and his cousin, Sien, had taken little persuading. They looked up to the older man who had promised Rath’s father that he would keep them safe. They had survived the years of horror virtually unscathed, and were ready to trust him again. The lake, Nim had argued, was their safest means of escape. It would be fast and, since the Khmer Rouge had little in the way of waterborne transport, once they were out on the Great Lake there would be virtually no danger. The riskiest part of the plan was sneaking the boat out of the docks, and the first stage of their journey up the short stretch of the Mekong into the river that flowed out of the Tonle Sap itself. Which was why they had decided to make their break during the hours of darkness. And in the confusion and slack security of the besieged city it had, in the event, proved surprisingly easy. Now they were heading for a small village on the north-eastern shore of the lake. They had no idea what might await them there, but it was home – and they hadn’t seen home for a very long time.

Rath was asleep down below on one of the bunks. Sien was on the roof of the cabin, supposedly keeping watch and manning the six-barrelled machine gun that had been mounted there four years earlier. But he was probably asleep, too. Nim glanced at the large compass set into the mahogany fascia in front of him, checked his bearing, then looked up again, beyond the fluttering red flag at the bow of the boat, sweeping his gaze across the unending horizon ahead. For a moment he thought he must have been mistaken, a brief dark speck in his peripheral vision. His eyes flickered back in its direction, and he frowned into the glare. A boat? It was still too far away to be certain. It might be debris of some kind, a tree perhaps. He was tempted to give it a wide berth – it was very small, whatever it was. But he was curious. If it was a boat, what was it doing out here in the middle of the lake? He changed course, tilting them to the east, and the bow of the launch knifed its way towards the distant object.

As he drew closer, within half a kilometre, Nim saw that it was indeed a boat. A small, open fishing craft, little more than a canoe. He pulled back on the throttle, slowing their approach, and banged on the roof.

‘Hey, Sien, wake up! Boat ahead!’

Sien was awake instantly, uncurling from his foetal position and springing to his feet. He blinked several times in the flashing sunlight before focusing on the small fishing boat bobbing aimlessly on the water a few hundred metres away. Rath, roused by Nim’s voice and the sudden change in the pitch of the engine, emerged sleepily on to the deck.

‘What is it?’

Nim pointed ahead and Rath turned his gaze in the direction of the fishing boat. Quickly he ducked back into the cabin and re-emerged clutching an AK-47. Nim had reduced their speed to a crawl, and he approached cautiously.

‘Any sign of life?’ he called up to Sien.

‘Nothing yet,’ Sien shouted back. He clasped the grips of the heavy machine gun and swung it on its mounting to point at the small craft as they approached, hooking a nervous finger around the trigger. Rath moved warily along the rail towards the prow of the launch, keeping his eyes fixed on the gentle motion of the fishing boat.

As he was almost upon it, Nim swung the wheel hard left