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

Blake wrestled the AK-47 free of the dead man and ran at a crouch back towards their position. Another hail of fire followed. The trail rippled as the hot metal thudded into the ground.

The American darted back behind cover and screamed like a wounded dog. The AK-47 fell from his hands as he clutched at his ankle.

“Keep them off us,” James ordered as he rushed to Blake.

Blake propped himself up against the rock face, agony written in his face.

“Idiot.” James felt like slapping him. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I got the god damn piece. Shut up. It’s only my ankle.”

James inspected the wound. Thankfully, Blake’s thick boot acted as a natural bandage. The hard leather almost plugged up the hole in the side of his left ankle. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew he would survive.

James stuck his pistol into the back of his trousers and equipped the AK-47. “Take Blake down the trail,” he called to Dylan. “Just keep following the path. There’s only one. I’ll hold them back.”

“No.” Dylan ducked back behind cover. “I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself.”

James gave him a dumbfounded look. “I’m not sacrificing myself, much less for you two. But he’s going to slow us down. Get a head start.” He raised the weapon. “This is more than enough to give us some time.”

Dylan nodded and picked up Blake. He balanced on one foot with a now permanent grimace on his face. They hobbled down the trail at a snail’s pace, out of sight. James turned back to the advancing men and opened fire. He hoped they’d get the message soon.

An hour passed as James fought a fighting retreat. He jumped from safe place to safe place. Still, they came. It wasn’t until the remaining Khmer Rouge reached the decimated outpost that they appeared to hesitate. They stopped charging blindly with gritted teeth and Rambo-like screams.

James bolted to catch up to Dylan and Blake. He found the two men resting on a bend in the trail. Now they were bound by the mud. Any deviation and they’d go the way of Adam.

“How long can we keep going like this?” Dylan moaned. “He needs a doctor, or he might lose the foot.”

“Then why are you stopping?” James snapped. “Go!”

James retreated towards the trail. He heard their voices echoing through the trees. His ammo wouldn’t last forever. He’d already started conserving his fire. Like a rabid dog pack, still, the soldiers pursued them.

The three men pushed onwards. The going down was easier but no less fraught with difficulty. A turned ankle could mean three dead men. The thought tortured James during every lull in the fighting.

Still, they pushed on.

Chapter Forty-Four

Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia

Sinclair already had what he wanted. Jacob Finch had hacked into the mainframe of the Cambodian military and the central government. Kravaan was the traitor. It was the only explanation for his sudden promotion. He’d also mentioned the presence of a mysterious Chinese figure named Shao Fen. Now all Sinclair needed was James to return.

“Mr. Sinclair!” Nhek beeped his horn and brought his tuk-tuk to a halt with a little crash against the curb. “Is Mr. James back?”

Sinclair raised a hand. “Not yet, Nhek. Sorry. You’ll have to come back later.”

“It’s no problem. It’s no problem.” Nhek hopped off the tuk-tuk. “I stay here with you.”

Sinclair took a deep intake of breath. He’d hoped to have some peace before James returned.

Nhek approached the table, a happy grin plastered across his face.

“Sit down,” Sinclair offered. “I’ll get you a beer.”

“You are most kind, Mr. Sinclair.”

Sinclair raised a single finger at Mr. Arun inside. They’d come to an understanding during Sinclair’s many hours in the guesthouse. Now they could communicate through hand signals.

“The boy Kosal is doing very well, Mr. Sinclair,” said Nhek as he flopped onto the chair. “Very well.”

“The boy?” Sinclair inclined his head.

“From Mr. Chea. The boy Mr. James took from the bad place. He is doing very well. Very sad though.”

“Oh?”

Sinclair had to wait for the answer as Mr. Arun arrived with the beer and exchanged polite Khmer greetings with Nhek.

“I try to take him to his family. To his village.” Nhek shook his head. “But they are very bad people. They don’t want him anymore. They say bad things because he escaped. The family want more money. So, I take him home, and he is my son now.”

“Oh.” Sinclair moved in discomfort. “That’s really quite awful.”

“It’s normal in Cambodia. They sell their children for money. I don’t like these people, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Oh,” Sinclair managed to spurt out. He moved to his wallet and opened it up, displaying the wad of American dollars. “Here, let me help you. For the child.”

Nhek’s face fell like he’d watched a family member pass away before his eyes. “Mr. Sinclair, no, no, no. I have enough. Mr. James gave me money. I take no more. I work for my money.”

Sinclair blushed and tucked away his wallet. He assumed Nhek had dropped in and mentioned the child as a ploy to get a quick payday. He felt cold, ashamed for his mercenary thoughts. Before he could stammer out an apology, his cell phone vibrated on the table in front of him.

Sinclair seized it and looked at the ID. An unknown number meant trouble.

“Yes?” he said.

“Sinclair?”

“James?” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “James? What’s going on?”

“I’m on my way back now.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Prak’s dead. Preap’s dead. Adam’s dead. Blake got shot in the ankle. He needs a doctor. Preap was working for Prak. He almost got us killed.”

Sinclair turned his gaze on Nhek, who