The Brittle Limit, a Novel (16 page)

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was
only 10:00 PM. The ship with his cargo was due at 1:00 PM the next
day. Plenty of time to party.

He called his buddy Neam, who was sitting
home getting high. Sun said he’d had a windfall, to come meet him
out. Neam worked the docks but spent most of his spare time
smoking.

They went to a hostess bar right on the
beach, where it was mostly expats and the ladies were better
looking. They were also more expensive and a bit uppity, Sun had
thought. But they had started to cooperate when he’d flashed a few
fifties. He’d felt like a big man.

And man, had they had a good time. A very
good time. He didn’t know how many drinks he’d bought and he’d paid
for Neam’s too. And the women, so many women, his dick actually
hurt. They’d been up all night, until the cops kicked them off the
beach.

Now he was late for the pickup. He’d
overslept and arrived forty-five minutes late for the ship, which
loomed large and gray along the busy waterfront. Colorful shipping
containers were stacked five and six high all throughout the lot,
most filled with clothing to be shipped and sold overseas.

In his truck, Sun spotted his contact,
wearing a krama that concealed most of his face. The contact stood
next to a tall blue plastic barrel by a stack of three orange
shipping containers. With the contact’s help, Sun loaded the barrel
onto the truck and was on his way.

He still had plenty of time to get to Siem
Reap. Easy money.

*******

The song on the radio changed as the truck
hit a rut. These muddy roads were shit after the rains. Sun dropped
his beer can as the truck jostled through the massive pothole.
Angkor Beer spilled on the passenger’s side, staining the well-worn
mat.

Sun glanced down at the beer on the floor and
back at the road. That was his last beer for the ride. He’d drunk
the five others already and there would not be any more stops. He
glanced once more at the road and then reached down with his right
hand to pick up the can before it all spilled out.

As Sun leaned over to retrieve the beer, the
view through the windshield changed. A sharp curve, just outside
the reach of the high beams, appeared ahead. Sun, head just below
the dashboard, fumbled for his last can, which slipped again out of
his wet hands. Sun did not see the fast-approaching sharp curve,
though he did manage to get his hands on the half-full beer can. As
he sat up, lifting the beer to his lips, Sun felt the truck go
airborne.

Sun looked up in time to see the truck
heading straight, where the road veered left. In this part of the
jungle, the road was built high on a berm, to protect it from
flooding in the rainy season. The forest floor was ten feet below
the road.

The truck shot right over the edge, flew
through the air for what felt like a long time but was in fact only
seconds, crashing through small trees and shrubs as it hit the
ground hard and tipped halfway over on its side.

Sun hit his head on the front windshield,
cracking the glass and then as the truck tilted sideways, the left
side of his head took a hard hit. Although the first hit hadn’t
caused too much damage, the second one did, knocking Sun out. A
nasty gash on Sun’s temple began to bleed profusely. He would not
wake up again; he would not collect two thousand dollars.

In the back of the truck, the frayed rope,
which had spent the better part of its life on a fishing boat and
had seen its share of salt water, broke and the cargo it had held
in place rolled free, coming to rest heavily against the back
door.

As the truck settled into its small crater,
with one last shift to the left, the back door flung open and the
cargo rolled out. It rolled down the embankment, coming to rest in
a sea of green ferns, with a small, almost inaudible clink, against
a thin shiny piece of metal connected to a decades-old, but still
functional landmine.

Around the truck, the trees and leaves
rustled from the disturbance. After a few minutes, stillness
returned to the jungle. The dark was lit by the flickering yellow
headlights, which would last for the remaining few hours of night,
growing dim just in time for the dawn.

Part 3

Chapter 19

Andrew watched the helicopter pilot ready for
flight. He was young, 28 or 29, but with enough experience, Andrew
hoped, to get them out there in one piece.

The late afternoon sky was clear, good for
flying, with wispy cirrus clouds and the occasional jet trail from
flights heading west.

The rotor turned, casting slow shadows on the
tarmac. The shadows picked up speed with each successive revolution
until Andrew could feel the upward motion as the helicopter lifted
off the ground. Andrew was himself a skilled pilot and loved the
sensation of being airborne, on the move.

As the helicopter lifted off, leaving only
flurries of dust behind, the pilot handed Andrew a headset,
indicating with his hands that Andrew should put it on. Andrew did
as instructed, adjusting the earpieces and putting the mic into
position.

The helicopter swept out across town, over
landmarks, some of which Andrew recognized. Below was the yellow
dome of the Central Market, where the bus had dropped him. It
seemed like weeks ago but had only been a few days. He looked to
his left. There, below them, refreshing and green, was Wat
Phnom.

“It’s man-made you know,” the pilot
explained, glancing at Andrew, as they swooped away from the Mekong
to points east. “The Hill.”

Andrew shook his head, watching the green
hill disappear behind them. He had not known.

Blades whirring overhead and a wind from the
west, they quickly left Phnom Penh behind. Out the window, the
scenery below turned to peasant farms, rice paddies, and dirt
roads. Andrew watched the fields of golden grasses sway below them,
heavy with crop, ready for harvest. He saw a farmer and his family
at work in a field, grasping at tall stalks and slicing, grasp and
slice. At the field's edge, bunches of cut stalks lay tied and
stacked, ready for husking. The family stopped their work, looking
up as the helicopter flew overhead. A small boy waved.

The province of Mondulkiri was 120 miles
northeast of Phnom Penh. From the coordinates on Ben’s map, the
same ones as on the Ministry report, Andrew had picked a drop off
point. From there he would trek in to the explosion site. He had
borrowed some of Ben’s personal protection equipment; Severine had
insisted.

Andrew watched out the window as the green
jungle stretched for miles in every direction, interrupted only
occasionally by a meandering river. The tall trees stretched
skyward, basking in the late-day sun. After a while, the terrain
started to roll with hills.

Andrew looked at the map, his destination
marked with a red 'X'.

They’d been flying for 45 minutes. Jungle
stretched below them. “We must be getting close.”

“Yup. I’m gonna get you as close as I can to
where you want, but it kinda depends on the roads. I have to find
somewhere wide and flat, and after these rains, I dunno what it's
like out here. The mud gets churned up. Sometimes the bikers get
out there too and really tear things up.”

They descended until they were flying
directly over the trees. The skilled pilot lifted and dropped the
helicopter with the changing terrain, keeping them always at a safe
distance from disaster.

Andrew looked out the window down at the vast
green jungle. He could not see into the forest, nothing beyond the
wide leaves that hid the forest floor below.

A wide dirt road appeared in front of them,
cutting through the jungle. The pilot turned and followed it for a
minute, looking for a smooth place to set down.

“This is your road, buddy. We’re about ten
miles from the coordinates you gave me. I’m gonna swing in as close
as I can to there. But with the road conditions, I’ve gotta take
what I can. Have a look.”

Andrew stared down at the muddy road. Huge
ruts and minor mudslides made it look impassable in certain places.
Trees had fallen where the ground was so water logged it could not
hold the tree upright.

“It works, thanks.”

The helicopter swooped low over a smooth
patch of road and hovered a few feet above the ground. Andrew
pushed open the door and hopped out with his equipment in hand. He
looked back in at the pilot.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Any idea when you might want to
head back?” the pilot asked.

Andrew shook his head.

“You’re on your own then. Logging trucks come
through here sometimes, they’ll pick you up, take you into town.
Take it easy, man.”

Andrew gave a wave but the pilot, focused
skyward, did not reciprocate. The helicopter lifted off and in
seconds was gone, leaving only the darkening sky overhead.

Andrew got a location from his sat nav and
marked this on the map. With his bearings, he headed south, his
pack and gear slung over his shoulder. The sun was setting. He had
enough food for three days, should he need it, rope, water
purification and a tent. And a gun, if that too might be
required.

*******

He’d walked five miles down the road, shining
his high-powered flashlight along the forest edge, when he caught
the barest outline of a trail, where the dense brush showed
evidence of a large blade. Andrew pushed his way through the brush.
This was a trail. It must be Ben’s trail in.

Severine had said they'd walked for over an
hour from the road before they found the pool. Andrew drank from
his water bottle, wiped his brow with a dark kerchief, then pushed
ahead.

High in the trees, a bird screeched, unhappy
with the intruder in her midst.

*******

The terrain rolled. Among the hills, small
streams bubbled by, the rocks slippery with moss. Andrew slipped a
few times as he crossed the streams and wondered if he had climbed
and descended this same hill already but his satellite reading said
he was making forward progress.

Crouching down to retie an errant bootlace,
Andrew felt the vibration through his feet. It was barely
noticeable. Andrew placed both hands flat on the ground. There it
was, a vibration, distant but stronger than it had been only a
moment before.

He heard them before he saw them: Two young
elephants galloping through the forest along the rough-hewn trail.
A mother had to be close behind, these calves were too young to be
alone. Andrew scrambled out of the way, swinging himself up into a
sturdy tree. As he climbed, he plowed through thick spider webs,
the silvery fronds clinging to him, veiling him in whispery
threads.

Sure enough, the mother elephant lumbered
behind them, her gray bulk swaying this way and that. Her children
squealed with delight at the mother’s arrival.

Andrew watched her follow the calves as they
wreaked havoc on the brush. They disappeared and all was quiet.

From his position high in the tree, Andrew
had a different view of the jungle than from the forest floor. What
he had thought was the valley floor, where he’d been walking, he
could now see was not. The trail he'd been on did not allow him to
see that the thick grove of trees hid a second valley below. He
pulled out his sat nav and took another reading, comparing it to
Ben’s notes. He was closer than he’d realized. He unfolded a map,
holding a slim flashlight in his mouth, and marked his
location.

A gunshot blasted in the distance, the sound
echoing in the valley below. Poachers were common in the provinces,
Andrew had heard.

The gunshot sounded again. It was not far
off.

Andrew listened for movement but heard none.
The gunshot had come from that valley below. He climbed down from
the tree and moved along the trail, keeping low and quiet. After
five minutes, he heard a third shot. He had closed the distance by
half, and this shot was louder, easier for him to pinpoint. He
adjusted his direction and headed north.

In a short time, Andrew heard male voices
somewhere ahead. From their tones it sounded like an argument. The
men spoke in Khmer. Andrew slowed his pace as he approached the
voices.

Ahead, he saw a tall bamboo fence, eight feet
high. Inside the fence, the men were still arguing. Andrew backed
away and climbed a nearby tree, for a view of what lay behind the
fence.

Looking down from the tree, Andrew gauged the
compound was about half of a football field long, with ten or
eleven thatch huts set up in two rows. And men. Several men walking
about.

“An empty camp,” Ben’s report had noted. Only
it wasn’t empty now.

In the camp’s torchlight, Andrew saw three
corpses laying face down on the ground, wearing blindfolds. They
had been shot at point blank range.

A guard in front of one of the huts blew a
whistle and scores of men emerged from the huts. They were dressed
in black, their uniforms making them indistinguishable. The whistle
blew again and the men scrambled into a line in front of the guard.
The guard proceeded to hand each man a square box.

Andrew shifted his gaze to the large hut
closest to him, where two men walked now, deep in discussion. One
of the men Andrew had never seen before. But the other man, Andrew
knew from somewhere. He sifted mentally through who he had met in
the past few days. Then he remembered. The embassy party.

The man Andrew watched walk across the
compound was one of Hakk’s bodyguards from the party, the one Hakk
had called ‘Rith’.

Andrew had to get into the compound. He would
wait. He wedged himself into the crook of the tree.

*******

As he waited, Andrew heard talking and
smelled meat cooked on open fires. After some time, the men retired
to their huts, where lights were lit. Eventually, these lights were
extinguished and all grew still.