Spy Mom (14 page)

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. Every time I took a breath my chest hurt.

There was a pause. I could hear Simon sitting up in his bed, probably going to the window to see if anyone was out there on the street spying on him in the dead of a Washington night.

“Kill Blackford, Sally. Close the deal.” I heard a faint buzzing coming down the line indicating that Simon Still had hung up on me.

And sitting there on the floor of my room, I felt very bad about the choices in my life that had led me to this place.

I follow Maria to the laundry room but stay back about ten feet in the hopes that she won't notice I'm there lurking in the shadows. She hums a tune that I can't quite recognize as she opens the dryer, pulling all of the clean clothes into the plastic basket. Suddenly, she gasps.

“Mr. Will do these clothes?” she asks, her back to me, clearly aware of my presence.

Of course Will would not be doing laundry in a washing machine. And he would certainly never turn on a dryer except perhaps if he were held at gunpoint. No, Will would hand wash every item of clothing in a single gallon of cold water using biodegradable soap and, much to the horror of our neighbors, hang everything out on the line to dry. Never mind that the clothes were still covered in chocolate milk stains. It would be energy efficient. I consider letting him take one for the team. But in the end I tell the truth.

“Um, no. It was me.”

“Tsk, tsk, Lucy,” Maria says, wagging a finger at me. “You need pay attention to colors.” To illustrate, she holds up a new pair of Theo's jeans that are now so badly bleached they resemble a 1980s acid-wash disaster.

“White with white. No colors in here. Okay? Okay.”

I stare at my feet like I've been reprimanded by the teacher, which in effect I have. In light of the ruined pants, I cannot figure out why exactly I thought I could protect humanity from itself. Honestly, if you can't do a load of laundry you cannot save the world. It really is that simple.

But at the time I didn't know that. So instead of taking Blackford's advice and calling it a day, I did the next best thing, which was to go and visit Sovann directly. I was sure that if I could convince Sovann not to sell his wares to Blackford, no matter what the silver-tongued ex-spy had promised him, I could stop the chaos on the horizon.

Sovann lived in a huge house, protected by a twenty-five-foot security fence, topped with tightly coiled razor wire. Dogs and armed guards patrolled along the inside perimeter of the fence. From the outside, the place resembled a federal prison. And with good reason. If you wanted something done in Siem Reap, or anywhere in Cambodia really, Sovann was the guy to see. He specialized in illegal weapons, but was only too happy to engage in human trafficking, drugs, and stolen antiquities if given the opportunity. Rangsey cut the bike and we both sat there looking at the compound.

“Big,” Rangsey commented.

“Looks secure,” I added.

“Lots of guards. Carrying guns.”

“Dogs.”

“High-voltage fencing. I think I'll wait here.”

“Who said you were invited anyway?”

Rangsey laughed. “I'll stay right here for you.”

I climbed off the back of the bike.

“Don't wait for me,” I said. “Go home. I could be a while.”

Rangsey shook his head before I'd even finished the sentence. “I'll be right here when you come out.”

“If I come out,” I said, suddenly tired.

“Of course you'll come out. Karma owes you one.”

“How do you figure?” I asked.

Rangsey grinned in the darkness. “You saved me and Ary. Spiritually, that is pretty high up there.”

I thanked him for his positive energy and began my long slog to the fortified gate in the distance. A deafening din rose from the jungle insects, beginning to assemble for the night.

There are a lot of ways to get into someone's house. You can dress all in black, paint your face like a soldier, climb a tree, jump over the fence, and elude the guards and the snarling Dobermans waiting to rip you to pieces on the other side. Then you can shimmy up an outside wall of the house like you're free climbing El Capitan, wiggle through an open window, and fall, if you're lucky, into an empty room. And there you are. Broken and entered.

Or you can crash the gate with your Kevlar reinforced SUV, shoot the guards, and break down the front door. Then you can take hostages and demand information. Less subtle certainly, but in the end no less effective.

Or you can knock and hope the occupant invites you in, which was my choice on this sticky, hot night. I figured Sovann would find it so strange that I'd come right up to his door that he'd let me in simply to satisfy his curiosity.

The guards, of course, held me at gunpoint while they asked Mr. Sovann if he was expecting me. He wasn't but that didn't stop him from opening the gate. One of the guards drove me to the mansion's front door in a golf cart while holding his AK-47 across his lap, barrel casually pointed at my stomach.

Once I was inside, the maid led me to the library. Surrounded by rich cherry paneling and antique oriental rugs, among bookcases holding a multitude of unopened classics with oiled leather covers, sat tiny Sovann. He was dressed up like an English gentleman, relaxing at the country estate the night before the annual foxhunt. Satin smoking jacket, silk ascot, slippers with a Chinese dragon motif. I smiled. I couldn't help it.

“Welcome, Miss Sally Sin!” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I've been expecting you. Please sit down. Make yourself at home. My home is your home.” He puffed deliberately on a cigarette held in a long ivory holder, spinning it ever so slightly between his delicate fingers.

I did as I was told although I wasn't convinced by the “my home is your home” bit.

“I am assuming you are here to see the temples, to take some special time among our beautiful wonders of the world. Perhaps a chance to rekindle your spirit after a trying year?” Sovann's English was formal, the result, I found out later, of a long affair with his private tutor who learned English from old
Masterpiece Theatre
reruns such as
Upstairs, Downstairs
. She obviously enjoyed the upstairs part the best.

“Who doesn't want to see the temples?” I asked. “Why would I come all this way and not see the temples?” Sovann smiled. It was not a warm and fuzzy smile.

“If that were true, I'd be happy to offer you tea and let you be on your way. But …”

“But?”

“I fear that you are not telling me the truth. There is no honor in deception, Sally Sin. I suggest you head back home. The jungle is no place for a nice girl like you.”

Boy, people were really anxious to get me to go home, although I did appreciate that he thought I was nice.

“Who are you selling to?” I asked, starting to sweat a little in the heat of the room.

“See? There you go again. Are you not paying attention?”

“I never was very good at following the rules.”

“Yes, that's what I've been told.” Sovann looked thoughtful, as if trying to figure out how to dispose of me without messing up the carpet. Behind him, mounted above his massive mahogany desk, was a row of surveillance monitors. One of the eyes kept a steady gaze on two armed guards standing outside of what looked like the hulking shadow of a warehouse. Was this where he kept what he was preparing to sell to the Blind Monk? Was I that close?

“Listen,” I said, peeling my eyes from the monitor, “you made a deal with the Blind Monk. If you back out of it, he will kill you. And it won't be pretty or fast. I don't know what Blackford has told you, but none of it is true. He can't protect you from the Blind Monk. He wants what you have stockpiled out there and will say anything to get it. You can't listen to him.”

“Are you giving me career advice?” Sovann asked, breaking into a wormy smile. “How kind.”

Suddenly, I heard a scream. There are many kinds of screams. Those of surprise or shock or terror or hysteria. Or those of pain, excruciating or otherwise. This was one of the latter. The doors of the library flew open and two men entered, dragging a third man between them. The two men standing were Cambodian. The man on the floor was none other than Roger, the scientist who had been out looking for pretty purple flowers.

“Oh shit,” I said. Roger was bloody, although not so much so that he was in danger of anything beyond passing out. His face was bruised, but cautiously. These men had knocked him around but not in any serious life-threatening way. They dropped Roger at my feet. He moaned pathetically. Sovann, still in his chair, examined the both of us.

“It's my day for Europeans, I suppose,” he said.

“I'm not European,” I said.

“What's the difference? You all look alike to me.”

Sovann pointed at the crumpled Roger with his cigarette holder. “This fat man was caught snooping in places he ought not to have been. He's lucky he's still in one piece, being as he won't tell us who he is. Perhaps you can tell me? Is he one of yours?”

“No. He's not mine. He's a scientist.”

With that, Sovann squealed with laughter. “This fat man? A scientist? In the jungle? And pigs will walk!”

“Pigs will fly,” I corrected.

“What about pigs? Oh, never mind. Who cares who he is? My inclination is to kill you both and be done with it. I have things to do other than deal with intruders all day long.”

I didn't think reminding him that he had invited me in would improve things much.

Meanwhile, Roger had pulled himself up to sitting, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes wide at the sight of blood and sweat that appeared there. He leaned heavily on my legs, almost knocking me over backward.

“Hey, down there,” I whispered, “take it easy.”

Finally, Roger looked up, a surprised expression replacing the one of abject fear.

“You? From the train?”

“Yup.”

“I'm confused. You were sightseeing. Temples. Nirvana. That sort of thing.”

“Um, not really.”

“Where am I? Who are these people?”

“Now is not a good time,” I said, gesturing at our grim hosts.

“Right. Of course,” Roger said.

“So before I dispose of the two of you,” Sovann interrupted, “I want you to understand something, Sally. I'm not afraid of the Blind Monk. I'm not afraid of Ian Blackford. This is my country. I own it and I'll do what I want.”

Roger stared at me, eyes huge, lips quivering. I could feel him shaking against my legs.

“These men are not your friends. If you agree to turn yourself over to me, my organization can protect you.”

Sovann snorted at the audacity of my suggestion, accidentally getting smoke up his nose, causing him to lapse into a coughing fit. He turned so red I thought he might actually pass out, which would have improved our situation immensely. But no.

“Why would I ever do that?” Sovann sputtered.

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “But I had to mention it.” My gaze floated up to the ceiling. Constellations, painted in the finest detail, brought the night sky into Sovann's library.

“Must have cost a fortune,” I said quietly. “Beautiful work.”

“Yes, an Italian artist. Enjoys Cambodian boys and working on my ceiling.”

“You didn't need to tell me that,” I said. “Why would you tell me that? Now you've gone and ruined the ceiling for me.”

“Are you stalling, Sally Sin, trying to think of a plan to save yourself and your scientist? Don't think you can use any spy tricks on me, dearie. I'm better than that.”

Before he could properly finish putting me in my place, I heard a loud pop. A split second later, the huge picture window behind Sovann's throne exploded. I threw myself over Roger, hiding my face and closing my eyes. Sovann shrieked. It sounded like a small animal caught in a trap. The glass rained down on us. I felt a shard slice my exposed arm, the warm blood running down toward my wrist. Sovann continued to scream. His soldiers, still huddled near the floor, hands protecting their heads, made no move to save the general.

I shook the glass off me like a wet dog after a swim. Pulling Roger to his feet, I made sure he had on shoes and I shoved him forward, toward the broken window.

“Go! Now.”

“What? What's happening?” Roger was confused, shocked, but did what I said. The glass crunched under our feet.

“Stop them!” Sovann howled.

I heard another pop.

“Down!” I shouted. Roger fell to the floor, covering his head and face as best he could. The second picture window exploded. More screaming from Sovann.

“Shit!” No time to wait. We were going to resemble colanders by the time we made it out of here.

“Up. Now.” I shoved Roger toward the gaping holes, ragged as shark's teeth. And before he could consider alternatives, I pushed him out of the second-story window. I knew there was a lush tropical garden bed under there. Maybe our luck would change and we'd land on it. I heard Roger hit the ground with a sickening thud. Or maybe not. I jumped. I figured we had about ten seconds before the guards would come bursting out of the house, spraying bullets like water from a fire hose.

The landing was not soft. My skin was slick with sweat and blood. Roger lay still among the sweet-smelling frangipani. But I could hear him breathing, so all was not lost. About fifty feet to our left, beyond Sovann's exquisitely manicured gardens and lawns, was the jungle. Like at the temples, it was simply biding its time until it could once again consume all these pathetic attempts at civilization. Now, the jungle at night was about as appealing as an evening swim from Gansbaai Beach with one of your legs cut off, but it wasn't as if we had much choice.

“Get up. Time to go,” I said. “Or die here in a bed of lovely tropical flowers.”

A small voice came up from the heap that was Roger. “I'm considering all options.”