The Brittle Limit, a Novel (13 page)

“Oh gentlemen, please, I’d like to introduce
you to someone. This is Andrew Shaw. He’s the man investigating Ben
Goodnight’s death.” She stepped back to make room for Andrew.

“Subtle,” Andrew whispered to Janey. “Thanks
for nothing.”

“At least now they’ll talk to you. They would
have just ignored you.”

The Ambassador had extended his hand to
Andrew, who took it. Janey melted into the crowd to join her
friends doing shooters at the bar.

“Good to meet you sir,” Andrew said.

“Likewise. Sad news about Ben Goodnight. He
did great work. Still too common in this country, land mine
accidents. Glad you’re able to help.”

“Well, I’m trying anyway. I hope to get out
there shortly, see if I can finalize the details.”

“The details?” The ambassador sipped his
whiskey, the melting ice cubes clinking against the glass.

“Well, it hasn’t been confirmed that it was a
landmine.”

Surprise on his face, the ambassador asked,
“Has it not?”

“What else could it be?” Hakk asked. He’d
stayed quiet while Janey introduced Andrew.

Before Andrew could answer, the ambassador,
realizing his gaff, jumped in with his own introductions. “I’m
sorry, one drink and I forget my manners. Please allow me to
introduce to you to Mr. Mey Hakk.” He leaned in close to Andrew,
his breath hot with malt. “Sorry son, senior moment, what was your
name again?”

“Shaw. Andrew Shaw.”

Hakk, his spotless black shirt accented only
by a red pocket square, bowed slightly to Andrew. Andrew returned
the bow, bending farther from the waist and holding the pose a
heartbeat longer.

The Ambassador, who had watched this cultural
exchange, pulled his ringing, vibrating phone from his inside
jacket pocket. He glanced at the screen, slid the arrow and said
hello. He covered the mouthpiece.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve got to take this.
The airline. My wife and kids are flying out tomorrow and their
tickets are all a jumble. Sometimes it pays to be a Platinum
member.” He stepped away, leaving Andrew with Hakk. The two men
stood in silence for a minute. All around them party-goers swirled,
dancing, drinking. Janey waved at Andrew from the bar.

Andrew’s senses were on alert. He was aware
of Hakk’s posture, the shortness of his black hair, the whiteness
of his teeth, the gleam of his watch in the overhead lights.
Nothing was wasted.

The two men stood on the edge of the lawn
near the tall iron fence that encircled the compound. Andrew
glanced out into the night, at Wat Phnom across the street. He
thought he saw Socheat but when he looked again, he saw only the
trees and the night.

Hakk spoke first.

“Did you know Ben Goodnight?”

“No.” Andrew swigged his beer but the bottle
was empty. “You?”

Hakk nodded, his hands folded together at his
waist, the right palm over the left, a sad smile on his deeply
lined face. “I had heard of his humanitarian work. It is
unfortunate what happened to him. This country can be a dangerous
place. Even now. It is wise to watch one’s footing when in unknown
territory.”

Andrew cocked his head, listening. “That’s
good advice. I’m heading out to Mondulkiri to take a look. I hear
it is pretty wild out there. Have you been?”

Hakk took a step back, as a moth dive-bombed
him. He stood in the shadow of the embassy. “No. Unfortunately,
work allows little time for travel to the provinces.”

“I understand you’re in manufacturing?”
Andrew asked.

Hakk’s blank black eyes blinked once, twice.
“Yes. Among other areas.”

“What is it that you make?”

“Christmas lights. Costume jewelry.
Trinkets.”

Hakk glanced at his watch, a hard steel
band.

“Please excuse me. I had not realized the
time and I have another engagement this evening. I hope you enjoy
Pchum Ben, it is a special holiday for us. Please give Mr.
Ambassador my regrets.”

Hakk turned to leave. Andrew grabbed Hakk’s
forearm, his hand gripping the black fabric.

“I’d like to speak some more, if that’s
alright?” Andrew said, staring into Hakk’s eyes.

The body guards who had accompanied Hakk were
immediately on alert, their hands moving to their weapons that the
metal detector had not picked up, because an embassy guard, well
compensated for his cooperation, had unplugged the machine moments
before Hakk and his entourage arrived.

Andrew stood close to Hakk, holding his black
sleeve. He watched as Hakk gave his men an imperceptible nod to
stand down.

“You have caught the attention of my men Rith
and Heang. That’s never a good idea.”

Hakk placed his leathery hand on Andrew’s
wrist, his fingers encircling the bone, tightened his grip and
lifted Andrew’s hand from his arm.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Shaw. I
hope you enjoy yourself during your stay in the Kingdom.” With
that, Hakk walked away, the party-goers dancing out of his way in
time to the heavy beat blasting from the massive speakers on the
lawn.

Andrew watched as Hakk exited the gates and
climbed into a waiting limousine. Beyond the gates, Socheat stood,
chain-smoking and watching.

Chapter 14

An early quarter moon shone on the sidewalk
and scrubby weeds that pushed through the broken concrete.

Andrew hopped off the moto two blocks from
the Ministry, walking down the quiet street. At 4:00 AM, this part
of town was dead, except for the orange cat, which yowled at Andrew
in the still night.

Devi had described the back entrance, which
she said would be the easiest way into the building. Andrew slipped
around back.

He jimmied the flimsy lock and slipped into
the dim stairwell and down the empty hall.

Devi had not known about Ben Goodnight or his
death, had only been told by her boss that she was not to speak of
Mr. Cheng again. She had not even been told that he was dead but
she had overheard her boss talking on the phone with an outside
caller that Cheng had been found in the open sewer with stab wounds
all over his body. She did not know who the caller was.

Andrew took the steps two at a time. The
carpeted stairway dulled the sound of his heavy footsteps, his
flashlight spotlighting the steps in front of him.

The office where Cheng had worked was on the
third floor. As Andrew emerged from the stairwell, pushing through
a heavy metal door, he saw a long open plan office space that
stretched all the way to the front of the building, desks stacked
with paper, and rows of metal filing cabinets along the wall. The
room was dark, with no emergency lighting, only dim moonlight
siphoning in through the windows.

Andrew checked the floor plan that he’d drawn
from Devi’s description. He looked around the room, counting rows
of desks then moving forward down the hall to the second to last
row, where he turned. Walking toward the windows, he panned the
flashlight over the last desk. No computer, though there was a
dust-free area of the desk where a desktop computer had once been.
Someone had been here before him.

Andrew glanced around the desk. No nameplate
either, though the other desks had them. This must be it. He
thumbed through loose papers on the desk. Mostly forms, arranged by
date. Everything seemed to be orderly. A metal file cabinet on the
side of the desk revealed the same degree of order.

In the file cabinet, Andrew flipped his
fingers through the alphabetized files in the top drawer.

There was no file under ‘G’.

Andrew fingered though the files once more. A
flash of color caught his eye. There, between H and I, something
was crumpled and shoved in between folders.

Andrew pulled it out, and unfolded it on the
desktop. It was a square yellow paper napkin, bearing the letters
FCC. Andrew knew this, the Foreign Correspondent’s Club, a
restaurant in town. On it was a rough map, sketched in ink.

Andrew stepped to the window to get a better
look in the light.

Some coordinates were scribbled on the map.
Severine had explained she had no sense of the route they had taken
into the jungle, had just followed Ben’s lead. Andrew pulled out
his secure phone, took a picture of the napkin then put it in his
pocket.

Andrew turned when he heard footsteps from
the hallway. He crouched by the desk and moved along the side of
the wall, in the shadows behind the row of desks and ducked into an
open supply closet, pulling the door partially closed.

A black-clad figure moved into the room,
shining a flashlight along the walls. The light panned across the
room, over Cheng’s desk, along the back wall and into the crack of
the doorway where Andrew hid. Andrew closed his eyes, to not
reflect the light.

As the figure moved into the room, Andrew
could see from the silhouette, it was a woman. She moved to the
desk where Andrew had been standing moments before. Andrew did not
think she had seen him.

Andrew watched her as she approached Cheng’s
desk. She was slender, about 5’6”. She wore a mask, so Andrew could
not see her face.

She reached the desk, where she placed her
gun, and turned to the file cabinet. Andrew swore under his breath.
He had left his phone on the windowsill near the desk. The woman
did not notice it, as she rifled through the files, shining a small
flashlight on certain pages but finding nothing of interest. She
shoved the drawer closed and looked around the room, tilting her
head upward. Andrew had the sense that she was smelling the
air.

The woman tensed and was still. She moved her
flashlight across the room, a slow sweeping arc, the bright light
shining from one end of the room to the other and then back. She
peered into the far corner of the room, where there was a
windowless office in deep shadow. Andrew watched, as she picked up
her pistol and moved across the floor.

She stopped halfway down the aisle and
glanced back, then moved forward to the back room.

When she was out of sight, Andrew slid out of
the closet, crouching low, moving along the wall, to the windowsill
near Cheng’s desk. He stuck his phone in his pocket. As he turned,
he heard a gun click at the back of his head.

“Hands on your head,” a deep male voice said.
Andrew did as he was told. The man frisked him for weapons and
found the embassy-issued Glock in the small of Andrew’s back, which
he pocketed. He reached high for Andrew’s left wrist. As Andrew
felt the man’s stubby fingers clamp around his wrist, he lurched
forward, pulling the man off balance. Andrew swung around, twisting
the man’s arm, pulling him close and kneeing him in the groin. With
a grunt, the man hunched instinctively in pain and Andrew knocked
the gun from his hand. Andrew grabbed it as it hit the floor. One
more jab to the man’s temple and the man went down. Andrew bolted
for the stairwell. Muddy early morning light filtered in through
the dingy windows.

Hearing the commotion, the woman ran out of
the back office with her gun drawn. Andrew turned the corner as she
fired a shot, which ricocheted in the silent building. Andrew could
hear a sharp command to “Get up!” from the woman berating her
accomplice, then two sets of footsteps running after him.

Andrew raced down the flights of stairs. He
was three flights ups, and took full stairwells in a leap. The last
stairwell, he pushed out the emergency door, which started an
alarm. That would get the neighbors’ attention. He had to get out
of there. The morning traffic was just beginning with the earliest
light of day.

Andrew ran across the street, behind a row of
tuk-tuks. Behind him, the stairwell door opened and the woman
peered out, gun in hand. She looked left and right but all she saw
was the early traffic. Andrew watched her swear in frustration. She
turned around, the door closing, to go find her useless colleague
before the police arrived to investigate the alarm.

From behind the tuk-tuks, Andrew checked each
one until he found one inhabited by a sleeping driver. The driver
woke reluctantly but obligingly.

Andrew hopped into the back, leaning far into
the shadows of the plastic flaps in case there were prying eyes.
The tuk-tuk entered the flow of morning traffic.

As Andrew stared at the rough map, he
wondered what Ben had found in Mondulkiri that had so many people
interested. He would soon find out.

Chapter 15

Andrew’s phone rang early. Too early.

“Hello?” Andrew’s voice was rough with lack
of sleep. He heard a thick accent on the other end of the line.

“Mate, I think I found something for you.” It
was Tom of Kampuchea Mining and Minerals, sounding too awake for
Andrew. Tom gave Andrew an address and said to meet him in ten
minutes.

*******

The local hostess bar was already bustling at
9:00 AM. When Andrew had balked at the suggested location, Tom
claimed he didn’t want anyone to see Andrew coming and going from
the KMM office. Andrew figured that was just an excuse to start
drinking.

Andrew found the building in a popular part
of town and walked up the stairs to the second floor establishment,
past a storefront where a row of seated local women gave pedicures
to well-dressed Western ladies flipping through worn copies of
Hello! Magazine.

On the stairwell, glossy pictures of
beautiful young Cambodian women advertised what Andrew would find
upstairs.

Andrew had read about these places in the
Phnom Penh magazine, bars catering to ex-pat men, filled with
beautiful young Cambodian women who would talk to you for a free
drink and sleep with you for $5. Cheap and easy wasn’t Andrew’s
thing, he focused more on the unattainable.

At this early hour, he saw a handful of gray
haired men dressed in tight t-shirts and khaki shorts, lining the
bar, looking to get an early start on their day’s activities.

Andrew’s arrival caused a flurry of activity
with the two slight women manning the front hostess station. He was
a new one, they thought, glancing at each other with excited
smiles, and he looked like he had money to spend.