The Brittle Limit, a Novel (23 page)

“Does it outline his plan?”

“No, nothing specific. It speaks only of
fear, intimidation…and death. For several lines, it speaks of the
destruction caused by the Ch’kai’s hold on this country. And of
breaking those ties.”

“And so, the Friendship Bridges,” Andrew
said.

“Yes, but that’s only the beginning.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t specific.”

“Not on the what. But on the when, yes. It
is.” Socheat pointed. “At the bottom, here, these characters. It’s
part of the Khmer calendar. You see here that one character is
traced in bold. The reader must have wanted to remind himself. That
is this Sunday. In two day’s time. Which makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sunday is Pchum Ben Day. The day we honor
our ancestors.”

“The Day of the Dead,” Andrew said.

Socheat looked up. “You know the custom?”

“Yes, a friend explained it. But what does
Pchum Ben Day have to do with this? Why that day?”

The candle on the table between them had gone
out and the waitress stopped by with a fresh one. She placed the
bowl on the table and removed the extinguished flame. Socheat
waited for her to leave before he replied.

“It’s a time when lost souls roam the earth,
freed from hell to seek solace. Hakk is choosing this day to honor
a man who he sees as a father figure. Who taught him to kill. To
hate. To destroy.”

Andrew put his elbows on the table and rested
his forehead on his steepled fingers. He was tired. He looked up at
Socheat.

“Pol Pot?” he asked. Socheat nodded.

“You can’t be serious,” Andrew said.

“Yes. It is.” Socheat paused, watching
Andrew, then continued, speaking slowly. “Hakk was a child soldier
of the Khmer Rouge, in the fields, decades ago. He would have been
ten or eleven. And now,” Socheat tapped the paper on the table.
“Now he is fulfilling a promise he made to that monster.”

Andrew finished the thought, astonished. “To
continue his work. To isolate the country completely.”

“Yes.”

Andrew reached for his beer. Condensation on
the glass had dripped on to the table and the glass sat now in a
small puddle of water. Andrew held the glass, feeling the cold on
his fingers, then lifted it to his lips to drink. He paused and put
the glass back down.

“That’s not all in that document, is it?”
Andrew asked.

Socheat watched Andrew with hooded eyes and
shook his head. Andrew leaned forward, his chin, above the candle,
lit up by the dancing flame.

“How do you know all this about Mey
Hakk?”

A waiter had opened the patio door, to
release a wasp that had made his way inside. The waiter shook the
white napkin in the night air, releasing the intruder. A breeze
wafted in, bearing warm humid air.

Socheat leaned in close to Andrew and spoke
quietly, in perfect Chinese.

“You and I, we are very much alike.”

Andrew heard the Beijing accent, the private
schools, the cultivation and the training, all evidence that
Socheat was not all he seemed.

The men eyed each other with practiced
stares, then Andrew spit out his whispered words. “You’re an
agent?”

Socheat said nothing, but blinked once,
looking left and right for listeners.

Andrew sat back in his seat. He thought about
their meeting, by chance, at Wat Phnom. Socheat always waiting for
a client who never arrived. Socheat watching from the sidewalk
during the embassy party.

“Of course. China has a hand in everything,”
Andrew said. Then he leaned forward, confused.

“But why are you watching the US Embassy?” he
asked.

Socheat ran his hands along the silk of the
loveseat.

“The letter about the Ch’kai. Our Embassy
received one as well. China invests here. We have made significant
investments in this country. What Hakk has planned - what this
document suggests - would destroy this country as we know it.
Culturally. Morally. And financially. It will destroy our
investment here. This is part of his plan of course. But this must
not happen.”

“Why didn’t you do something about it
before?”

“We weren’t sure if the threat was real. So
we waited and watched for your country to start the music. We
watched for a sign from the US that this was the real deal. You
were it.”

Chapter 28

Deep in the bowels of the US embassy, Andrew
watched Flint on the computer, as he relayed to her the translated
contents of the manifesto. Socheat had taken the printed copy and
would provide a full written translation later.

“So then, what’s Hakk’s next move? First, he
threatens every foreigner in town. Then he blows up two bridges,
gifts from neighboring countries that are major investors. That’ll
be great for international relations,” Flint said.

“That’s the point, don’t you see? To drive a
wedge. To drive us away. I’m not sure about his next move. Not
yet.”

Always pragmatic, Flint made a list. “OK. So
he wants to scare all the foreigners away. What are potential
targets? Malls, concerts, major sporting events?”

Andrew corrected her. “It’s different here,
there aren’t so much of the stadiums or shopping malls or other big
indoor locations like back home. With few exceptions, everything is
outside, open air.”

“Like the bridges?”

“Exactly. Like the bridges.” Andrew scratched
his chin and bit at his lips, which were chapped from the sun.

“Embassies?” Flint suggested.

“No, I don’t think so. That’s the one place
in the country besides government buildings where security is
really tight. And again, the density of people is lacking.”

Flint asked, “Aren’t there some big markets
in town?”

“There’s a couple, sure. He could make a
scene, like he’s done with the bridges. But I think he’s planning
something bigger.” Andrew chewed on the end of his pen, a bad
habit.

“Popular restaurants? Nightclubs? Art
openings?” Flint suggested.

“Yep, there is all that here. But it’s all
mixed together, everything is a jumble of Khmers and expats,
everyone does all the same stuff.”

He continued, “And besides, all that feels
too haphazard. This guy is focused. Methodical. He’s had years to
plan.”

As Flint watched him on a screen from
thousands of miles away, her arms crossed, Andrew stared at the map
of Cambodia on his desk. Socheat had explained that the manifesto
described three different camp locations. These were now marked on
the map with an ‘X’, including Mondulkiri. Andrew stared at the
other two locations. Andrew’s pen hovered over one then the other
‘X’.

He knew Hakk wasn’t in Mondulkiri.
Fifty-fifty shot, he thought. He circled the camp by the sea.

“Enough guessing games. I’ll go ask him
myself.”

Part 4

Chapter 29

Waves lapped at the deserted beach in front
of the lone stilt house. The tide was coming in. The emerging moon
sat low on the eastern horizon, only a quarter of its fullness
peeking out, a light orange hue of autumn. It would be a bright
night once the moon rose into the sky. But now, it was still full
dark. Far out over the sea, lightning flashed in high cloudbanks,
threatening the clear night.

From the safe cover of the water Andrew moved
onto the beach, keeping low as he approached the house, flicking
off dank seaweed sticking to his muscular frame. He had swum down
to this site from a half mile up the empty beach, carried by the
current and adrenaline.

The balcony was empty but he could see light
and movement inside. The beach was dark, but just in case anyone
decided to admire the rising moon, he was cautious. He did not want
the sharp eyes inside to catch his movements. He moved swiftly
underneath the house, its floor now eight feet above his head.

Earlier in the night, from farther up shore,
he had watched the guards moving boxes from the house into the
black SUV. He could not tell what was in the boxes. He did not know
how much time he had to find out. Now, under the house, he heard
voices overhead, low murmurings, the sounds of agreement and plans
moving ahead.

Andrew figured whatever Hakk had planned it
would be on a big scale, with massive casualties. The Friendship
Bridges had been a major undertaking and it was only luck that so
few people had died. Andrew knew Hakk would not stop there. Now he
would ramp it up. He was showing off his might.

With a shiver, Andrew remembered the man’s
cold stare at the Embassy party, his slightly veiled warning to
Andrew to watch his step, the frisson that flashed through Andrew
as he shook Hakk’s hand. This was a man who preferred darkness to
light. Stasis to change. Death to life.

Walking up the beach to the house, Andrew
didn’t feel the net buried in the sand until it was too late. An
alarm sounded, as a net scooped Andrew up like a fish from the sea.
In two seconds, Andrew was hanging like a warm chunk of meat from a
hook under the house.

Several guards came running and a bright
spotlight shone on Andrew, blinding him.

Strung up, Andrew surveyed the scene. He
faced the dunes behind the house and in the dark, could see the
scrubby brush eking out a life on the sand. Smelling pipe smoke
from behind him, he wormed around in the rough netting to see Hakk
below him staring and puffing on a long thin pipe.

Hakk’s eyes were black, his face a stone. He
watched Andrew for several moments before he spoke.

“You are the catch of the day, Mr. Shaw. I’m
afraid we don’t follow catch and release here. Perhaps we should
gut you and dry you for sale at the Russian Market. What is the
going rate per pound for spies these days?”

“Look, whatever your plan is, you’ll never
get away with it. Your warnings to the embassies have alerted
everyone, as you’d hoped. But we also have your manifesto and we
will stop you,” Andrew said, gripping the rough netting in his
hands.

“Ahh, but you see, Mr. Shaw, you are
mistaken. I have already ‘gotten away with it’. Everything is in
motion. There is no turning back the clock. Everyone will soon feel
the effects of my plan. Even your Veteran friends in the jungle.
Soon they too will be blasted away, vaporized, a distant memory. As
for the rest of the country, I will be their savior. I will rid
them of desire and want. They will return, all of them, to simpler
times, when the outside world was shunned, when fear and hard work
made us strong.”

Andrew shook the net as he spoke. “But why
are you doing this? Your country is peaceful now, prosperous. Why
would you disrupt that?”

Hakk spat on the beach, hissing his words.
“My country is rotted flesh, attracting flies, maggots, vermin –
foreign vultures who come to feed off the innards of the land. My
country is a whore for them, for sale to the highest bidder. A
slave to outsiders. I will free her from the yoke of the
Ch’kai.”

As he listened to Hakk, Andrew pulled a clear
plastic blade off his chest, where it was taped along his last rib.
He palmed this in his hand. Behind his back, he pushed the thin
knife into the chunky twine, moving the serrated blade back and
forth against the rough rope. One piece gave way and he worked on
the second, then the third. In a moment, he was able to reach his
hand out of the net.

Hakk paced the beach, yelling out to his men
in Khmer. Andrew needed more time.

He asked Hakk, “What is your next plan for
the Ch’kai? Perhaps we can settle this another way, come to an
understanding, an arrangement that could benefit you.”

Hakk spat again as he paced, forward and
back. “You have nothing I want, Mr. Shaw. Perhaps you would do
better to focus on your own troubles. You have other worries now.
You and your little friend Severine.” At Severine’s name, Andrew’s
heart sank. How had she gotten involved in this, he wondered.

As Hakk spoke, Andrew cut through several
more rungs of the net and reached out to the metal ring that held
the net together. He felt above and behind him for the metal rung,
for a catch or release. He could not find it, so he reached farther
around the metal hook until. Ahh, there it was. He grasped the
metal release and gave it a hard pull. The net relaxed around him
and he dropped six feet to the ground, landing with a thud on the
soft sand. Gathering the net beneath him in his arms, he leapt at
Hakk, who turned in surprise but not in time. Andrew cast the net
upon him, pinning Hakk to the ground. His pipe fell to the beach
and sizzled in the sand.

“What are the other targets?” Andrew asked.
He held the knife to Hakk’s throat. Hakk stared up at him,
expressionless. He blinked once, twice.

“I don’t know what you speak of. But, please,
continue. Life is so tiresome.” Hakk stared at him, undaunted by
the slim knife that he could feel against his neck.

Andrew shook Hakk’s shoulders. “Tell me your
plan!” Andrew yelled into the night.

Behind him, a metallic sound. Andrew looked
up to see several pistols trained on him. He glanced left and
right. Black-clad guards surrounded him on the beach.

The moon had risen above the horizon and
gentle orange moonlight glowed on the weapons aimed at Andrew’s
head and chest.

Hakk spoke in Khmer, his voice calm and
unhurried. The largest guard stepped close and held out his left
hand.

“Heang would like your weapon.” Hakk
explained. “He enjoys knives. Especially using them on
intruders.”

For an instant, Andrew considered slitting
Hakk’s throat. Just be done with it. Whatever insanity he had
planned would die with him.

But then Andrew would never find out the next
target or targets and would not be able to stop it. Or even to try.
And he himself would be dead the moment after he slit Hakk’s
throat. He resisted the urge to destroy.

Instead, Andrew looked up at Heang, who
smiled at him, and handed Heang the clear knife, blade first.