Boom’s head. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘now talk.’
5
It was far from ideal, but Cole had had to take Boom in the car with him for the four hour drive to Siem Reap.
If he had left Boom back i n his village, the arms dealer would undoubtedly have warned his Cambodian colleague of Cole’s impending visit. The only other option was to kill him, which he hadn’t wanted to do if he could avoid it.
Besides whi ch, after he’d been persuaded to start talking, Boom had made it quite clear that the arms market where his colleague traded was very hard for an outsider to find, hidden in a jungle clearing near the Angkor Wat temple complex.
Cole had therefore decided to take Boom with him, to act as a guide. And in the end, Boom appeared glad to be there, especially after he’d decided that Cole was trying to find out where the Indonesian pirates were hiding the Fu Yu Shan. ‘Oh, very good!’ he’d said with great excitement, ‘it will be big adventure, right? You and me like Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! We solve the case! Like Batman and Robin, then we kick ass! Right?’
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 Ke bangkitan, and he needed to get it as fast as possible.
And w ith 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 o n 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
5
It was far from ideal, but Cole had had to take Boom in the car with him for the four hour drive to Siem Reap.
If he had left Boom back i n his village, the arms dealer would undoubtedly have warned his Cambodian colleague of Cole’s impending visit. The only other option was to kill him, which he hadn’t wanted to do if he could avoid it.
Besides whi ch, after he’d been persuaded to start talking, Boom had made it quite clear that the arms market where his colleague traded was very hard for an outsider to find, hidden in a jungle clearing near the Angkor Wat temple complex.
Cole had therefore decided to take Boom with him, to act as a guide. And in the end, Boom appeared glad to be there, especially after he’d decided that Cole was trying to find out where the Indonesian pirates were hiding the Fu Yu Shan. ‘Oh, very good!’ he’d said with great excitement, ‘it will be big adventure, right? You and me like Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! We solve the case! Like Batman and Robin, then we kick ass! Right?’
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 Ke bangkitan, and he needed to get it as fast as possible.
And w ith 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 o n 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
Similar Books
