The flat black Boeing 747, without markings, was cleared to land at the Phnom Penh International Airport. Once on the ground, the pilot was told to take the first taxiway he reached on the far eastern edge of the airport. Once the plane's forward motion stopped, the engines continued to roar in Ivan's ears.

He'd taken the window seat and Roland took the seat on the outside of him, once the fasten seat belt sign came on. Ivan watched the wing with the two huge Pratt Whitney engines that continued running. He was getting a headache. He added that to his problems.

It took ten minutes for the pilot to begin shutting down the engines one at a time. Ivan still felt like he was moving. His stomach was growling. He wondered what food would taste like once it was no longer moving at 500 miles per hour.

He looked forward to a meal and 12 hours of sleep.

What were they waiting for?

They'd been in the air well over fifteen hours, and no one knew what time it was. Everyone suffered from the same dizzying fatigue.

No one made an attempt to unbuckle and move around the cabin. They were waiting for the door to open. The pilot would lead the way onto the ground. There needed to be several cars to get them where they were going to end up.

Ivan knew Lance was watching him. It didn't take a headshrinker to know Lance was obsessed with hurting the man who was now his number one nemesis. Lance stared across the plane, until Roland's head turned slowly to see if the jerk was still eyeballing Ivan. When Roland's eyes were on Lance, he looked straight ahead.

Ivan understood the dynamics since shortly after his dust up with Lance. The big man thought he'd take control of the situation not long after they left the ground. It's the kind of thing Lance did in service to his country. His size intimidated regular size men. It established him as the alpha male. He took the seat on top of the food chain.

If there was anything that torqued Lance's jaws tighter than when he was openly challenged by a smaller man, it was being out maneuvered by one man and out muscled by another.

There were already two men on top of Lance's list of men to kill.

Ivan didn't sweat the small stuff. He brought Roland along because his size would come in handy. Ivan worked with men like these before. The thing they respected, raw power. No one was going to tell Lance to back off until he jeopardized the mission, and then he'd be jerked back into line.

As he waited for what came next, he found himself looking at two official looking cars moving up on his side of the plane.

The rear door of the plane opened. The two senior Company men went down to stand beside the cars. Two men in suits emerged from the cars to join them.

Two large envelopes were handed over to the man in charge. The man with him did the translations. The envelopes were inspected and found to be satisfactory. The man who wasn't talking handed over two envelopes to the Company man in charge.

Once the contents of the second two envelopes were examined and found satisfactory, there were handshakes, smiles, a couple of bows before everyone retired to their respective corners.

Ivan understood that the second two envelopes contained any papers necessary for the Company to do business unmolested within Cambodia. It was the most logical conclusion.

"Vehicles are on the way. Get your things together and we'll wait on the tarmac. We'll go to the hotel first, and then you can eat at any of the nearby restaurants. Look around. You need to know your turf. I suspect we'll be here for several weeks," the man called Novak said.

Ivan didn't know if any of these men had been here before, but he had. He knew the turf. He'd spent five years learning the turf. Once Roland settled in the room next to Ivan's, he knocked on Roland's door and stepped inside.

"You like Thai food?" Ivan asked.

"Sure," Roland said.

"You've never had Thai food?"

"No."

"You're in for a treat. The restaurant is directly across the street," and Ivan led the way.

The first time Ivan came to Phnom Penh, he was a last minute replacement on a Cambodian Air Freight turbo prop plane. The trip took three full days. They'd island hopped across the Pacific. When they landed in Phnom Penh, he went to work at the air freight company. That was his cover, but he came there to get his brother.

Ivan was back. There was no cover story or vital mission he set out to accomplish. He was under contract until August 15, come hell or high water. Ivan expected hell. It's what he signed up for. He made sure his pistol rig was properly positioned, and they went to eat.

The Thai restaurant was across the street and two doors down from the tea house. It wasn't a place he was dying to see. It was a simple place with a dozen tables where you got some pretty fair tea if you drank tea. Ivan drank gallons of tea his first time around.

While they were eating, an electronics expert would be bugging their rooms. Ivan wouldn't look for the bugs right away. They'd expect him to search until he found them, and they'd place bugs they calculated would be permanent.

They listened to conversations Ivan had with the locals. They debriefed him at the end of each day to see how much Ivan was telling them, and then they listened to him in his room, just in case. He had Roland to talk to this time. He knew what to say and what not to say. It was the same game on a different day.

He was there to draw a friend out into the open. Ken Ho and Ivan sat and talked hundreds of times the last time he sat in the tea house every day. His conversations were listened to. He was debriefed, and Ken Ho was a simple and smart peasant.

According to the Company, he wasn't a peasant. He was General Kenji, feared Khmer Rouge general who left bodies in his wake. Why the Company wanted a Cambodian general made no sense to Ivan. If Ken Ho was this general, who cared.

As for Ken Ho being a murderous general, Ivan wasn't buying it. Ken Ho was interested in conversation that spanned many topics. Why he enjoyed talking to Ivan, Ivan didn't know, but the man never uttered an unkind sentiment. They talked about the world in general.

The only anomaly concerning Ken Ho that Ivan could think of, when he came to the tea house, he entered with a group of six men. Ivan never looked at them closely or thought about who they were. Ken Ho came straight to the table where he sat. The men who didn't seem to be with him sat at different tables scattered around.

A general being protected by his men? He never walked into a place in front of his men. They checked out who was in there before Ken Ho came in. Part of the story he had been told was probably true, but the fact remained, why did they want to hand over a Khmer Rouge general to the government of Cambodia?

Ivan never thought they were there to turn Ken Ho over to anyone. When he was first told this story, Ivan saw the shootout that would kill Ken Ho and him. He saw it as clear as day. The Company was never doing what it looked like it was doing. Everything was a clandestine operation.

Going to dinner became an operation to plant listening devices. Ivan knew the routine. He knew the type of people who had him. It was going to take one hell of a move by someone to get him out of this deal alive.

Ken Ho just wasn't going to come marching in and sit down across from him. He'd have men with him. They'd take the lay of the land before they let the general go anywhere. Ivan needed to find a way to warn his men of the danger.

He didn't know how he'd do it yet, but he'd find a way. He wasn't betraying a friend. Ken Ho was always nice to him. He couldn't say that about the men who intended to kill him.

Nothing had changed.

It was a simple wooden structure with solid wood floors that creaked from age when you walked on them. The wooden tables were as old as the tea house. The chairs were substantial. There was a counter on one side with a kitchen behind it.

The tea, breads, and sweet rolls came out of the kitchen. Orders were delivered to the counter, once readied. The customer went to the counter to order and to retrieve the order. From time to time on a regular basis, steaming tea pots were brought to sit on the counter, and cooler pots of tea went back into the kitchen. You got up to refill your tea cup as often as necessary. It was all you could drink tea, once you paid one of the two kitchen men who kept the tea coming.

The tea was hot and flavorful. The eatables were hot and satisfying. It was simple, easy to prepare, and people came and went as each day progressed. Busy in the morning, busy at lunch, and busy at dinner time. At all other times there were tea drinkers scattered about. Most were Company men and a few needed a tea break.

Ivan sat at the same table he'd been sitting at since the middle of the 1970s, when he first became entangled with Company men. It was this or jail, or possibly a bullet in the head. He didn't like being in the tea house years ago. He liked it no better now.

They'd been there a week and it seemed like a month to Ivan. Ken Ho had not surfaced, but the plan was still the plan. Everyone waited for things to unfold the way they were supposed to unfold. There would be no change for a while. If Ken Ho didn't show, all bets were off as to what came next.

If someone sat down at the table with Ivan, and people often did, one of the Company men went for tea and sat down close enough to hear what was being said. The flaw in that plan was simple, for two minutes Ivan could exchange any amount of information with someone, and not a word was heard.

No one who sat down to talk was more than a diversion well into the second week. They were all getting tired of tea, the sitting and the waiting.

Their work day got shorter, called off after lunch hour. The tea house emptied out. Ivan and Roland went to eat Thai or Vietnamese. They didn't know where the handlers went. Ivan didn't care.

They were back in place during dinner hour. They stayed late. There was nothing else to do. Ivan was debriefed. He might sit and talk to Roland next to the bug in Ivan's room, and they went to bed. The next morning it started again.

Roland sat at a table right behind and to the right of Ivan. As soon as Ivan finished his tea, Roland got up to get the tea pot. He stood to the left of Ivan's shoulder to pour the steaming brew.

"Thank you, Roland," Ivan said.

Ivan was tired of tea and he longed for a cup of super strong steaming hot coffee. He dreamed about sitting at a table with a dozen cups of coffee surrounding him. They were all steaming and waiting for him to reach out to grab one. When he did, he woke up and realized.

When in Rome ... , he thought, as Roland poured him more tea.

"I don't like them," Roland said for the forty-fifth time.

"Rest assured, they don't care for you much either, Roland."

Roland's reply was between a snort and a grunt as Roland backed away to return the tea pot to the counter. There was already a fresh pot of tea to keep the tea drinkers happy.

Roland came back and sat across from Ivan this time. He didn't like sitting further away. He sat further away because Ivan told him that's the way it had to be. It was getting close to the time to go to eat, and Roland figured they'd talk over where to eat today.

Ivan looked toward Lance when he stood up. He knew what was coming. He knew Roland was about as scared of Lance as an alligator was afraid of the frog he was about to eat.

"Look you moron. He's working here. You're in the way. Go back to where you belong," Lance spit his words.

Ivan covered his tea.

Roland watched Lances lips as he spoke each careful word.

"I was wondering what you would look like if I pulled your ears off," Roland said without a hint of humor in his voice.

Ivan stood up to get between them as they grabbed each other like members of the wrestling federation had come to Phnom Penh. Roland managed to get his beefy hand on Lance's chest, pushing him backward two steps.

Lance turned umber.

Ivan turned sideways to block their access to each other.

"You two children finished?" Tyson barked. "We're working gentlemen. Go to neutral corners and cool off. Ivan, go to lunch. We'll pick up where we left off after five. I'll be with Brock this evening."

Tyson's shiny brown head was distinctive. Ivan remembered the Afro, or was it natural? He wondered when head shaving became popular with black men who were more brown than black.

Ivan thought of wearing an Afro once. He must have decided against it. He never wore an Afro, but he'd have been beautiful in an Afro. He was sure of that.

"We're going to lunch," Ivan told Tyson. "Don't wait up for me."

They ate Thai food and it was a relief not being watched.

Ivan grew lethargic from too little movement and too many carbs. He laid down that afternoon. His days were way too long.

The second week back in Cambodia was coming to an end. Ivan couldn't be sure what day it was. He suddenly flashed back to the tiger cage. He sat straight up. It must have been a dream. He didn't know he fell asleep. That nightmare stayed in Cambodia once he went home in 1979. He was back and so was that particular dream.

He sat rubbing his shoulders. He kicked his feet over the side of the bed. He still felt the cage on his back, his knees bent, and his shoulders ached. Once he was released from the five foot high cage, it took him a month or more to be able to stand up straight again.

He had no idea how long he was in that cage. Roasting during the day, freezing at night, he got a bowl of rice with things crawling in it once a day. It kept him alive.

He couldn't be sure how close to death he was, but it was raining as his body shook from fever one hot day. One of them came to the cage and jammed a billy club into his ribs. He almost passed out.

"Come out here," the man growled, opening the cage.

Ivan could hardly move. His muscles were jammed tight against his joints and bones. He was once six foot one. He didn't stand up straight again for two months. The first day he couldn't stand up.

"You're a mess. You need a shower. Come on. Hurry up. I ain't got all day to wait for you."

Ivan fell asleep in the shower.

He staggered to the bed still wet. He fell across it.

He coughed for a long time.

He woke with a man in the small room with him. There were bowls of food. He could smell tea. His eyes followed a Cambodian man who was uncovering the bowls.

"Come. You eat. You feel better."

The man left Ivan alone. He looked at the table for a long time. He couldn't remember when he ate last. After a while he was sitting at the table, investigating what was in the bowls.

The next thing he knew he had food in both of his hands and he was stuffing it into his mouth and swallowing without chewing. He couldn't stop eating. He had to devour it all.

He hugged the toilet for hours. His stomach hurt like someone kicked him in it. He threw up again and there were dry heaves. There were a lot of dry heaves once it all came back up and went into the toilet. He wasn't hungry any longer. He fell asleep hugging the toilet. He wasn't hungry for the first time in however long it had been.

He smiled.

Ivan shook the thoughts out of his brain. It took a year for him to gain back the weight he lost and for his muscles to cooperate. However close to death he'd been, he came all the way back.

Later he found out that they didn't let him die because a guy found Congressman Harry McCallister's card in his wallet. Harry had given him the card the day he gave Clay a card. It had Harry's name and on the back was his private number. Only the people closest to Harry got this card. Ivan got one because he had been with Clay. Harry realized that Ivan was with Clay, and he might get himself into trouble and Clay would ask him for help. He wanted to head that prospect off.

One of the operatives for the Company found the card and he probably looked at it for a day or two before he picked up the phone. When he dialed Harry's private number, Harry picked up.

What did he think would happen once he dialed the number?

"You've reached Congressman Harry McCallister. Who's calling?"

The click startled Harry. He looked at the phone. Nine people had the card with that number written on the back. He ran down the list in his mind. He knew where all nine were. Most were at the cove. He'd given a tenth card to Clay's lover. Something told him it was a smart thing to do. He didn't know where Ivan Aleksa was.

"Who has you Ivan Aleksa?" Harry asked.

Harry picked the phone back up.

"I just received a call on my private line. The caller hung up. Where did that call originate?" Harry asked.

The Capitol switchboard operator called back a few minutes later.

"Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Do you want me to ring that number for you?"

"No. Make a record of the call for your supervisor. Thank you," Harry said, not knowing what it meant.

"Who has you Ivan Aleksa? What have you gotten yourself into?"

That's how Harry got involved the first time around.

Ivan tried to shake the memories loose from his consciousness. He had no more control over his life this time than he had all those years ago. He'd make a break for it, but where would he go?

Ivan went to Southeast Asia to get his brother. He did get him and he took him home, but it cost Ivan ten years of his life. Boris was given to him as a parting gift.

Like everything the Company did, there was a message being sent. Only the Company knew what the message was, but now, Ivan realized he'd been set up all those years ago. The CIA knew he was coming. They were waiting for him. He was a stupid kid who walked into a trap, and except for a business card given him by Clay's employer, Ivan wouldn't have come home.

Harry knew the situation this time. He read the contract Ivan was forced to sign. He knew who had Ivan. He knew what kind of people he was dealing with. He wouldn't turn his back on them, and finding men who weren't afraid to oppose them wasn't easy, but he knew the risks and that's why he moved carefully.

Should Ivan die before he found the men who could do the job, this problem would go away. If that happened, Clay would be very unhappy, and he'd make Harry's life miserable, and that's why he needed to do something with a reasonable chance of succeeding.

Harry was an intelligent man. He knew what most people knew. Things went better if you didn't tug on Superman's cape, or spit in the wind. Unfortunately, come rain or come shine, his man in the Gulf had become a gigantic pain in his ass, and it was time to move.

Harry depended on Clay. Clay depended on Ivan. It would become Harry's job to get Ivan back. If he knew what was good for him, this would happen as soon as possible.

Ivan knew the same thing Harry knew. What Ivan didn't know, was how long it would take Harry to come up with a plan that didn't end up getting him killed during the rescue. Harry wasn't about to come to Cambodia and lead the rescue. He needed someone who would. He needed someone who could pull off a successful rescue.

Ivan felt like he'd been away from the cove for months. The best thing for him to do was keep his mind off Clay and on the business at hand, even when the days crawled by.

He couldn't say how far down the road Clay was in browbeating Harry into doing something. Harry wasn't a foolish man. He'd be considering options and he'd be holding Clay off with a bullwhip and a sturdy chair.

Ivan heard the whip cracking, which made him smile.

When he left Clay, he was sure he wouldn't be coming back to him, but after a few weeks of being out of that warehouse, he began to consider his options. These men couldn't take him down if he decided against it. He'd decided against it.

He had Roland. He had his Glock. He had the determination to go back to his man.

Leaning back on his bed, it had been a long day, after a dozen too long days.

Even with a desire to survive, there was one more thing on Ivan's mind that he couldn't shake off.

Would he watch Ken Ho die because he didn't stop it?

*****


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