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

allowed his servants to look him in the eye. The other Chinese continued setting up the instruments of a tea ceremony, as they did every morning. He never allowed a Khmer into his abode without an appointment. He didn’t trust them.

“So early,” said Shao. “Bring him to me.”

Shao sat on the pink cushion of his chair. It creaked slightly under his weight. He cast an observing eye over his servants as they made up a batch of green tea. The soft bubbling of the brook that fed the large pond in his garden kept his mind steady, prepared him for business.

It didn’t take long for Shao to see Prahn Sambath strutting up the path, together with two of his servants. Sambath had always liked to see himself as an important man. For that, Shao hated him. He believed in the ancient Chinese traditions of modesty and humility. Besides, Sambath had been born into a poor family, one of the farmers who had later taken up arms with the Khmer Rouge.

Shao remained sitting, simply nodding his head as Sambath approached. He cradled his cup of green tea in his palms. The hot liquid released an aroma that tantalized his nostrils and refreshed him before he took a sip.

Sambath was an older Khmer with a smiling face and sun-baked features. The many years working in the fields had left their mark upon his face. They had never faded despite the fact he likely hadn’t carried out any manual labour in nearly five decades. Shao noted his great staring eyes, the whites of which shined like two tiny moons.

“You visited me unexpectedly,” said Shao. “Normally, I will never permit anyone to arrive without an appointment. Why do you treat me with such disrespect?”

Sambath recoiled. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fen. So sorry. I wouldn’t come unless it was an emergency.”

Shao’s lip curled upwards in disgust at Sambath’s common accent. “Please, drink some tea.”

At once, the servant poured the boiling water into his cup. Silence passed between them as the tea brewed.

“I would have summoned you in good time,” said Shao. “There was a matter I wished to discuss with you. I fully expect that General Narith will successfully take power in this country and remove Hun Sen. However, I worry about your position and your plans.”

Sambath’s eyes darted from side to side. “I support General Narith in his plans. Hun Sen is a traitor to the revolution and a traitor to Kampuchea.”

Shao couldn’t help but release a small smile at the mention of the old name for Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge. Even today, the former political commissar pretended that Pol Pot’s regime had never really disappeared.

“I… I was sent here by my commander to make sure that we have a place within the new regime. In exchange for our cooperation in the remote areas of Cambodia. We have been smuggling weapons from Thailand and through Laos for a long time. They’re ready for the uprising.”

“General Narith appreciates your efforts, and so do I.”

Sambath’s face glowed at the compliment.

“You will have a say in the new regime. After all, we must remember that Chairman Mao sowed the seeds for supporting the Khmer Rouge for many years at home and abroad. This also led to China going to war with your enemy, Vietnam. Tell me, why did Prak not come here personally?”

Shao already knew the answer to that. Tep Prak hid in the countryside, like the previous leaders of the Khmer Rouge. He probably hadn’t seen civilisation since the establishment of the new Cambodia in 1993. Still, he wanted to test Sambath.

“Mr. Prak is extremely busy watching over our operations. We would lose much if he left our men behind.”

Shao inclined his head. “It is true that your black-market weapons will come in useful during the uprising, as will your attacks in the rural provinces. However, you come here, to my home, to make demands of me and General Narith.”

“No, no, no,” Sambath shook his head with such fury it might have fallen off. “Never, never. We respect you. I show only respect.”

Shao raised a palm to silence the farmer. “The Khmer Rouge is weak. Your men are few, hiding in the forests and the mountains. Most of your force has deserted you. They sit in the cities, alongside the children of those they tortured.”

Sambath’s hands trembled as he attempted to lift his tea to his lips.

Shao allowed his words to sink in. The remains of the Khmer Rouge had played a small role in his plans for Cambodia but little more. He could discard them as if they were nothing, and he fully intended to do so in time.

“To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss.” Shao parroted the former Khmer Rouge ideology back at him. “We will treat you with respect, and your men will be rewarded, but don’t be greedy.”

Sambath stiffened, caught between the will to fight back and acceptance of the truth. Even an uneducated peasant knew when he faced a superior force.

“Is this the only reason you came here?” asked Shao.

Sambath let out a deep breath. “No, no. Mr. Prak wanted to know when we can start our attacks.”

Shao took a long time to regard Sambath. He wanted the tension and the fear to sink in, like the hot moisture after heavy rain. The purple lotuses clustered around lily pads upon his pond attracted his interest as he mulled over his response.

“Tell me.” Shao changed tack. “How does your organisation believe you can support us?”

Sambath gulped. “We have sleeper agents all over the country, in the cities. We stay in contact with them today. They are old revolutionaries who want to fight. They teach their children to fight. They understand that our cause is just.”

“Good. How many do you anticipate would answer the call?”

“With