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

“We are here, Mr. Dylan,” said Nhek. “I’m not sure if my tuk-tuk is fast enough to run, though.”

“We won’t need to run from anyone. Just make sure we get out of here before the police can respond.”

“I know, I know, Mr. Dylan, but tuk-tuks are not common here. Everyone has cars. People ask questions.”

Dylan shrugged as he got out of the tuk-tuk. “You said they’re not common, not that they’re banned. Just tell the truth that you’re waiting to pick someone up. Not that it’s any of their damn business anyway.”

“Yes, Mr. Dylan.”

Dylan left the tuk-tuk and entered the palatial apartment block. The lobby smelt of fresh soap. A janitor rubbed the elevator’s keypad with a cloth to make it shimmer. Dylan passed without a word and punched the button that would take him to the posting he’d abandoned less than a few hours before.

Using the keys Shao had given him, he unlocked the front door and re-entered the apartment. The TV continued to blare. The groove left by his ass on the sofa remained untouched. He relaxed a little, knowing Song hadn’t yet departed his room.

Dylan rapped on Song’s door and stood back a little. It took a couple of seconds for Song to appear, dressed in a pair of light blue silk pyjamas.

Song inclined his head and said something in Chinese.

He pulled his pistol from his waistband in one smooth arc and fired a single shot directly into Song’s heart. The older man went down, his glasses skittering across the floor. The blood quickly spread enveloping the front of his pyjamas. Song died with little more than a croak and a gurgle.

Dylan’s first instinct was to flee back to the safety of Nhek’s tuk-tuk and head to the airport. Instead, he pushed open Song’s door and stepped over him. He took a look around the room as Song’s blood fanned out across the floor. Maybe he could find something to undermine Shao. Something to aid James in his quest to take down Shao.

He rooted through Song’s belongings, finding nothing of any real value. When he came across a briefcase filled with documents, he looked at a page at random. Dylan cursed. Of course, anything Song had of any use would be written in Chinese. Nevertheless, he took the documents with him and left the apartment.

Nhek sat on the back of his tuk-tuk, his palms together in front of him. Had he heard the gunshot from this far down? As Dylan emerged from the apartment block, the driver looked up with a mixed expression.

“Let’s go,” Dylan ordered.

“Yes, Mr. Dylan.” Nhek raced back to the front.

“By the way, you can’t read Chinese, can you?”

Nhek tilted his head to one side. “Chinese, Mr. Dylan?”

“Never mind. Do you know anyone in this city who can speak Chinese or at least read it?”

“Ah, yes, I know one man, Mr. Dylan. But he is a very busy man. Very busy man.”

Dylan sighed. “And if I pay him?”

“Then he’s not such a busy man.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The two of them climbed on the back of the tuk-tuk and left Camko City without anyone noticing their presence.

With Song dead, there was no going back.

Chapter Sixty

Siem Reap, Siem Reap Province, Cambodia

James’ phone rang as he waited. When he saw the caller ID, he clamped it to his ear. Sinclair calling. Something must have happened. He lowered his weapon and sat on the edge of the deserted temple, his legs dangling over the edge.

“What is it?” asked James.

“I just left with the driver. They’re on their way. We passed them on the way out of the complex,” said Sinclair.

James’ fingers tightened around his phone. “What’s going on? Did they see you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. They just thought we were tourists going for an early morning drive. They didn’t even stop to check our IDs.”

“How many?”

“Enough. No artillery or anything else, like I said. But there are at least two trucks. Maybe they’re sending more. None of the soldiers is in uniform.”

“They’re not wearing body armour?”

“Oh, they’re equipped with everything they need. But no insignias. This is an operation strictly off the books.”

“And Narith?”

“They went past too quickly for me to see if he was there. But on an operation like this, I guarantee that he’s somewhere. No reason to change the plan, I just thought I should inform you.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck.”

James ended the call. The battle would spark again soon enough. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were already ascending the hill. He tried to calculate how many soldiers two trucks could transport. The answer wasn’t a positive one. They could overwhelm him if he let his guard down.

He put his phone back in his pocket. From his vantage point atop the temple, he dominated the only way up. James took the M4A1 carbine and checked it over one final time. Switching the safety catch off, he positioned himself, waiting for the first sign of life. He’d gone through this moment a thousand times in his mind.

The minutes passed, and James grew more and more restless. He levelled a glance at the point where the soldiers would appear. And no sooner did he think that thought they did appear, with a man stepping out into the clearing.

James noted the AKM assault rifle, the modernised version of the AK-47, held tightly in the soldier’s arms. Another soldier joined his compatriot, sniffing the air as he did, carrying an RPD light machine gun. The soldiers dressed in black shirts and camouflage pants without insignia.

James continued to wait, flattening himself against the stones in a prone position. The light still wasn’t good enough for them to get a clear view of him. The gentle mist still partially