Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) Read online

  Overthrow

  A James Winchester Thriller Book Two

  Copyright © James Samuel 2021

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter One

  Sihanoukville, Preah Sihanouk Province, Cambodia

  Dark plots stalked the streets of Sihanoukville. The sleepy town of Sihanoukville on Cambodia’s south coast once welcomed Western backpackers looking to discover pristine beaches and a relaxed way of life. Sihanoukville had changed.

  Glaring neon signs shined from Chinese casinos dominating the town. Enormous Edens of gambling, hotels, and restaurants stamped upon the dreams and ambitions of the local Khmer.

  The streets swarmed with Chinese tourists and the Khmer soldiers protecting their interests. The Khmer, who had lived in Sihanoukville for generations, now worked for their overlords, living only to serve. Those who resisted the incursion ate not even the scraps from their banquet tables.

  In the back room of the Lucky Dragon Casino, Shao Fen sat cross-legged on a silk cushion. He curled his toes as he straightened his back. Oolong tea was served by deferential Chinese waiters in a room hung with red silks. Shao bit into a piece of dried beef. The salty taste splashed across his tongue. He made no outward signs of pleasure.

  “Mr. Howser,” said Shao in perfect English. “I appreciate your organisation’s help with this matter. Our work with the Central Committee can no longer be kept private. This has caused us grave problems with Prime Minister Hun Sen.”

  Hun Sen ruled Cambodia with an iron fist. He had ruled the country for years and had always been a friend to China, until recently. The prime minister appeared determined to support the Cambodian nationalists in their anti-Chinese views. It had come as a great shock to his masters in Beijing.

  American Dylan Howser sat awkwardly on another cushion opposite, with only the gongfu tea table separating them. “Thank you, Mr. Fen. But I came here to tell you that we have a problem. A big problem.”

  Shao sipped at his tea, maintaining a vacant expression. He hated Westerners. Westerners only wanted to tell people about problems. Such negative people.

  “Xiphos Security will continue to support you and your business interests in Cambodia, but the problem is Sen has called in Blackwind to protect him. It’s going to be tough to pull this off.”

  “Are they a problem?” asked Shao.

  “Sure, they’re a problem. Blackwind is one of our major competitors. If they’re working for the other side, that’s a big problem. Right now, I don’t know whether they’re protecting Sen or whether they’re planning to go on the offensive. The naval base here isn’t ready to start accepting Chinese battleships, is it?”

  Shao popped a couple of nuts into his mouth and chewed on them thoughtfully. It was true that the Ream Naval Base near Sihanoukville hadn’t yet carried out the necessary work to accommodate Chinese warships into the region. The base would be vulnerable, but he didn’t believe for a second Sen would risk open conflict with Beijing by acting on its weaknesses.

  “Mr. Howser, you worry too much. Our operations in Sihanoukville and the wider region are assured. Your only obligation is to protect the military and ensure the coup moves as planned.”

  “But if Blackwind sends their field agents here, it could ruin everything. Plus, we have General Somnang to think about. We thought he was working for Sen, and our intelligence has proven that.”

  Shao remained unmoved by the problems Dylan had outlined. He’d spent the last six months working out every possible kink in his plan. Sen would fall. It was only a matter of when.

  “Mr. Howser, General Somnang is a Khmer nationalist and extremely loyal to Hun Sen. It is true he opposes the Chinese presence in Cambodia.”

  “Then you understand, Mr. Fen? With Blackwind’s agents and some support from the Cambodian army, it might compromise our plan. General Somnang could stop the coup.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Howser.”

  The American looked taken aback. “Mr. Fen?”

  Shao gestured to a waiter and commanded him in Chinese to bring in the special surprise. He’d already predicted that the Xiphos man would work himself into a flap.

  “We need to update our plan, Mr. Fen.”

  Shao paid no attention to Dylan as another door opened and two waiters entered. A bound and gagged General Somnang struggled between them. The general still wore his military uniform, but they’d stripped him of any indication of rank and his boots to humiliate him.

  Shao motioned down with his palm and the waiters forced him to his knees at the side of the table. Bruises and welts covered Somnang’s head, neck, and arms. His eyes spoke of defeat, his spirit broken by his captivity over the past two weeks.

  “How?”

  “The how is not important. All that matters is that Somnang will not be causing us any further problems. He is the last nationalist leader within the high command of the Cambodian army.”

  “Well… that’s great. Saves us a lot of problems.”

  Shao nodded and, once again, motioned to a waiter. The waiter nodded and returned with a sharpened blade. He saw the faces of those around him reflected in its perfectly polished mirror.

  “In Asian culture, there is such a thing as ritual suicide. It is a warrior’s death. The Japanese made it
famous, but it’s practised widely. I offered Somnang the choice, he refused. Now, I leave the choice to you. I demand your loyalty for I have no love of foreigners. Foreigners have betrayed us before. This falls to you to win my trust.”

  “What? No. We always fulfil our contracts. We always have a reputation for doing our best for our clients.”

  Shao tightened his jaw. “You will see that the money for the contract has not yet been transferred. This act will tell me if you are as serious as you claim. You can accept or you walk away, and I will find someone else.” He paused. “You wouldn’t want your employers to find out you were responsible for losing a contract of such magnitude, would you?”

  Dylan went paperwhite at the choice before him. His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he gulped. He got up without a word, moving over to the fallen general.

  Shao rose and motioned for the short blade. It glinted off the light like a shooting star. He turned the handle towards Dylan.

  Dylan took it between stuttering fingers. He glanced at Shao as if looking for a reprieve.

  Shao folded his arms. “Strike deep and without hesitation. Make it clean.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “The choice before you is clear.”

  Shao’s lip curled upwards in disgust. The classic Western mercenary. He could shoot someone with a gun from a distance but the touch and feel of a man’s life force seeping out made his stomach churn.

  Long seconds of silence ticked by. Dylan seized the man’s head. His muscles tightened as he held Somnang in place. The general didn’t resist as Dylan snapped his head to the right. He screwed up his face and plunged the blade into his throat. He dragged it from left to right. Skin, tissue, and blood vessels tore and ripped apart like a chasm. Somnang’s crimson life sprayed out of him, soaking the gongfu and staining the cushions. The thick arterial spray lessened to a dribble. Somnang slumped to the side. Dead.

  Shao hid his disappointment.

  Chapter Two

  Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia

  The dark green heartbeat of Cambodia beat below the feet of Blackwind field agent James Winchester. The jungles appeared to go on forever as he looked through the window of the plane taking him from Singapore’s bustling metropolis to a rural backwater.

  A land built on the foundations of ancient empires and knitted together with the cracked bones of the millions of dead. Now, the black tar of corruption coursed through its veins. Another middle finger to its long-suffering people. Moody grey clouds were the only future for those unlucky enough to be born here. Cambodia was a place like no other.

  “At least the temples are nice,” Sinclair Wood said happily as the plane began its descent.

  James looked away from the window and trained his forest green eyes on his supporting act. His chubby intelligence specialist Sinclair Wood led him to the next kill, making contacts and directing him towards his targets. He was also a jovial yet rather pompous ass, but with a name like Sinclair, anyone could have guessed that.

  He blinked at Sinclair. “What did you say?” when his colleague broke into his reverie.

  “The temples from the old Khmer Empire. The Khmer are what we call Cambodians. We should go and see them whilst we’re here. There’s a reason why Cambodia is filled with backpackers. That and it’s cheap.”

  “You do remember why we’re here at all, don’t you?”

  “I know, but we always get an opportunity to tour the country. I’m sure we can find some time to see what it has to offer.”

  James sighed as he wrestled the seatbelt designed for smaller South Asian passengers over his British waist. The plane descended from the sky fast. His ears popped as the pilots dialled down from cruising altitude. Cambodia’s tragic capital of Phnom Penh came into sight as they approached the runway. The one city in the world where nobody had a legacy. The Khmer Rouge had seen to that less than 50 years ago.

  The plane touched down with a little bump. The few foreigners scattered around the plane clapped for another happy landing.

  “At least we know how many Americans are with us,” James grumbled. “Who are we meeting anyway?”

  “Relax, James,” said Sinclair as the plane taxied towards its arrival gate. “I need to set up the meeting first and see when they want to start. This is a big job, or so Gallagher says. We’ll be dealing with some rather important people, on this occasion.”

  “That makes a change.”

  “Please, don’t kill the client this time, James, it would be much appreciated and would save us a lot of trouble.”

  James gritted his teeth. Sinclair alluded to the incident in Mexico, where James had turned on their client and murdered him instead. In the end, everyone involved with the sordid scandal spanning both the US and Mexico had found their way into a freshly dug grave. Although eventually, James squared everything with their boss, Gallagher had thrown a tantrum lasting six months.

  When the plane came to a halt, everyone scrambled to get to the aisle near their overhead compartments. The Chinese, despite their diminutive stature, elbowed most of their competitors out of the way. James looked on incredulously as a Chinese woman barely half his size pulled down a whole rice cooker from the overhead bin.

  It didn’t take long for everyone to exit the plane and enter Phnom Penh’s ultramodern airport. Following the snaking corridors, James and Sinclair jogged ahead of the crowd.

  “What’s the hurry all of a sudden?” asked James.

  “A travel tip. Unless you want to spend hours trying to breach the immigration counter, we should move quickly.”

  James understood what he meant when they reached the wide-open space, where they met a row of cubicles with stern-faced immigration agents wearing the red-and-blue Cambodia flag stitched into the biceps of their dark uniforms. Sinclair grabbed their immigration forms and quickly filled everything out as they waited their turn.

  Their line passed quickly, with the immigration officer not taking much of an interest in two British passport holders. The less fortunate non-westerners in the other lines found themselves subject to a slow, agonising questioning. James felt sorry for them as they collected their bags and entered the arrivals area.

  “So, where to?”

  Sinclair looked towards the main doors at the hordes of drivers waiting to harass the new arrivals into hiring their bright red tuk-tuks, the three-wheeled motorized rickshaw of Southeast Asia. They all crowded around an extended plaza leading out to the road.

  “Sometimes it’s best not to be the first man out of the airport.”

  “Well, in the meantime, you can tell me about our client and who we are supposed to meet. We’re not on a crowded plane anymore.”

  Sinclair glanced around him, paying special attention to the police officers patrolling the concourse. “Maybe not here.”

  James rolled his eyes as the first wave of people leaving the immigration desk slammed into the tuk-tuk drivers competing for a lucrative fare. He and Sinclair also joined the throng, but instead of looking for a tuk-tuk, Sinclair led him across the parking lot to a brand-new white stone platform.

  “I didn’t know Cambodia had trains,” said James.

  “They didn’t until last year. You see this train? It goes straight into the city centre. It’ll save us from dealing with the tuk-tuk drivers. Plus, I’d rather as few people spoke to us as possible until we get our bearings.”

  A couple of intrepid travellers joined them on the platform, but there was enough distance between everyone to put them out of earshot.

  “So, what’s the assignment? Who’s our client and what does he want us to do?”

  Sinclair lowered his voice. “Regime change, or the prevention of one. There’s a general in the army called Sen Narith. The Royal Cambodian Army. Our client has evidence that he’s plotting a coup against Prime Minister Hun Sen.”

  “So, our client is the current prime minister of Cambodia?”

  “No, no, god no. Hun Sen either isn’t awa
re of this plot or refuses to believe that this is a problem. We are dealing with Pen Thom, his unofficial chief of staff.”

  James narrowed his eyes at Sinclair. “An unofficial chief of staff?”

  Sinclair shrugged. “A politician who never makes speeches or appears in public, at least that’s what I gathered from our brief.”

  “Corrupt businessman. Got it.”

  “Well, it’s semantics all the same. Oh, look, our train.”

  James followed the tracks with his eyes. Something out of another world rumbled towards them. The train, consisting of two single carriages, belched jet-black smoke into the air. The carriages were of a make better suited to the 1960s than the 21st century. It chugged and squealed as it pulled up to the platform.

  He shook his head as they climbed aboard. Rather than the compartments he expected to find, two long wooden benches stretched across the length of the carriage. Everyone placed their bags at their feet and stared through the dirty windows as the smiling Khmer staff chatted and made cursory checks.

  James angled his head to follow the tracks towards the city. Two flimsy barriers had come down on either side of the road. The tracks went right across the road, passing slum houses on the way. Soon the train’s engine fired up and they reversed back down the line towards the centre of Phnom Penh.

  The journey into the heart of Phnom Penh followed a single track between the slums on the outskirts. Dirty children with their knockoff western fashions waited patiently for the train to pass before they carried on playing on the tracks. Mothers who looked like children themselves looked glumly at the train as they cradled babies in their arms. The sheer number of plastic bags and discarded bottles on the sides of the tracks would have sent any climate change activist into a rage.

  “The Riverside Guesthouse,” said Sinclair. “That’s where we’re staying. The middle of the Doun Penh District. It’s where all the tourists go.”

  James took a long look at the passengers in the carriage for the first time. Nearly all of them were backpackers of various ages. Long hair, tank tops, and a severe lack of personal hygiene brought this ragged band onto the only free way to leave the airport.