Intent to Kill Page 22

  “We need to get the hell out of here.” There was an edge to Simon’s voice as he looked back at Arun. “Before we’re caught in the middle. The police can handle the rest.”

  Claire turned around. “C’mon, Bourey. You too.”

  The peel of the ferry’s air horn bit through the night air.

  Their feet pounded on the worn wooden planks. They reached the end of the dock. The ferry had already backed away from the dock and seemed impossibly far but was only a mere three feet from her. Simon let go of her hand.

  “Don’t think, jump, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

  He’d seen the fear on her face, she realized, and sucked in a deep breath and jumped onto the ferry’s deck. She landed, stumbled and righted herself quickly.

  And as everyone made the jump safely, the engine noise shifted and the ferry headed for open water.

  The ferry rocked and the deck shifted. Claire slid sideways before catching herself. The ferry began to slow, and its engines chugged loudly as it began to make a long, sweeping turn.

  “What the hell?” Arun rose to his feet.

  “It’s okay,” Vanna said. “He’s not going back. He’s not going to Phnom Penh.”

  “The Siem Reap police should be moving in.” Claire glanced at her watch. “Right about now.”

  Simon turned to look at her full-on. “I don’t know where to start, or for that matter, what to ask.”

  “I’m sorry, Simon. Thank God you and Arun were on things.” Claire bit her lip. “Without you, we might be dead.”

  “Appears we underestimated you. Siem Reap must be scratching their heads,” Arun said. “What do you mean?” It was Claire’s turn to frown.

  “I reported what I knew early this morning,” Arun said to Claire. “How did you know when we only just found out?”

  “It’s a long story.” Claire hesitated. “Did you know that Chan was in on it?”

  “Damn it, Claire!” Simon snapped. “You could have been killed.”

  “Give her some credit, my man. She’s done us a favor or two. It’s not like we pieced it all together,” Arun said. “Continue with your story,” he encouraged. “Curiosity could kill me and the cat.” He was the only one that chuckled at the twist to a tired cliché.

  Vanna sat down on the other side of Claire. “Between what both Tevvy and Soheap told us.”

  “And Jack,” Claire admitted with a look of chagrin at Simon.

  “Your Uncle Jack?” Simon asked with disbelief in his voice.

  “The same,” she confirmed. “Jack filled in some gaps. But it seems Soheap knew Chan and Samnang from way back too, and even though they weren’t close anymore, they had acquaintances in common.”

  “Heard it through the grapevine,” Arun suggested.

  “Exactly,” Claire said. “Chan decided to fast-track his retirement, cashing in on Samnang’s big antiquities deal. Trouble was, he involved some junior members of the police force and they got scared.”

  “Tevvy told me everything he knew. Sang like a canary,” Vanna said.

  “Sang like a canary.” Arun repeated the words with a reverent caress.

  “Don’t even think about adding that to your repertoire,” Vanna demanded.

  “Meanwhile, Richard and Ella were in Samnang’s employ until they found it was more lucrative to double-cross him.” Claire leaned back. “But Samnang caught on ahead of time and was going to use their plot to ensure the cross fire between two buyers took out as many as possible. He’s in the end zone—Jack’s words, not mine—so for him, neither the fatality count nor the fate of the antiquities was a big concern.”

  Claire grasped the wooden seat as the ferry rocked and they all leaned in to each other. “What neither of you counted on was Chan’s involvement.”

  “Not true,” Arun said. “Central Bureau notified us. It was quite an intricate plot really. What we didn’t factor in was Samnang’s final choreography. One group pitted against another.” Arun grimaced.

  “You were talking about Chan’s backup only this morning,” Bourey accused.

  Simon shrugged. “If you’re going to spy you need to learn how to conceal yourself.”

  Arun laughed. “In other words, we made up what we thought you should hear. However, if we’d known of the girls’ involvement . . .”

  “It would have been different,” Simon said.

  No one spoke for the remainder of the return trip. Each was caught in their own thoughts. As the ferry bumped against the dock, they leapt off before the ferry was berthed.

  Nothing changes, Claire thought, and she hesitated before taking the hand Simon offered. Nothing changes, and because of that tonight has changed it all.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  “Well, that’s it,” Simon said as the interview with the Siem Reap police chief concluded.

  Chief Shakara reached across and shook each of their hands. “It was a pleasure. I can’t thank you enough.” He looked at Simon. “It was close. The civilians were a necessary complication.”

  “Yes, they unfortunately were,” Simon agreed, meeting Claire’s look. “They were our early warning. They gave Siem Reap advance notice on a few issues—including the fact that there was more than one buyer. The shipment was just too valuable and Samnang too ill for there not to be someone thinking they could take advantage, a member of his cartel, I mean. We just never anticipated that the chief of police would be involved in antiquities smuggling.” He shook his head.

  “Well, fortunately that’s all been wrapped up. We arrived after you left and were able to make some arrests.” Chief Shakara looked down at his splayed hands. “A few casualties, but fortunately none of ours.”

  The Phnom Penh assistant chief looked pained. “I can’t believe that Chan was involved to that extent. All along I thought we had it under control and all along we were part of the problem.” He glanced at Claire. “How did you know so much?”

  Everyone’s attention went to Claire.

  “It was Simon’s friend Soheap who told us. Without him, I might never have known. In fact, under other circumstances it would have been Simon he would have told.”

  “I was in a rush to get back,” Simon said.

  “And then to get me out of there,” she agreed. “As it was, Vanna was able to confirm it all by working her wiles with a Phnom Penh officer.” Claire nodded at her friend.

  “Just someone I used to date,” Vanna said with a look to Arun.

  “And who was involved and wanted out—badly.” Claire smiled. “I promised him redemption in a story about the whole event.”

  “Certainly be some leniency in the fact that he came forward when he did,” Simon put in with a nod at the police chief.

  “Claire got in touch with Soheap again, and based on what we already knew he was able to put out some feelers,” Vanna put in.

  “So, tell them how you found out the rest,” Vanna prodded.

  Simon eyed her speculatively.

  “Actually my Uncle Jack was able to reach some old contacts and called in some favors. I think that’s why Soheap told me what he did,” Claire admitted. “But then I already told you some of that.”

  “You could have been killed.” Simon looked pained.

  “There was no other choice. I knew what you were up to, Simon, and I had this bad feeling.”

  “So you arrived unarmed to save the day. Don’t ever do that again,” he growled.

  “An order.” Vanna laughed. “I do love a strong man.”

  “Do you, love?” Arun asked softly.

  The Siem Reap police chief turned to Claire. “Excellent work.” He looked at Simon. “Without both your reports this would have been a disaster.”

  Simon nodded, looking with regret at Claire. “We only realized what you were up to at the last minute.”

  “Thank God we did,” Arun added. “Until Siem Reap was mobilized there was a good chance that Samnang would have won and there would have been a bloodbath.”

  Claire noticed that he
had a jacket thrown over his shoulders and he was looking pale. She wasn’t sure where he had gotten the jacket or why he needed it. The night was warm and balmy.

  Chief Shakara held out his hand, shaking hands all around again. “Thanks to you our officers were able to move in, make a few arrests and prevent any further bloodshed.” He grimaced. “Although a good number of Burmese got away before we could intercept them.” He flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles. “We have saved a large part of Cambodia’s heritage this night. I am honored to have worked with you.”

  His telephone rang. “Excuse me, I must take that.”

  Simon stood up, leading the way out of the office.

  “I can’t believe you could have died tonight,” Simon gritted as they walked, Arun and Vanna far ahead of them. “What were you thinking?”

  “Simon, there’s nothing else to say.”

  He took her arm, staying her with a gentle touch. “Look, Claire. I appreciate what you’ve done. And truly, we couldn’t have done it without you.” He pushed back a shock of dark hair. “But, my God, Claire, you could have been killed.”

  “I know. It was an outrageous thing to do.” She shook her head.

  “And?” There was regret in his voice.

  “Now it’s time for me to go home.”

  “Home? What about us?” His voice was rough.

  Claire rose on tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek, pulling away before he could draw her to him. “It was a holiday romance, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You’re wrong, Claire.”

  “I’m sorry, Simon.” Her heart beat almost painfully. “We’re too different. It would only be a matter of time before neither of us is happy.”

  “Claire . . .”

  “No, Simon. It won’t work. Not without trust. And we’ve already proved that neither one of us trusts the other.”

  “Damn it, Claire. I don’t know what to tell you, what you want to hear.” He wiped a strand of hair back with the flat of his hand.

  “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not what I want to hear.” She shook her head. “It’s over.”

  “All right. Whatever you want,” he said without a hint of inflection in his voice.

  • • •

  It was only later, after she left him, that she opened the envelope that Soheap had given her and read with shaking hands what Simon had done for her. In that envelope was every detail of the background from the moment he met Arun, Akara’s death, and everything that had happened that wasn’t classified. Instinctively she knew that he had arranged for her to have it in case the worst had happened. A tear fell as she thought what the worst would be, of losing him. He’d given her the background information for a story that he knew meant everything to her. It was the greatest gift anyone had ever given her and it was all the trust she had ever wanted.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Death would be a relief.

  Samnang set the tumbler of scotch down.

  It had been an arduous night. Hours ago he had fled from the scene of what was to have been the high point of his career. At the last minute he’d ordered the driver of his boat to swing about. It was the extra motorboat with its sleek and gleaming black hull slipping into the dock that had alerted him. While it was unmarked, he had seen it before and he was sure that it belonged to law enforcement. That combined with the fact that he’d heard nothing from either Ella or Richard, had his intuition in overdrive.

  There was nothing left for him. He’d heard what had happened, of the arrests and of the deaths. They would come after him next. It was only a matter of time. He hadn’t made it difficult for them. He was still in Siem Reap, albeit in a different hotel. But it didn’t matter whether or not they found him.

  He glanced at the syringe that was ready with enough opiate to deliver the high he’d briefly enjoy before death claimed him. Already a message was in transit with his instructions that would exact revenge on Jack—including, as he’d promised Jack, the either-or clause.

  He picked up the phone, his fingers heavy and thick. The pain of moving at all almost numbed his heated flesh. He leaned forward, his fingers clumsy, and knocked the syringe. It flew off the table and out of reach.

  “Fuck!” It was his last dose. What little that remained he had planted where it counted, in Trent’s room.

  He hit the last number as he struggled to rise from the chair. He clutched its arm, the pain taking the strength from him. He sank back down while speaking in rapid-fire Khmer and telling the person at the other end what needed to be said.

  The phone went dead.

  “Having trouble?” The voice was cool, almost amused, and it startled him.

  “Trent.” Surprise shadowed the word. Simon stood in the room with a telephone jack in his hand and a grim expression on his face. The door was ajar behind him. Briefly Samnang puzzled how he might have gotten in or even why he hadn’t heard him.

  Damn, he thought. The pain was making him slow. He hadn’t expected this. His gaze went to the dresser, where his handgun lay out of reach next to the picture of Siobhan. He pulled in a deep regretful breath, not so much because he had no weapon handy but at the thought of his daughter and that it would all soon be over.

  “I suppose that was the call that would have me behind bars?” Simon asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. You’ve been a challenging foe,” he said. “But in the end, I will win.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Simon’s lips were a rock-hard line and his eyes narrowed. “But all of that is nothing. What you won’t do is exact any revenge through Claire Linton.”

  “Really?”

  Simon strode further into the room. “Touch her again and I will make your life even more of a living hell right through to your last painful breath.”

  “I suspect you will do that anyway.”

  “Without the opiate.”

  “It would take more than mere threats to stop me. Jack, fucking Lin, whatever he’s calling himself . . .” Samnang snarled. “I would suffer anything to get back at him.”

  “You bloody bastard!” Simon’s hand closed around his throat. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

  Samnang gasped, waiting for blissful death. Instead, Simon let go.

  Samnang fell back.

  Simon bent down and picked up the syringe.

  “I’ll tell you,” Samnang gasped as he saw his final relief in the hands of his enemy. “There’s nothing you can do, Trent. I issued the hit—Claire Linton will die and the only thing that will save her is if her uncle dies violently first.”

  He released his breath as Simon dropped the syringe. The plastic smacked against the tile floor. Simon kicked it and it skidded a few feet away, the metal needle glinting dully under the protective plastic cap.

  “Heroin?” he asked calmly, as if Samnang had only spoken of the weather.

  Samnang nodded uneasily.

  “I expect that’s what you’re framing me with.”

  Samnang nodded again. This was not the Trent he knew. This man was too calm, too calculating.

  “Well, I’m not the only one who’s going to rot in a fucking jail.” Simon smiled, a smile that was really no smile at all, and for the first time in his life Samnang felt he’d been well and truly matched.

  “You’ve screwed me, Trent.” For a minute he considered offering to stop the hit but hate rose like black bile, threatening to choke his breath at the thought of Jack getting away with anything. “Won’t you reconsider? We could both . . .”

  “Slip easily off the hook?” Simon laughed, deep, guttural and without humor. His gaze swept the room and fell on the gun. He took it off the dresser and his eyes rested for a moment on the picture. He swung back and looked at Samnang. “Interesting,” he said as he tucked the gun between his shirt and waistband. “I can’t picture you a father.”

  “Neither could her mother,” he said dryly.

  Simon looked at the syringe on the floor, his brow furrowing. “That’s a
lot of heroin. You planning to exit before the game is over?”

  Samnang said nothing. He couldn’t, the pain was rocking through him once again.

  “I can see why you made that choice over ending it with a shot to the head. You’re never sure how that will turn out,” Simon drawled.

  “True,” Samnang said, eyeing the full syringe. He considered trying to get it but the pain was too much.

  “It’s over, Samnang. The authorities will be here shortly.” Simon’s gaze swept over Samnang like he didn’t quite know what to make of him.

  “The authorities.” For a moment, he felt rather disconcerted. His thoughts were momentarily fogged.

  “To arrest you. There’s no time to escape.”

  “Kill me.” He hated the desperation he could hear in his voice.

  “On another day you couldn’t have stopped me. Not today.”

  Simon’s gaze went back to the syringe. “You’ll die as you made others live. Painfully.” Simon walked over, reached down and picked up the syringe, and snapped it—the heroin drained to the floor. He turned and left, the door closing behind him with a decisive click.

  “Bastard!” Samnang roared, too weak to do anything but watch. It was over and it wasn’t ending at all like he’d planned.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  One of the country’s most notorious gangs of antiquity smugglers imploded last night when Interpol agents cracked down on a scheme that threatened the most valuable shipment of antiquities in recent history. In a plot that crossed international borders and threatened the very heart of the country, antiquities were to be taken from Cambodia through Burma and targeted from there throughout the world. The cartel has been draining antiquities from Cambodia for years but the man at its heart, a man who goes only by the name of Samnang, has been arrested. And a strange twist to this tale was the involvement of Phnom Penh’s chief of police, who has since been arrested. It is said to have been a plot that laid its roots in the very heart of the Khmer Rouge.