The Brittle Limit, a Novel (12 page)

Devi pulled her bicycle from the dense row of
bicycles along the building’s side and wheeled it out the front
gate. There, she eased herself into the rush hour traffic.

She followed the road from the right, where
the fork offered a choice to go east or north. She chose east,
toward the river. Andrew followed her from a distance on his moto,
a helmet concealing his face. He followed her onto Sisowath Quay,
past the Chinese Art House and over the Japanese Bridge. She drove
east, past small shops, weaving in and out of the unpredictable
traffic. Andrew, less skilled at navigating, dodged a few oncoming
tuk-tuks, the drivers tskking at him.

She pedaled for a mile before turning down a
dirt side road. The houses along this road were sheet metal shacks,
open to the road and the elements. Dogs nipped at chickens that
wandered free in the street. Barefoot children ran up and down the
road.

Devi stopped in front of one of the metal
houses and hopped off her bike, leaning it against the metal wall.
She walked inside and moments later Andrew heard the delighted
yelps of happy children. Andrew decided he would wait until she had
settled the children down and fed them. Standing outside, he
listened to stories told in Khmer of the day’s events, the mother
cooking dinner and then scolding the children to bed. At the sounds
of cleaning up, plates and bowls being scraped of food, stray cats
came running from dusty alleyways, anxious for their share.

When the sounds had died down, Andrew knocked
on the metal wall that served as the entrance to the shack. He
leaned into the light of the open doorway and saw the woman look up
from the back room, where she was setting washed dishes aside.
Andrew heard the sharp intake of her breath, the surprise at seeing
his unwanted white face again.

“What do you want?” she asked. Andrew could
hear the fear in her voice, underneath the bravado. There was no
man of this house to protect her or her children. He had been
kicked out years before.

“I need to speak with you.”

Devi stared at Andrew, and then out past him,
in to the night. She stepped by him in the doorway and looked up
and down the street, which was empty save for the strays.

“How did you find me?”

“I followed you home. I’m sorry to bother
you. But a friend of mine has been killed. I need to speak with Mr.
Cheng. He has information that might help me find out why my friend
was killed.”

The moon rose in the east, shining through
wispy clouds on the horizon. The woman looked stricken. In the dim
light Andrew could see her face had gone ashen.

“Mr. Cheng cannot see you. Mr. Cheng is
dead.”

Chapter 13

Bright with colored lights and paper
lanterns, the embassy lawn was humming with activity. By 9:00 PM,
the party was in full swing. Under a large white tent, tipsy
revelers swayed to a live band and sipped the generous free
champagne. Dignitaries stood apart, trying to look official in
their inebriated state. Additional armed guards at the embassy gate
checked names and passes against a long guest list. Anyone not on
the list was not getting in, they repeatedly told curious passersby
and tourists.

Inside the embassy, in the basement bowels,
Andrew hunched over his desk, bleary-eyed. He had returned from
Devi’s to give Flint an update via Skype. Flint’s face filled the
computer screen. Andrew was explaining his day’s activities.

Dance music started up outside on the Embassy
lawn, the pounding beat. picked up by the computer microphone.

Flint interrupted Andrew. “What is that
cacophony? Are you at a club?”

Andrew turned the computer screen left and
right, the camera panning across the bare office. “Does it look
like a club?”

“No club I’ve been to.” She paused to unwrap
a piece of gum and stuff it in her mouth. “Listen. The dad is
calling me every hour on the hour. Pain in my ass. You’ve got to
give me something, Shaw.”

Flint was a tough New York broad. Four
generations of Flints had lived in Manhattan. She’d moved south
thirty years before to join the Agency, but was still New York
through and through. She was known for neither her patience nor her
sensitivity. But her doggedness and loyalty were legendary.

Andrew shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t
have any solid answers yet. I need to see that report.”

“This is enough to make a girl start smoking
again. What else? Come on, Andrew, you can do better than
this.”

Andrew ignored the barb and flipped through
his notes.

“Ben was prospecting for metal.”

“Whaddya mean? Like gold-digging? We’ve got a
lot of that going on inside the Beltway.”

“Sort of. It’s literally a gold rush out
here. But not just for gold. Silver, platinum, even gems
apparently. A bunch of mining companies have popped up in the past
few years, from all over. China, Australia, South Africa, even the
States.”

“Veritable melting pot. ‘There’s gold in them
hills’. Sounds good to me. How does it work? I show up one day and
start digging in the dirt for gold? Maybe I’ll quit my day job,
head out your way.” Andrew could hear her snapping her gum. She
knew he hated that.

“Not exactly. It’s not quite that seamless.
Companies pay the Cambodian government millions of dollars, first
for permission to look for metal and then for permission to mine
it. It’s expensive, competitive and apparently quite
secretive.”

“Well, sounds like a racket to me. Has anyone
found anything of value?”

“Not that I’ve heard. But it’s still early
days. However, the rumors run rampant.”

“Alright. Well this at least gives me
something to tell the father. ‘Your boy was digging for gold.’ Keep
looking, keep me posted. Some fool assistant here gave him my
personal cell phone. Anything else I should know?”

“I think someone else is looking into this.”
Andrew said.

Flint stopped snapping her gum.

“How’s that?”

Andrew explained about being shot at the
night before.

“AHA! You ARE on to something. You’re holding
out on me. Good. It’s a sign that you’re on the right track. You
look like you survived. So what’s your next move?”

“I’m going to the province where the kid
bought it. Mondulkiri.”

“That’s my boy. Get your hands dirty. Don’t
step on anything metal.”

Flint hung up before Andrew could say ‘Thanks
for your concern’.

Andrew sat back in his chair. As he flipped
through some papers on the desk, he saw the handle on his office
door turning.

Someone was outside his door. The handle
turned again. Someone was trying to get in. But the door was
locked.

Outside the music blared. Andrew stood,
pushing his chair back and approached the door from the side. He
reached out to the handle and yanked the door opened, his gun
drawn.

He surprised Janey standing in the
hallway.

She stepped back at the sight of the gun,
fear on her face.

Ohhhh!” she exclaimed.

Andrew lowered his weapon and exhaled. He
slipped the gun out of sight.

“What the hell are you doing outside my
door?”

She was flustered, her left hand over her
heart. Andrew had not seen her since the day he’d arrived to Phnom
Penh. She was dressed in a pale blue silk dress, her hair done up
in curls. She held a fruity looking drink in a tall glass. Andrew
could smell the booze. The bartender out there had a heavy
hand.

“Oh, I was just checking if you were here!
You scared me!”

“I scared you?”

“I’m sorry but Jeremy sent me. He thought you
might like to be part of tonight’s celebration. We could see from
the lawn that your light was on in this rabbit hole, so we thought
you might be here.” She sniffed. “I certainly did not expect to be
greeted at gunpoint.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have
knocked.”

She continued, ignoring his admonition and
slurring her words slightly. “I thought, I mean, WE thought, if you
weren’t busy, you might enjoy a refreshing adult beverage?” She
lifted her fruity cocktail. It had once been a frozen drink but had
melted in the heat.

Andrew gestured to the pile of papers on his
desk. “I’m reading…”

Janey waved her hands in the air. “Work will
wait. Besides, maybe they can help you.”

“Who?”

“The local glitterati. We always invite local
bigwigs to our Pchum Ben party. After all, it's their holiday. So
you might talk to a few of them, ask your questions. Never hurts to
say hello. Be a little friendly.” She smiled at Andrew and
blinked.

Andrew looked at his desk. He flew out to
Mondulkiri tomorrow. Janey smiled her most convincing smile. “Come
on. One drink.”

Andrew shrugged, giving in. “Free booze is
the best booze. Lead the way.”

*******

Outside the music kicked into high gear.
Janey and Andrew walked down the empty hallway, Janey pulling
Andrew along by his shirtsleeve. Andrew was amused at Janey’s tipsy
self.

“Hurry, it’s starting!” Janey said.

“What’s starting?”

“The fireworks!”

They had reached the front embassy door.
Janey looked out at her fellow revelers on the lawn. The lawn of
the embassy was filled with well-dressed party-goers, American and
Cambodian men and women, all happily drinking and eating, watching
the colorful fireworks light up the sky over the river.

Standing right behind Janey, who was looking
over her shoulder at him, Andrew could smell her light perfume and
the edge of gin on her breath. Janey giggled and pushed open the
door.

*******

Andrew stood with a beer, watching a dozen
dancers in colorful costumes perform a traditional dance for the
crowd. They finished to a loud round of applause from the large
audience.

Andrew turned to Janey, who had switched to
club soda.

“Tell me about this Pchum Ben holiday,”
Andrew asked. “Jeremy said it’s something to do with
ancestors.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s a Buddhist holiday,
marking the end of rainy season. The story is that during Pchum
Ben, all the ghosts - well, all the bad ones - get a two-week pass
from hell to visit their families. So they return to their
homelands, mostly for food.” Janey sipped her drink and eyed the
heavily laden dessert table. “There’s no food in hell,
apparently.”

“So the ghosts go trick or treating?” Andrew
grinned.

Janey rolled her eyes. “Something like that.
Mostly, they just want sweet rice. So their families bring food
offerings to the Wats, which the monks eat.”

“The monks eat the ghosts’ food? Doesn’t that
piss off the ghosts?”

Janey raised her eyebrows. “No. The ghosts
can’t eat, silly. Some of the ghosts, the really bad ones, don’t
even have mouths. So the monks eat the food and the ghosts receive
succor through the monks.”

“So everyone is happy?”

“Yup. And sated. Good karma all around.”

Andrew watched the Ambassador greet a few
well-dressed businessmen standing by the bar with an appropriate
deep bow. By Andrew’s side, Janey bent low to fix her strappy
heel.

“Who are those gentlemen there?”

Janey looked up. “Local government types.
Military too. That old guy there," she pointed discretely at an
elderly gentleman in a dark starched uniform decked with medals,
chatting up an attractive American volunteer, "is a General in the
Cambodian Army...his wife is the battle-ax over at the dessert
table."

Andrew glanced at the dessert table, where
the battle-ax was loading her dinner plate with chocolate cake.

The newest arrivals to the party caught
Andrew’s attention. Five local men dressed identically in plain
black cotton garb sidled past the armed embassy guards. One of the
men was older than the others by a couple decades. His graying hair
was slicked back. He surveyed the party scene as his bodyguards
fanned out in to the crowd.

“And who is that, with the entourage?”

Janey turned to him, her voice low.

“That’s Mey Hakk. He’s very successful. He
owns a couple factories on the outskirts of town.” Her voice
dropped to a whisper. "He's rumored to have ties to local
warlords.”

Andrew took a long look at Hakk, who was
saying polite hellos to Jeremy. Andrew was distracted by a giggling
group of women making a scene as they arrived, more than
fashionably late and tarted up in jewel-colored gowns, heavy
make-up and five-inch heels. They made a loud fuss at the gate, as
one of the guards had gotten a little frisky as he frisked the
women on their way in.

“Ahhhhh!” Janey laughed and pointed. “I see
the embassy ladies went all out tonight! We don’t get too many
chances to dress up, it’s such a casual town, t-shirts and
flip-flops all the way.”

Andrew glanced around for Hakk, but didn’t
see him. He saw Jeremy was now talking with the General’s battle-ax
wife, both of them enjoying the chocolate cake. Andrew glanced
around the milling crowd, searching faces. He moved to the left
toward the fence for a better view.

There he was. Hakk was talking now with the
U.S. Ambassador, who Andrew knew by sight. Mey Hakk certainly knew
how to work a room, Andrew thought.

Andrew stepped over to Janey and put his face
close to hers. “Can you introduce me to your friend Hakk?”

Janey smiled. “Certainly. How shall I
introduce you? Meet our resident spy, private investigator, secret
agent?” She smirked at Andrew, who blinked.

“Just say I'm a friend, here in town to see
the sights.”

Janey led Andrew over to the Ambassador and
Hakk, sobering up along the way. With the practiced grace of one
accustomed to diplomatic circles, she interrupted their
conversation and inserted herself into it. In a heartbeat, she had
both men chuckling, Hakk glancing with obvious pleasure at her
low-cut dress. As if on cue, she pointed to Andrew, who had stood a
respectful distance away.