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

“Lieutenant,” said Chhaya. “Greenlight.”

Chhaya squinted across from the Mekong. Lieutenant Kravaan began to move in on the two palace guards. He raised a hand and with little more than a faint splashing in the water, they edged their boat toward the shore.

The boat touched the reeds of the Mekong and Chhaya stepped onto dry land with another man. Everyone had their instructions. The boat would be their escape route.

Chhaya sprinted up the hill to the wall separating the Mekong from the promenade.

“Down,” Lieutenant Kravaan confirmed over the radio.

The two white jackets lay sleeping on the ground, strangled into unconsciousness. Chhaya and his partner sprinted across and flattened themselves against the defensive palace walls.

Chhaya nodded and his lieutenant sprang into action. He took out a small pair of bolt cutters and went to work on the lock. It fell to the ground easily and they eased the gates open. The entrance to the palace lay open.

Chhaya went first. He kept his breathing steady, his heart rate as well. The faint lights illuminated the trees and marble statues of precious kings.

He moved away from the lights, sneaking up behind a guard and pressing his forearm into his windpipe. The unsuspecting man dropped his gun with a clatter and reached for Chhaya’s forearm. He moved too late and soon went limp. Chhaya eased him down onto his side. No casualties.

The King’s quarters took up half of the palace complex. Chhaya aimed for the nearest door, advancing with his Daewoo K1 assault rifle. Against the sounds of the city outside the palace walls, they moved like an errant breeze.

Lieutenant Kravaan fanned out as Chhaya closed in on the doors to the King’s quarters from the right. Their pincer movement brought them to the doors of the golden Khmer-French building.

The two of them disposed of the guards with ease. All guards were soldiers, but they weren’t the elite.

“Lay the charge,” Chhaya ordered.

In the darkness, Lieutenant Kravaan armed the C4 explosive charge. He stuck it to the wall. The bright red light pulsed, indicating it was fully armed. It would cause no more than a small yet lethal explosion.

Chhaya turned away, “Same way out. Move quickly. No kills.”

Their strangleholds would only put the guards asleep for a few minutes. They didn’t have time to dawdle. If the guards awoke, they would have to use lethal force. Killing the men of the Cambodia Royal Guard was unconscionable to him.

Like four Khmer phantoms, they jogged through the dark gardens the way they came. All the guards slept soundly where they’d left them. With no complications, they departed through the palace gates.

“Commander,” said Lieutenant Kraavan. “Ready?”

“Give me the detonator. This is my responsibility.”

Lieutenant Kravaan handed over the unit.

Chhaya hesitated for a moment as he mulled over the point of no return. He blinked and pressed the red button.

The palace sprang to life in a cacophony of light and sound. The C4 exploded, sending a fiery, smoky blast into the air. The entire palace seemed to shake. The heart of Cambodia missed a beat as dogs barked, men cried in anguish, and four men in black watched in stunned silence.

“To the boat,” Chhaya ordered.

“Commander,” said the masked lieutenant.

“Yes?”

Chhaya turned to the lieutenant. He didn’t have the chance to run. The bullet hit him in his leg. The commander screamed and went down as his team fled to the river without a second thought.

Shock took him. His mouth opened but no words came out. The guards were roused, the dogs prowled the grounds, baying for blood.

Chhaya had no time to process. No time to feel anything. His pursuers were coming. He waited for the end.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sinclair hadn’t heard from the group since they left the highway in the shadow of the Cardamom Mountains the previous day. He worried about them. Even if he trusted Preap, they were outmatched by Prak’s men. They knew every ambush point and every approach. He didn’t like their chances.

Mr. Arun approached him at his table as he waited for any news from the mountains.

“Sir, I have good news for you. Very good news.”

“Is it a beer on the house?”

“No beer on the house. Only in the house.”

Sinclair stared blankly at him.

“A man called you and said he was coming now,” Mr. Arun continued unabated. “You make a new friend. I am most happy for you.”

Sinclair lowered his gaze at the grinning guesthouse owner. “What did he say his name was?”

“No name. He said he come for you though.”

Sinclair ran his tongue across his teeth. In this business, surprises were never a good thing. He debated running as Mr. Arun left him alone. He still had time to gather everything and switch to a safe place. In the end, Mr. Arun brought him another beer, and he decided to take the risk. What sort of assassin would provide a courtesy call to his target on a job anyway?

Sinclair waited, the tension biting into him. He drummed his fingers on the table and kept shuffling his leg. The possibilities were endless. Cambodia had already descended into chaos, so he had no real idea whether he would encounter an enemy, a friend, or someone who meant nothing to him.

He didn’t have long to wait. Nhek arrived in his tuk-tuk. The driver didn’t slam the palm of his hand against the horn or screech like an animal. He made a great show of parking the tuk-tuk carefully against the curb. Pen Thom climbed out of the back, stepping over the grime in the gutters.

His bodyguard Ros Heng joined him. He wore the same impassive look, tinged with a whiff of disdain. Sinclair gulped and stood from his table. He shook hands with the two men, projecting more confidence than he felt.