Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) by James Samuel (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) 📕

James folded his arms as they waited on the concourse outside the doors of the arrivals area. White-shirted tuk-tuk drivers scurried around harassing anyone who looked foreign. Of course, almost everyone leaving the airport was foreign. The average Khmer couldn’t afford the luxury of foreign travel.

Their boss Gallagher ran Blackwind from his London office. The gruff, unyielding Gallagher had given him a hard time after the business in Mexico, where James felt dutybound to kill their client. It had required a lot of covering up from Gallagher to avoid scaring away potential business.

“You did say he was on this plane, didn’t you?” James checked the time on his phone. “There are a lot of flights from Singapore every day.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes. “You ever known me to be wrong about a simple thing like this?”

The stream of arriving passengers slowed to a trickle when, finally, a man in a sports jacket, aviator sunglasses, and a smug, prickish smile emerged. A Khmer carried his roller suitcase alongside him. Blake Harrison.

James sighed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Sinclair said nothing. He caught a look at James out of the corner of his eye. His partner vibrated with anger.

He jumped into the tuk-tuk as James and Blake became re-acquainted with each other. Neither man shook hands on the concourse. Nhek appeared to miss the animosity between them as he swung his head from side to side to check traffic while he steered the motorbike. Sinclair sat facing forwards with James next to him and Blake behind them.

“I want to know what’s going on here,” said James. “Every time I have a mission, Gallagher partners me with you. Of all the agents working for him. I don’t get it. Are you two doing this just to annoy me?”

Blake smirked; his eyes hidden by the dark glasses. “Who knows? Maybe he just thinks you need someone who’ll get the job done.”

“You make things more difficult not less. And you’re not that useful. Remember Mexico? I went into that hacienda by myself and you stood on a hill watching me. Hardly what I would call helpful.”

“I remember you shooting a couple of guys and taking advantage of the girl you were supposed to be returning to the client.”

Sinclair glanced at James, who now had a look of thunder on his face. Jessi Montoya was still a sore spot after their adventures in Mexico. James had fallen for the girl for a few days, only to find himself forced to cast her aside. After all, an international mercenary could hardly have ties back home. It interfered with the job.

“In any case, you’ve found yourself at a dead-end again. What Gallagher wants he gets, so get over it.”

“Perhaps we should just focus on the job. Nobody said we had to be friends,” Sinclair interjected.

“Prick,” said James.

“Limey prick.”

James and Blake gazed out of opposite sides of the tuk-tuk. Sinclair noted the difference in the way they both regarded Phnom Penh. James had a sense of wonder, analysing everything from the dirty sandals of the men to the children wearing knock-off soccer jerseys. Blake looked upon Phnom Penh with a wrinkled nose and a look of pure disdain.

Nhek took them to the modern downtown business area. Nothing looked like Cambodia here. Plate glass and steel monstrosities rose above the city. After the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese occupation, whole sections of the decaying capital were devastated. In their place, skyscrapers modelled after the worst of North America and Europe dotted the downtown area.

“Not bad,” said Blake to nobody in particular. “I’m surprised they had it in them.”

As they pulled up to the luxury Marriott skyscraper, Nhek gazed up at it in wonderment. A man like him wouldn’t even get through the door. Sinclair wanted Blake and James to stay together to make the logistics easier, but after their exchange, he didn’t feel like fighting that battle.

Everyone climbed out, James for a cigarette and Blake to collect his roller suitcase, or more accurately for Nhek to gather it. Sinclair watched as James stepped away, the universal sign that diplomacy was off the cards.

“Sinclair,” said Blake. “Come here.”

“You’re not making this easy for anyone by bringing Mexico up again. We’re supposed to work together, and this could get someone killed.”

Blake shrugged. “Tell that to him.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to have to talk to him about what happened in Miami, but I will if it will shut him up. I saved his life, remember?”

Sinclair raked his tongue across the underside of his teeth. In the firefight during the assassination of Roberto Romero, drone strikes hit the skyscraper, scattering the authorities and giving James a means to escape. It could have been the end for James without those strikes.

“Why did you tell me if you were not going to tell him?” Sinclair said through gritted teeth. “You know we always work together and we’re friends. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to cause more problems between you both.”

“One day, Sinclair.” Blake clicked his tongue. “When the time comes, he’ll know.”

Sinclair remained motionless as Blake clapped him on the shoulder and walked towards the hotel doors. The touch made him rigid. Now he understood why Blake had told him but not James. He wanted to keep the incident in his back pocket, should he ever need it.

Chapter Seventeen

Sinclair’s room at the Riverside Guesthouse resembled an intelligence hub. Screens, cables, piles of paper, and extension wires took up most of the room. The constant darkness Sinclair preferred made the computer screens shine with a ghoulish glow.

James and Blake crammed themselves inside, summoned in the early morning two days after Blake’s arrival. The little fan in the corner did little to banish the smell of stale sweat.

“What do you want,