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

no, wait. I saved your life once. Remember Miami? You were in the building and you were pinned down. Then everything exploded? That was me. Those were explosive drones. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me. You can’t kill me.”

James’ grip tightened on Blake’s clothing. “What?”

“It’s true. You can ask Sinclair. I told him. I made him swear to keep it a secret. You gotta believe me.”

James already foamed at the mouth, baying for Blake’s blood. To his shock, as he gazed into his eyes, he couldn’t find the lie. He believed Blake’s words. He realized Blake had saved his life in Miami.

“Go,” James breathed. “You ever try this again, I’m going to hunt you down, you understand me? Where’s your car?”

Blake threw out a shaking finger. “Over there.”

James took Blake’s gun from the ground and turned it over. For an instant, he wanted to level the weapon at Blake’s head. Instead, he fired the shot into Blake’s thigh. Just where it would hurt the most without killing him.

“We’re going to pretend this was an accident. Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Blake screamed in agony as he rolled over clutching his stricken leg. He crawled back to his car whimpering and gasping for breath but moving as fast as the searing pain in his leg would allow. If the police arrived and found him at the site of Shao’s assassination, he would take the blame. He would fester in a Cambodian prison cell for the rest of his life.

“He was going to kill you,” James explained to Thom. “That was why he was here, working for a separate client.”

Thom turned white as a sheet. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I must go. I must go and inform the prime minister. Thank you, again.”

He hurried away, his voice shaking as he kneaded his hands together. James watched Thom collect the documents and hurry off through the park to the safety of the prime minister’s office.

“Nhek.” James approached the tuk-tuk. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. James.” He never took his eyes off the silhouette of Thom. “You have done so much for me.”

James offered Blake’s gun to Nhek, who took it with trembling fingers. “Take it. He’s all yours if that’s what you want. You still have a few minutes before he leaves.”

Nhek gulped. “You mean it?”

James inclined his head. “My work is finished. I don’t care about him.”

The tuk-tuk driver’s usual smile turned to one of menace, of destiny. He gripped the weapon with a sure hand and left his beloved tuk-tuk behind, stalking the unsuspecting Thom as he entered the maze of narrow streets adjoining the park.

James watched him go. He hoped Nhek knew what murder did to a man, that he would have to learn to live with himself after carrying out the deed. Men like James were prepared for death, not life. When men like Nhek pressed the trigger, their lives would change forever.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

The plane that would carry James, Sinclair, and Dylan out of Southeast Asia was already parked at its assigned gate. Phnom Penh’s airport catered to the wealthier passengers who didn’t fancy dealing with the scams at Cambodia’s land borders. They arrived with more than enough time to spare.

Cambodia never knew how close it had come to disaster. The few incidents that made the newspapers were mere rumours. Hun Sen kept a tight grip on the media, and so the story of General Narith was never told. Word of his death had been hushed up the moment the contract had been completed.

“Were we ever going to publish them?” asked James as they waited on the forecourt for their driver to unload everything from the taxi. “The documents, I mean.”

Sinclair had packed the papers in his suitcase. James had fought to have the papers sent to the media, but Sinclair had refused to allow it. They’d argued long into the night about the merits of both paths, but in the end, James had relented.

“Maybe one day. This is our out. We could cause a lot of damage if these were ever published.”

“I know,” said James, excitedly. “That’s why we should do it.”

“Let’s keep them so we can save our arses if we ever need them, okay? I’ve got a place where I keep all of my outs.”

James shrugged. His friend could have his victory for now. As much as he wanted to bring this whole rotten system down, Sinclair’s argument was the logical one.

“What did your boss say about what happened?” asked Dylan, changing the subject.

“He wasn’t happy that I shot Blake in the leg, but he couldn’t deny that we’d done a good job. We finished the contract and that was that. He had nothing else to complain about.”

Dylan raised a smile, a false one. The young American now found himself unemployed and essentially homeless. Sir Richard would have already put a target on his back for betraying the organisation.

“Is your boss hiring?” he asked at last.

“You don’t want this job. If you think your boss is an asshole, you should meet mine.”

Everyone chuckled at that. What went unsaid was that Blackwind would never give Dylan a job. He’d betrayed his last organisation, and even though Blackwind despised Xiphos, they wouldn’t hire each other’s traitors. It was a security risk.

“Where are you going to go?” asked Sinclair.

“I don’t know yet. I’m going to get out of Asia first and see what happens. May go back to the U.S. and see my folks, or I might just hop around the world for a while until everything blows over.”

“You’ll be alright,” said James. “Just make sure you keep your nose clean and don’t draw any attention to yourself. One day Xiphos will get tired of looking for you.”

Dylan shrugged. “I should go now.