Cole hadn’t wanted to talk about what he was doing, but Boom was convinced he was right anyway — and on the long drive down Route 214, across the Thai border before continuing south on National Highway 68 and — as the huge red sun had rapidly descended past the horizon to leave a land of dark shadows in its wake — south-east on NH6, Cole had done nothing to dissuade him.
Boom told him that the arms market was held after sundown on an almost daily basis, and was tolerated by the local government due to large bribes and — when they failed to work — violent threats. The only time the market was cancelled was on religious festivals, or if the central government was taking an interest — which it did, if only periodically. Luckily for the gun-runners, they were warned well in advance of any raids.
People came to the Angkor Wat gun market from all over Southeast Asia — often dealers themselves, from smaller concerns — and the military wares they had on display rivalled anything seen at an American or Middle East small arms expo.
Boom also explained that the dozens of temporary stalls that made up the physical market were only half the story; they were the shop front for Cambodian arms dealers, so that they could forge and cement relationships that could then generate real money — more advanced military equipment, and even vehicles. Sales of fighter planes had even been made as a result of friendships made at the market, deals worth millions of dollars; or so legend had it.
Cole would have ordinarily liked to spend some considerable time on reconnaissance, building up a picture of the area, planning the operation carefully and rehearsing his every action. But unfortunately, as he was all too aware, the clock was ticking. He needed to get information about Liang Kebangkitan, and he needed to get it as fast as possible.
And with the good-natured Boom in the car with him, it seemed almost natural to throw caution to the wind. And so after driving through the colorful Colonial town of Siem Reap, the took a left at the Royal Gardens before the river and headed back north on Charles De Gaulle.
The ancient temples of Angkor Wat were only three miles away now, and the decidedly more modern small arms market would be right next door.
Although Cole had spent a lot of time in this part of the world over the years, he had never been to this northern part of Cambodia. Angkor might have been the country’s premier tourist attraction, but he had never been here as a tourist.
And on reflection, this time was no different.
As he drove north along the illuminated streets, Cole saw a pagoda to one side of the road; next to it was a small shrine filled with human skulls, piled chest high, one on top of the other.
‘Wat Thmei,’ Boom told him. ‘Memorial for Khmer killing fields.’
Cole nodded his head in understanding. The history of Cambodia was a sad one, filled with repression and genocidal violence.
A troubled nation since its sacking by Thailand in the fifteenth century, more recent damage came with the violent protests against French colonial rule during the 1960s and ‘70s, which eventually led to civil war and the rise to power of the Khmer Rouge in 1975.
What followed under the psychotic leadership of Pol Pot were the mass killings of over two million Cambodians. People were killed for the slightest reason — for not working hard enough, for being too clever, for being too weak; and many more died from starvation and illness. Most were buried in mass graves and quickly-dug trenches. Even now, skeletal remains were still being found all over the country.
The regime was as short as it was brutal, only lasting until 1979 when Vietnam moved in to run the country; an unsatisfactory state of affairs which lasted until 1993, when the King’s power was restored and an elected government was finally established.
But the remnants of its violent past remained, the nation awash with weapons from less happy times.
Through the inky dark of night, Cole could make out moonlight reflecting off the wide moat of the Angkor Wat complex ahead of him, ancient walls on the other side hinting at the exotic architectural marvels beyond. He saw signs telling him to follow the road west to the main entrance, but Boom shook his head.
‘We go right at moat,’ he said confidently.
Cole did as he was told, sweeping away from the light evening traffic, the shadowy green waters of the moat now to his left. Not far ahead, the road turned with the moat at a right angle, and Cole followed it so that he was again driving north, slowly now.
The eastern entrance was right up ahead, but again Boom shook his head. ‘Take road right,’ he ordered, ‘away from temple.’
Again Cole did as instructed, following the road east as it passed through the thick vegetation of the looming jungle.
‘Keep going,’ Boom urged. They passed a turnoff to the right, and then they were the only cars left on the narrow, dark road.
‘We’re looking for a road on left, after we pass river,’ Boom informed him.
Moments later, the car passed over the Siem Reap River which flowed beneath the bumpy road, and Boom was craning his head out of the car, straining to find the turnoff, tall trees blocking out the light from the moon and stars.
Cole was looking hard too, but could see nothing.
‘Turn here!’ Boom shouted suddenly. ‘Left! Left!’
Cole was caught by surprise; there seemed to be no road here at all. But still he followed Boom’s directions, and turned the wheel, edging slowly into the dense black jungle, the huge hood of the 4x4 pushing past rubber plants and banana trees.
‘Boom,’ Cole said as he maneuvered the big car carefully through the undergrowth, ‘if this is what you call a road, then I’d hate to see a dirt track round here.’
‘Hey Mr. Holmes,’ Boom shot back, ‘dealers come down here with trucks, yeah? Great big damn trucks!’
Fine, Cole thought. Fine. If this is it, then this is it.
And eventually, the jungle did open out into some semblance of a road — not paved, of course, but still better than the first few painful minutes.
Then suddenly, right up ahead, Cole could see more vehicles, lots of them; it was a veritable parking lot of battered jeeps, trucks and 4x4s hidden in the jungle just minutes away from Cambodia’s most popular tourist attractions.
‘This is it,’ Boom said. ‘We park car here, yes? Then you walk the rest.’
‘And you?’
‘I will point out the man, right? But I no want be seen with you, in case something bad happen, yeah? I just speak to some of the other dealers, maybe buy myself some guns, okay? If you make mistake, maybe you destroy my business, got it?’
Cole sat in the damp heat of the car, no relieving breeze in the dark, thick jungle, thinking. If he let Boom go, would he warn the dealer? Boom was all-too aware that Cole knew where he lived; if the dealer was warned, and Cole survived, Boom would have to know that Cole would come for him.
‘You wondering if you can trust me, yeah?’ Boom asked. ‘What other choice you have? You no idea what this man even look like! And I like this game, I help you find pirates, remember? Like Holmes and Watson?’
Cole nodded his head. ‘Okay then,’ he said as he rolled the car to a stop behind a big army truck, reversing back in so he could escape quickly if he had to. He could see that Boom already had his head down, so nobody would see that he’d arrived in Cole’s 4x4.
‘You’re going to start giving me a complex,’ Cole said. ‘Make me think I’m not popular.’
‘Man,’ Boom said from the foot well, ‘asking questions round here gonna make you about as popular as Pol Pot, you know?’
Cole pulled a canvas hold-all over from the backseats and unzipped it, examined the contents and gave Boom a grim smile. The old Thai gun dealer was right, of course; which was exactly why Cole had brought along a little insurance policy from the man’s garden shed.