The Brittle Limit, a Novel (22 page)

She told herself not to move. She did not
want to draw any attention to herself. Opening her eyes a slit, she
saw Samnang lying next to her, her eyes still closed and her mouth
open. Severine watched Samnang breathe. If they’d given Samnang the
same dose of whatever they gave her, Samnang would be sleeping for
a long time.

Heang lay on a wooden bench, asleep and
snoring loudly, a gun in his lap. Jeremy stood at the bow, watching
their progress. Severine could feel her hands tied behind her and
when she tried to move her feet, found her legs were tied as well,
at both the ankles and the knees. Severine turned her head slightly
forward and saw the Captain, standing alert, looking ahead.

Heang’s phone rang and he stuttered awake,
dropping his gun. He grabbed for it as he fumbled to answer his
phone. Severine hoped the gun wasn’t loaded as it hit the wooden
deck with a clunk. She closed her eyes. The longer she was knocked
out, she guessed, the more time she had to figure out a way out.
She listened to Heang on the phone.

“Jah.”

Severine listened, trying to catch any of the
Khmer words she knew.

He spoke rapidly, then more agreement. “Jah.
Jah.”

He clicked his phone off and yelled to the
Captain, “Chop chop chop.” Stop.

The Captain turned around, a questioning look
on his face. Heang spoke quickly.

Her Khmer wasn’t perfect but Severine got the
gist. Heang had a problem back in town, he had to go back to Phnom
Penh. He would take the dinghy and let them continue their
journey.

“Stop here. I must go back,” Heang
repeated.

The Captain cut the engine and the boat
started to drift backwards with the current. This got Jeremy’s
attention and he walked to the stern.

“What’s going on?” Jeremy asked, looking
first to Heang, then the Captain.

Heang scowled. “I have a problem with a
delivery. I must go back. You go on ahead. Do what you need to
do.”

As Jeremy sputtered about this change of
plan, Heang moved quickly, stepping from the stern into the bobbing
dinghy tied behind the boat. He started its small engine, threw off
the line, and turned the dinghy around, heading down river, back to
Phnom Penh. He did not look back.

Jeremy watched the dinghy sluice through the
water, only mildly annoyed at the disruption. He was glad to be rid
of Heang, who Jeremy found unseemly. Another overblown gangster
with delusions of grandeur. Sometimes such associations were
necessary, Jeremy thought, returning to the bow. His heart started
to quicken as he thought of his statues, his future, ahead. He had
several buyers lined up already. He would be richer than he had
ever dreamed.

The Captain set the boat’s course and went to
check on his cargo. The Western woman and the child still slept.
The Captain squeezed past them and edged into the corner of the
boat. As instructed, he was bringing the cargo with him to the
secret cave. Special delivery, Heang had explained to the Captain,
for the American GIs living there. A gift from Hakk, he had said,
to thank them for their service. The Captain thought it was odd but
he didn’t question. Ever.

Under the green tarp, tucked neatly into the
blue plastic barrel, the canister containing eighty pounds of
plastic explosive waited, the digital timer on its side ticking
away.

Chapter 26

The Cambodian-Japanese Friendship Bridge
collapsed first, the charges at both ends and the middle of the
bridge tucked carefully out of sight, until they detonated late
Friday afternoon.

As the bridge beneath them crumbled,
pedestrians, bicyclists, cars, tuk-tuks, pushcarts and their
vendors plunged into the river.

Seeing this, traffic on the adjacent
Cambodian-Chinese Friendship Bridge panicked. People leapt from
their vehicles, running for the safety of solid ground on either
end of the bridge. Some made it. Others, less swift of foot, did
not, and they joined the melee in the water below as a second
set of charges blew the Chinese Bridge into large chunks that
plunked into the water.

The explosion was felt by all along Sisowath
Quay. Tourists watched from balconies and street cafes, standing
and leaving their coffees to cross the street for a better
view.

The police arrived quickly, though there was
little they could do except stare and wonder, along with everyone
else. The police asked a few questions, hassled a couple motodop
drivers who were not wearing helmets, and then returned to the
station. No one had seen anything suspicious.

The collapsed bridges resulted in limited
loss of life: One cyclist drowned trying to untangle himself from
his bike clips. A young monk was unable to escape from a crowded
tuk-tuk, packed in with eight of his brothers, all of whom had swum
to safety. On a timer, the explosions had occurred moments after a
traffic jam had cleared.

But there were broken bones, bruises, and
general upset. Those who landed in the river and swam to the shore,
stood on the river’s edge watching their vehicles, for many of them
their livelihood, sink or drift down river. A man in a dripping wet
suit stood next to a t-shirt wearing tuk-tuk driver, both of them
staring at the watery field of debris.

People were confused and scared. Just as Hakk
intended.

*******

The helicopter approached town from the east
shortly after the explosion and Andrew saw the mayhem out the
cockpit window. The bank of the river was thick with people.
Traffic on Sisowath Quay was stopped and flashing police cars
blocked the street at both ends. An ambulance several blocks away
from the scene, its lights flashing, snaked its way through slim
gaps in the dense traffic.

As the helicopter got closer, Andrew saw the
absence of the bridges.

“What the hell?” he said.

The pilot, listening to his radio, glanced
over at his passenger.

“Report just came in. Two explosions, one
minute apart. Took out both bridges. Two confirmed dead, countless
injured. Several unaccounted for.”

“Fuck me.” Andrew stared out the window at
the receding scene.

*******

The moment the helo landed, Andrew called
Flint on his secure phone. She answered on the first ring.

Andrew described the scene on the river, with
the bridges.

He asked, “Has it made the international news
yet?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure it will,” Flint said,
adding, “As intended, is my guess.”

“This is bigger than we thought.”

“I’ll agree with that assessment,” Flint
said. “What have you got?”

Andrew outlined to Flint everything he’d
learned in the past twenty-four hours, about River Metals, about
Ben’s Ministry report, about the artifacts Ben listed in the report
and the empty camp he described. Andrew told about his own tussle
at the camp with Hakk’s bodyguard. He didn’t mention Frank or the
cavern. He didn’t see the point. Not yet.

“So I think Ben stumbled on to something he
wasn’t supposed to see when he first went out to Mondulkiri two
months ago.”

“The empty camp.”

“Yes. And because Ben was meticulous in his
reporting, he noted it in his report to the Ministry of Mines. And
someone found out about the report. And squelched it.”

“Only the camp wasn’t empty when you were
there.”

“No.” Andrew pictured the three executed men
lying on the ground. He wondered if one of them was Mr. Cheng.

“Back up here - You say this company River
Metals hired Ben.”

“Yes.”

“Who hired River Metals?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Some two-penny mom and pop shop hires a
random kid to go dig for gold in the middle of nowhere, pays him a
load of cash, and he finds ancient artifacts? Bullshit. They sure
as hell didn’t pick Ben out of the Yellow Pages, someone told them
to hire him and paid them to do it. Who was it, Shaw? Since you’re
not asking that question, it means you must know the answer.”

Andrew paused. Flint was good. Sometimes he
forgot that.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Don’t get all cagey on me.”

“For now. I’d rather not say for now. Please,
Flint, just bear with me. Right now, we need to know more about Mey
Hakk. Why would his body guard be at a secret jungle camp?”

Flint cleared her throat. It was her turn to
have big news.

“Well, we have learned something very
interesting about Mr. Mey Hakk, thanks to you. We ran a trace on
that ‘Ch’kai’ email you forwarded to me. It had covered a lot of
ground, bounced around servers all over the world, led our team on
quite a chase. But in the end, we nailed it - it originated from a
computer inside one of Mey Hakk’s factories.”

“So, if he sent that email, and the
Friendship Bridges are his work, I think we can assume there is
more to come. But what?” Andrew said.

“It’d be good if you could figure that out
pronto. And stop it. Because you and every other American in that
town is a target,” Flint said. “Meantime, I’ve got to call the
kid’s father. At least we have some news for him.”

“Yeah,” Andrew said, distracted. “OK. I’ll be
in touch. I’ve got to go see a friend.” He flagged down a passing
motodop and hopped on, clinging to the metal bar as the bike wove
expertly into the teaming traffic.

Chapter 27

Andrew stopped by the Embassy to print out
the photographed pages of the book from Rith’s desk. He needed
Socheat’s help. He hoped these would shed some light on Hakk.

He walked over to Wat Phnom, staying away
from the river and the milling crowds. The usual disaster gawkers
had arrived, wanting to be a witness to the event.

Andrew looked around the park but Socheat was
nowhere to be found.

Andrew walked up the steps to the Wat. Unlike
his previous visit, it was busy. Despite the bridge explosions, the
Wat was packed with locals. Incense filled the air. Monks prayed
and chanted. Children ran across courtyards. Women carried trays of
sweet rice for the dead.

Andrew wandered back down the Hill. Socheat
stood by a tall tree at the eastern edge of the park, watching the
crowded riverbank.

Andrew approached his friend, who nodded, a
thin smile on his painted red lips.

“I figured you’d come for me sooner or
later.”

Andrew said “I need your help with something.
This…” He nodded at the destroyed bridges. “I think this has to do
with my friend who was killed. There is a man, Mey Hakk…”

Socheat’s smile vanished, his mannerisms
diminished.

“We must not talk of this here.”

Andrew glanced around. They stood alone,
apart from the crowd of watchers.

“Where then?”

“Meet me in ten minutes at the Elephant Bar.”
Socheat pointed up the street to Hotel Le Royale.

Andrew nodded and turned to walk away.
Something had shifted in Socheat. From hearing the name Mey Hakk.
What did it mean?

*******

Hotel Le Royale, also known as ‘Raffles’,
stood 200 yards down the road from Wat Phnom. Andrew walked down
the sidewalk, his steps heavy as his mind raced. A few brown leaves
drifted past his feet, carried by a light night breeze. Images of
the jungle sifted through his mind, the statues, the Veterans, the
camp, and the guards. On auto-pilot, he turned into the manicured
hotel compound, glancing through the windows at the golden light
inside.

*******

From a silk loveseat in a far corner of the
lounge, Andrew watched Socheat enter the room, sashaying for the
attentive audience of men and women who looked up as he paused in
the doorway, his blue silk dress catching light in all the right
places. He blinked his long eyelashes then caught sight of Andrew
in the far corner. He stepped forward, his gait high like a
dressage pony.

Andrew sat shrouded by heavy curtains hung
from the ceiling. His beer sat untouched next to a candle. Socheat
took a seat on the couch across from Andrew, crossing his legs and
folding his hands on his knees.

Andrew leaned forward.

“I need you to translate something.” Andrew
pulled several pages from his back pocket and spread them open on
the table. Dense Khmer script covered the page.

“Aren’t you going to order a lady a drink?”
Socheat tilted his head at the bar next to them, where the
bartender put the finishing touch on a dirty martini, a heavy pour
of olive juice into the V-shaped glass. Large stone elephants
adorned the bar.

Andrew rolled his eyes and lifted a finger.
He understood - they needed to keep up appearances - this was just
a casual social meeting. No rush.

A slim waitress appeared, glancing at
Socheat, and gave Andrew a quick bow. “Yes, sir?”

“For the lady, a…”

“Femme Fatale,” Socheat said. The waitress
nodded and returned shortly with a pink cocktail bearing a fragrant
flower on the side.

Drink in hand, Socheat leaned forward to read
the copies, long hair falling across his face, casting a shadow on
the pages. Andrew watched as Socheat read, his eyes moving across
and down the lines. Socheat looked up at Andrew.

“These are the words of an angry man.”

“What does it say?”

Socheat shook his head. “It’s a...what’s the
English word…a manifesto.”

“About what?” Andrew scratched his face,
heavy with stubble.

Socheat’s eyes were dark. “The author of this
is Hakk - the man you mentioned. He wants to rid the country of the
foreigners. The Ch’kai. You know this word ‘Ch’kai’? Dogs.”

“Yes. I know it. It’s a popular word these
days. But get rid of us, why?”

Socheat looked back at the pages, his finger
tracing several lines of text until he found the passage he wanted.
“It says that the Ch’kai exploit and taint the country and its
people. That the Ch’kai have damaged his country and its people
with their greed and sloth. That they will be taught a lesson.
Reeducated. That there will be retribution. It goes on like that
for some time.”