Khat seemed to remember it was about fifty yards.
He tried to forget the terrified screams that accompanied that data, however.
If it helped him make a sale, he’d found he could forget anything.
But right now, as pain raced through his battered body, he was unable to forget one terrifying fact — that he was a rat caught in a dangerous trap.
Cole could hear the shouts as the gun dealers reached the bank of the moat, knew that they’d be able to see him silhouetted by the moon.
He felt the slaps of water near him before he heard the shots themselves, high-velocity rounds fired towards him.
He dove instantly, at once completely immersed in the inky black of the ancient moat’s murky waters.
He swam swiftly down to three feet, knowing he would be completely safe at that depth, bullets and shotgun shells unable to penetrate any further and still do damage.
He didn’t know what the water would do to his own weapons, but was willing to lose them; better to reach the far bank unarmed than to be shot on the surface trying to keep them dry.
He swam through the slimy black water with long, powerful strokes, his body used to such tasks and able to perform them with ruthless efficiency, and soon reached the far bank.
He was glad to drag his body out of the water — if the men had thought to throw grenades into the moat, the shockwaves might well have killed him. But now he was on land, he was too far for someone to throw a grenade anyway. Unless the men had grenade launchers, on the other hand, which they might –
He saw the flash of light and heard a low, deep thump he recognized all too well as the sound of a Mk 19 40mm grenade launcher.
Damn.
In an instant, Cole turned and leapt into the thick jungle foliage just as the grenade landed, exploding in a violent arc of flame and shrapnel.
The leaves and dense shrubbery protected Cole from the shrapnel and the worst effects of the blast, but then he heard the roar of automatic small arms fire, the launch of grenades; and felt the passage of hot air as bullets whizzed past him, tearing away at leaves and chipping through tree trunks, concussive blasts from more grenades erupting all around him.
And then he could hear the high-pitched scream of a General Electric XM214 Minigun, the whine from its electric motor instantly recognizable as it spewed lethal 7.62mm rounds into the jungle foliage at up to 10,000 rounds a minute. The gun was supposed to be fitted to helicopters and light aircraft, and Cole wondered how the hell his pursuers had managed to haul one through the undergrowth.
But it was there now, and the power of the weapon tore the jungle apart around him.
Staggering, his head reeling from the pressure of the explosives, Cole fell through the damaged tree line, escape his only thought.
And even over the sound of the Minigun’s motor and its continuous supersonic chattering, Cole was sure he could hear the men on the far bank laughing.
9
Cole’s mouth dropped open as he burst out of a line of trees into a clearing, waterlogged shotgun still leading the way.
Through a thin line of trees, Cole had been confronted by an ancient wall, its archaic, sculpted stonework previously hidden in the darkness. The laterite walls, buttressed by earth, were at least twenty-five feet high, but Cole didn’t have a choice.
Desperate, Cole hauled himself up the city’s protective wall, digging hands and feet in deep, getting purchase as he climbed as quickly as he had ever done, the Minigun spraying the trees and the wall around him.
And then he was on a parapet at the top, rolling off quickly and letting himself down the other side, the wall now providing complete protection from the assault. He’d slipped down to his knees to catch his breath, and smelled the coppery scent of fresh blood.
Khat.
He looked hard at the ground around him until he picked up the man’s blood trail. It was difficult in the dark, but not impossible; he’d had plenty of practice over the years, and could recognize the shiny black spatters left across leaves and vines even at night.
He’d followed the trail across the path which separated the wall from the jungle, and re-entered the forbidding wall of dense vegetation, senses on high alert.
He knew that there was road access across the moat, from all four cardinal directions. The people chasing him wouldn’t even have to swim across; they could walk by the side of the moat until they got to a bridge, and cross quickly.
But Cole had decided not to dwell on that; his primary aim was to find Khat, and he could deal with everything else once that was out of the way and his captive was secured.
And now the blood trail had led him here — the main ceremonial square of Angkor Thom itself.
As the tree line gave way to open ground, Cole could see a central wall illuminated by the stars and the moon, now high in the sky overhead.
Blood glistened on the grass in front of him, and Cole stalked forward, towards the southern gate, the temples looming beyond.
In the dead of night, with no tourists and just his own soft breathing to break the still night air, it could have been thousands of years ago and a deep sense of unease swept over Cole. He wasn’t a superstitious person by any means, but as he entered the central Bayan area, he had the feeling that this was a special place, one that had existed for so long that it had been imbued with a power that couldn’t be understood by mortal man.
There in front of him was the vast stone expanse of the Bayan itself, the ancient state temple of King Jayavarman VII rising up before him in its ethereal, vine-covered, regal glory; the ages-old edifice erupting out of the jungle like some primeval force of nature, as if placed there by the gods.
Cole heard vehicles then, and knew that the men from the gun market were coming for him in force.
But over the sound of racing diesel engines, Cole could hear the soft whimpering of a man, and Cole looked down to follow the last of the blood trail, watching in the moonlight as it led to the crumbling stone steps underneath a rising, heavily sculpted monument. An enormous head sat atop the monument, the strange light playing off the green stone eyes, making it seem almost as if it was a giant come to life.
And on the steps lay the body of Khat Narong, chest rising and falling with great effort, the man’s breath hollow and rasping.
Cole raced forward, careful that Khat might be leading him into a trap. Yet when he got to the man, he could see it was no act — Cole’s shotgun pellets had lacerated the man’s legs and back, and he was bleeding profusely. Blood seeped out of the gun dealer’s mouth, and Cole wondered if perhaps some of the pellets had indeed penetrated further. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man, and it was possible that a vital organ might have been pierced. And the chase through the jungle had now left Khat near death.
Cole looked around, saw the uneven glare of headlights being driven at speed along bumpy roads. He only had minutes left now; maybe not even that.
From his belt, Cole withdrew a US Marine KA-BAR knife he had taken from Khat’s stall, crouching down to Khat and placing it between his legs.
‘Your friends will be here soon,’ Cole whispered in his ear, watching how Khat looked at him, hatred and fire in his weak, rheumy eyes. ‘They’ll be able to help you, get you medical assistance. You’ll live,’ Cole assured him, even as he nudged the knife closer to Khat’s testicles, the razor sharp blade parting the camouflage shorts, the tip resting by the scrotum.