State of Siege

THIRTY-TWO

It was him.

The flat voice, the cruel eyes, the arrogant carriage — it was him, damn his soul. Ty Sokha couldn’t believe that after nearly ten years they had found Ivan Georgiev. Now that she’d heard his voice beneath the mask, been close enough to smell his sweat, she knew which of these monsters it was.

Several months before, an arms dealer named Ustinoviks, who provided the Khmer Rouge with weapons, had been asked to talk to Georgiev about a buy. An informant with the Khmer Rouge knew that Ty and Sary Hang were looking for him. The informant sold them the name of the arms dealer. Though they had missed the Bulgarian when he came to New York to talk to Ustinoviks the first time, they managed to get to Ustinoviks after Georgiev had gone. The offer they made the Russian was simple: Let them know when he was coming to pick up his weapons or they would turn Ustinoviks over to the American FBI.

The Russian had let them know when Georgiev was scheduled to pick up his purchase with the provision that they didn’t take him at that time. They agreed. As it happened, they didn’t want him then. They wanted him doing whatever it was he’d come here for, when the rest of the world could see, when they could draw attention to their own people, put an end to the countless murders in which they’d taken part as they tried to stop the Khmer Rouge and undermine the pathetically weak government of Norodom Sihanouk.

They’d watched Georgiev’s team make their buy from the roof of the club next door to the shop owned by Ustinoviks. Ty couldn’t really see him clearly then. Not as clearly as she had when she’d been at the UN camp, working as a cook, watching for Khmer Rouge infiltrators and seeing the degrading things for which Georgiev was responsible. But the government couldn’t do anything without proof of what was going on, and anyone who tried to get that proof — or who tried to get away, like poor Phum had — died.

After Georgiev and his people made their arms purchase, Ty and Hang followed them back to their hotel. The adjoining rooms had been booked, so they took the room beneath theirs. They ran a wire through the ceiling fixture to the floor of his room, attached a sound amplifier, and listened as Georgiev and his allies reviewed their plans.

Then they’d gone to the Permanent Mission of the Kingdom of Cambodia across the street and waited.

Ty Sokha turned her large, dark eyes from the stricken young girl lying beside her. The one who was barely older than Phum had been when she’d been murdered by one of Georgiev’s thugs. Ty looked over at Sary Hang, who was sitting on the floor, inside the circular table. The Cambodian operative had shifted his position slightly so that he could see Ty without seeming to watch her.

She nodded. He nodded back.

When Georgiev came back down the stairs, it would be time.