The Brittle Limit, a Novel (15 page)

Andrew recognized the man. This was indeed
the tail he thought he’d picked up on his second day in town. He
wondered if this man was also his bridge shooter.

Andrew lifted the man, frisked him, and
finding nothing, threw him into the chair by the wife. He trained a
gun on the two of them.

“What’d you tell him, Louise?” The man looked
sideways at the woman.

“Nothing!”

“Who are you and what do you want?” the man
demanded, nursing a busted lip.

“I’m holding the gun, so I’m asking the
questions. Why did you hire Ben Goodnight?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Look, you’ve been following me around for
the past day and a half. You’re a lousy tail. And now I find your
colleague busy shredding files and packing up. Looks a little
suspicious to me. So I’ll ask you again. Why did you hire Ben?”

The man sneered at him. “None of your
business.”

Andrew stepped closer and reached into the
man’s inside jacket pocket, pulling out a U.S. passport. He opened
it up.

“Says here you’re an American citizen. Also
seems like you are in hurry to go somewhere. Perhaps I can make it
my business to find out what the rush is all about. I’ll get you
shipped back to the US, your passport revoked, faster than you can
sing ‘America the Beautiful’. I don’t know what your operation is
here. But it doesn’t look legal."

The man looked stricken. He did not want to
go back to the States. Andrew’s threat had his full attention.
Andrew wondered for an instant what it was - crime, drugs, money -
that caused the anxiety evident on this guy's face. Whatever the
reason, the man started to talk.

"Some old guy gave me a pile of cash, told me
to hire Ben to go out to Mondulkiri to do some prospecting out
there. ‘Tell him to dig around in the dirt’ is what he said. Wanted
him to have a look around, file a report on what he saw. He gave me
the exact coordinates where Ben should look.”

“When was this?”

“About two months ago.”

That would be sometime in July, Andrew
thought.

“Did Ben take the job?”

“Sure. He flew out the next day. When he came
back, he was all wound up, thanked me for the work, gave me his
report. I paid him, like the old guy said to do, and I hadn’t seen
him since. Then I heard he got blown up out there just the other
day. So I don't know what to think.”

“Do you have a copy of his report?"

The man turned to his wife, who still looked
terrified. “Louise?”

She jumped up to help. “Yes. Yes. Maybe.” She
was breathless. “I think I was about to shred it. I’d done March,
April, May. Let’s see.” She thumbed through a pile of paper by the
shredder.

“That’s June.” She picked up the next pile,
flipped half way through it.

“Here it is!” She pulled a piece of paper
from the stack, held it up like a prize.

Andrew took it and skimmed the page, words
from the report jumping off the page at him.

“Stone carvings”

“Gold statuettes”

“Bamboo huts”

Andrew looked up. “It says he strongly
recommends that this land not be conceded for mining. That he found
artifacts out there. A lot of them.” Andrew shook his head. “But
the land was conceded anyway. I read about it on the Ministry
website.”

The man shrugged, his wife staring at
Andrew.

Andrew talked to himself now. “This was two
months ago. Why did he go back out there last week, if the land was
conceded?”

The wife spoke up. “Maybe he wanted to check
his facts.”

Andrew’s eyes grew wide. Of course. Ben had
tried to alert the Ministry about the artifacts in Mondulkiri. But
they went ahead and conceded the land anyway. Perhaps they’d
investigated themselves and found nothing, Andrew thought.

Severine had said Ben had brought her out
there because he wanted her to see something. But not only because
he didn’t think it would last.

“That’s exactly it. He went back for
proof.”

Andrew folded the report and tucked it in his
back pocket.

“Thanks for this. Sorry for the fright.
You’ve been very helpful. Good luck with the move. Stay out of
trouble.”

Andrew ducked out into the night. The jungle
awaited.

Chapter 17

Severine picked up the toys that had not made
it back into the large plastic storage tubs. There were always a
few hiding under the benches and the instigators were always the
same. Late afternoon and the children were finishing their lessons
after a short but noisy recess.

She jumped when she looked up and saw Andrew
watching her from the archway. Her shoulders relaxed and she put a
hand to her cheek.

"You scared me."

Andrew walked into the courtyard. "Vith let
me in. I said hello a couple times, but you must not have heard me.
Deep in thought?"

“I guess. I've got a lot on my mind.” She
picked up the last toy and tossed it in the bucket.

“Care to share?”

Severine shook her head.

“Is this an OK time to speak?”

Severing glanced back at the house, where
giggles and high-pitched voices twinkled out of the windows.

“My cook called in sick today, third time
this month, so I have to get dinner ready for the kids.”

“What are they having?” Andrew shifted from
his left foot to his right.

Severine looked at Andrew. “Spaghetti.”

“Don't they get enough noodles in this
town?”

She smirked. “They love it. It helps them
learn about other cultures. Every week, we do a ‘Noodles From
Around The World’ night.”

“Nice. How about I help you boil the
water?”

She smiled. “Are you sure you know how?”

Andrew grinned. "Lead the way and I'll show
you how it’s done.”

*******

In the kitchen, steam rose from roiling water
in the industrial-size stainless steel pot. The kitchen windows by
the stove were fogged up.

Andrew described the Ministry report while
Severine stirred the water.

“Where’d you get a copy?” Severine asked.

Andrew relayed his afternoon’s activities and
explained his theory.

“I think somebody buried that report. Someone
who didn’t want anyone nosing around out there.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“The report mentions a camp and empty huts.
Maybe someone did not want that known.”

Severine looked up at him. She knew how men
like Andrew worked. She’d been married to one. “When are you
leaving?” she asked.

“Now.”

Chapter 18

Hakk stood on the bamboo porch of the
primitive hut, staring out at the orange sun setting over the wide
sea. A scantily-dressed young Khmer woman sat on a wicker chair
nearby, her legs tucked up under her, watching episodes of I Love
Lucy on an Ipad, the wires from the earphones trailing down her
shoulders. Every few minutes her giggling would ring across the
hut, despite her having been told to keep quiet twice already.

Now, she’d worn out her welcome.

“Get out. Leave me be,” he hissed in Khmer.
He was annoyed and not only by her laughter. There had been a
delay.

As the young woman hurried out, a black-clad
young man knocked on the open doorway and cleared his throat.

“What is it?” Hakk asked.

"The American man is asking a lot of
questions about the boy. He has talked with the French girl.”

“Yes, I know of him. I met him. It does not
matter now. Did you find the reports at her apartment and the
Ministry?”

“Yes.” The young man held up several papers
in his left hand.

“And Mr. Cheng?”

“Taken care of, as you instructed.”

“Good. Traitors will not be tolerated,” Hakk
said, the wooden floor creaking beneath him.

He turned from the sunset and walked to a
table piled with large green coconuts, the skin smooth like a
melon. A machete sat by the fruit, its blade sharp and ready. Hakk
lifted a coconut, balancing it on its end and began to chop away at
the outer green rind with practiced slices.

Rather than leaving, the young man walked in
to the hut, uninvited, to watch as Hakk whacked away at the fruit.
He was thirsty and wanted some coconut. He spoke, his tones
unmeasured. "I heard the American tell the French girl that the
boy’s father is rich. Maybe we should have held him for ransom
instead."

Hakk dropped the fruit, the knife still in
hand. In a heartbeat, the machete’s silvery blade was pressed
against the young man’s slim throat. His arms hung by his side, his
left hand still clutching the stolen reports.

“Never doubt me,” Hakk hissed. “Never say
such things. Do not even think them. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, Father. Sum tho.”

Hakk allowed the blade to slide away from the
young man’s neck but not before he’d pressed it hard enough to nick
the flesh above the collarbone.

Released, the young man trembled. His right
hand went to his neck. He pulled his hand away, his fingers red
with blood. He blanched.

Hakk had returned to his work on the coconut,
which had been shorn of its green rind and now shone bone white,
its flesh fragrant and clean.

“Keep me informed of his movements. Soon, it
will not matter.”

Hakk jabbed the knife horizontally across the
peaked top of the white mass, catching and lifting with the blade a
two-inch piece of the coconut flesh to access the sweet juice
within. He looked up at the young soldier. “Burn those reports. And
tend to that nasty cut.”

The young man, terrified, backed out of the
room.

“Eap!” Hakk shouted. The young man stepped
back into the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Send in Heang.”

On hearing his name, a large Cambodian man
appeared in the doorway. His dirty yellow t-shirt was two sizes too
small and his bulk filled the doorframe.

“Where is the truck from Thailand?” Hakk
demanded.

Heang leaned on the doorframe. He was Hakk’s
most trusted guard. He had been a street kid ten years ago when
Hakk had recruited him right off a corner, given him work and
money.

But he did not like to give Hakk unpleasant
news. Hakk had rages and Heang had been on the receiving end of a
few of them. He was not looking forward to answering Hakk’s
question.

“The driver made the pick-up as arranged. He
ought to be there by now, but we have not heard from him and his
phone only rings. His girlfriend got a text from him while he was
driving. She said he’d been drinking.”

Hakk slammed the knife into the wooden table.
“Find that truck.”

Heang looked skeptical. A truck lost in the
deep Cambodian jungle would not easily reveal itself.

“Do it!”

*******

3:00 AM: earlier that day in the Cambodian
jungle

The truck barreled down the road at
break-neck speed. Music blared from cheap tinny speakers, classic
American rock. The driver, a young Cambodian man named Sun, was no
more than twenty. A cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, he
steered with his bare knobby knees.

He’d been stopped for too long at the Thai
border, even though he had paid the bribes, as he’d been
instructed. The Thai guards had been bored, few vehicle crossings
that day, and so they’d hassled him for something to do, to relieve
the tedium.

He had handed them more money than he wanted
to give up, but he had to get through that border at all cost. Now,
he was trying to make up for lost time, driving like a maniac over
rutted, unforgiving roads. He needed to be in Siem Reap by morning
and had several hours to go. It was dark on these back jungle
roads. The bright curve of a waxing moon didn’t penetrate the
darkness. The headlights gave limited assistance in lighting the
way.

At least the music lightened the driver’s
mood. He was stressed out and tired, hung over from last night’s
partying. He tried to focus on the money he would be paid at the
end of this journey. He just wanted to see his girlfriend, smoke
pot and have sex. The money would make the hassle and especially
the humiliation at the hands of the Thai border guards all worth
it. This was better work than the factory job he had before he got
fired for sleeping on his shift.

*******

When the man had approached him last week in
a Battambang café about doing a job, Sun hoped it would be work
that paid well. Sun was behind on his rent and his girlfriend
wanted him to buy her a new scooter.

He knew from the way the man had glanced
around the café before explaining the job, that this would be
illegal. And that meant it would pay. A lot. Sun had done illegal
things before. He liked breaking laws. He enjoyed all the forbidden
fruits, he thought, visualizing his other girlfriend, who his
serious girlfriend did not know about.

The job itself was simple: Deliver a package
from the port of Laem Charbang in Thailand to the address in
Cambodia the man had written on the paper. It would mean a long and
difficult drive. He had told Sun he would be well compensated. He’d
explained to Sun that it was important to deliver the goods on
time, by the following Wednesday. Since the roads were bad this
time of year, the man said, be sure to rent a good truck, something
that could handle the mud.

The man had given him the name of the ship,
the date of its arrival, and a description of his contact at the
port, who would be wearing a red-checked krama. Best of all, the
man had given Sun two thousand US dollars to rent a truck and to
help grease the wheels, along the way. Whatever was left over was
for Sun to keep, plus another two thousand on successful delivery
of the cargo, free and clear.

Sun had got a truck, met the ship, and loaded
the item. It was larger than he expected, a big blue barrel, and
heavy, but not unmanageable. So far, it had been easy money.

But before the ship had arrived, those two
thousand dollars had been burning a hole in Sun’s pocket. As he’d
sat at a beachside restaurant in Laem Charbang, smoking cigarettes
and eating noodles, he’d looked at the map to plan his route. He
figured he would only need a couple hundred dollars for bribes, at
the dock, then the borders, and then a little in case he met some
police along the way. There was no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy
himself now, while he waited, he thought.