Chapter 15
Haatim had thought the flight to the Vatican long and uncomfortable, but the series of flights to get him from Rome to Phnom Penh in Cambodia proved far worse. He felt like he had passed through the ringer with this trip.
Of course, it didn’t help that his neck glistened in sweaty agony from wearing a stupid scarf, and his entire body ached from what had happened back in the basement. Part of him felt furious with Father Paladina for putting him in that situation and risking his life, but another part experienced elation. Or, at least, it did when the pain wore off a bit, and he got his voice back.
He had managed to expel a demon from a human host. Had reached out, grabbed it with his mind, and sent it back to whatever hellish place from which it had crawled out. He had won.
The idea that he had managed to do it filled him with hope for the future that he hadn’t felt since the attack on the Council, but it amounted to more than that. It gave a vindication as well, and confidence in himself that he might manage to save his sister.
He’d never felt so pleased or relieved in his entire life. Father Paladina’s methods seemed questionable, but the results proved more than he ever could have imagined.
The thought that he might be able to do the same thing to the demon inside of Nida filled him with a happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Father Paladina had warned him that nothing had changed, and that under no circumstances should he face Nida by himself.
If the Church found out she lurked in the area, his orders told him to leave immediately and get on the next flight back to Rome. He’d come here to find Abigail and convince her to turn herself in and nothing more.
But, on the off-chance that he did run into his sister, he fully intended to practice his new skill and send that horrible demon packing. He wanted to repay it for what it had done to his family, his friends, and mostly, to his sister.
That was, of course, provided he survived the stupid flight there.
Each flight on its own didn’t feel that bad, and to be honest, the last plane he’d flown in to get into Cambodia from Thailand had turned out quite comfortable. They even had a humidification system in the ceiling to keep the air from getting dry and stale feeling, and they served trays of fresh and delicious fruit.
Unfortunately, he had to spend so much time waiting between each flight in one airport after another. Over a day and a half, he’d jumped on four different flights, landing in various cities, rushing to the next terminal, and then waiting for hours for the next plane to take off.
Plus, the constant up and down of altitude got to him. His ears hurt, he had a constant headache, and he fought down nausea from the takeoff and landing routines. He couldn’t imagine how jet-setters did it when they had to move about the world constantly.
The humidity and heat, he noticed first when stepping off the plane. The air felt swampy and difficult to breathe, and it took him a few minutes just to acclimate to the heavy air.
The airport didn’t seem that large, and certainly, didn’t have air conditioning. Haatim hadn’t grown up with air conditioning in his family home but had spent the last several years with it on a regular basis. It only took him a few minutes to break out into a sweat. He felt overdressed in a t-shirt and shorts.
Tired, sweaty, and grumpy, he retrieved his luggage and stepped outside into the hot afternoon sun. Father Paladina had organized a car to take him to a nearby hotel and rented out a room for him over the next couple of days. The driver, a local, would—hopefully—help him locate Abigail in Phnom Penh.
A line of vehicles sat parked outside the airport entrance, along with a cabal of drivers waiting for their passengers. His driver, a man named Savin, had a description as a short and thin man. That didn’t help at all, though, because all of them looked extremely thin, and none particularly tall.
One of them seemed to recognize him, however, and waved him over. Haatim adjusted his luggage and made his way to the vehicle. A beat-up old BMW in need of a good washing. The driver had a huge grin on his face.
“Savin?” Haatim asked.
The man nodded. “Yes, hello, great to meet you.” The man bowed and offered his hand for Haatim to shake. He had a thick accent and only partially pronounced a few letters, but Haatim found him easy to understand.
Immediately, the man grabbed Haatim’s luggage and rushed around to the trunk, opening it up. He tossed it in, not particularly gently, and then hurried over to open Haatim’s door.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Haatim said.
The man gestured for Haatim to climb in, and so he did. Savin slammed the door shut and ran around to the far side of the car. He seemed impatient and in a hurry to do everything fast.
The heat made Haatim sleepy and exhausted but didn’t seem to have any effect on Savin. He moved with endless energy, climbing into the driver’s seat and turning on the car.
After only seconds, they glided out of the parking lot toward the main road outside the airport. Savin pulled up to the exit, performed a cursory glance both ways, and then drove right out into the middle of heavy traffic.
Cars swerved around them, narrowly missing them, and horns honked as angry drivers shouted out of their windows at them. Savin barely seemed to notice any of it. One car came only centimeters from clipping them, and the driver yelled and slammed his hand on his door, but Savin ignored the man completely.
He turned, instead, to Haatim. “First time to Cambodia?”
“Yes,” Haatim said, clutching his seat with one hand and the seatbelt with the other. His muscles tensed, and he couldn’t help but wince when they almost hit another car. “First time to Southeast Asia, too.”
“Welcome,” Savin said, grinning even more widely. “My English, you can understand?”
“Yes. Quite well.”
“I practice a lot. I am English teacher.”
“That’s great,” Haatim said.
Absently, Savin weaved through traffic, narrowly dodging countless accidents. The rules of the road didn’t seem to apply, and everyone cut each other off.
At least their brakes seemed good.
“You are cold?”
“What? No, it’s too hot.”
Savin glanced at the scarf around his neck. He’d worn it all day and almost forgotten he had it on. An ugly yellow thing, made of cheap material, it had proved the only one Father Paladina could find on such short notice, and it looked completely out of place with the rest of his ensemble.
“No,” he said. “I’m not cold.”
“Why do you wear that, then?”
“To protect my neck from the sun,” Haatim said, and then winced at the unsophisticated lie. It seemed like a plausible excuse, but Savin looked unconvinced. He didn’t follow up with his questions, however, and instead, moved on to the next subject.
“You are Christian?” Savin asked.
The query caught Haatim off guard, but he realized it shouldn’t have. Father Paladina had organized this, and so it made sense that he would live a Christian life.
“No,” he said. “Not really.”
“Hindu?”
Haatim shook his head. “I don’t attribute myself to any particular religion. I study philosophy, so I like to try and understand all religions.”
Savin glanced at him, a curious and confused look on his face. “Not religious?”
“I consider myself spiritual but not religious.”
“Oh,” Savin said, but clearly, he didn’t understand.
“What about you?” Haatim asked, trying for politeness.
“I am Buddhist.”
“Ah,” Haatim said. “Theravada, correct?”
Savin nodded, surprised that Haatim knew. Theravada seemed a much more hardline form of Buddhism than Mahayana or Vajrayana. The country had temples all around, and many monks would live in them, on the path to escaping the cycle of life and death and achieving Nirvana.
Not necessarily a declining form of Buddhism around the world, it didn’t grow as fast as other forms friendlier to newcomers and outsiders and less restrictive. That, in Haatim’s estimation, echoed the way of the world: people expected for things to be streamlined and have easier access to keep up with the frantic pace of modernity.
“It’s so hot here,” Haatim said after another couple of minutes on the road. “Hotter than where I grew up, for sure.”
Savin looked at him sideways. “This is the cold season. Today isn’t hot.”
“It’s hot to me,” Haatim said with a laugh. “I’m not used to this.”
Savin nodded, incredibly formal, and rolled down his window. The smell of the city seemed worse here, and it made Haatim gag when the wind pushed it into the car. Almost like a sewage smell, though faint. He opened his mouth to ask what it came from but decided that would appear impolite and changed his mind.
A moment later, he had his answer. They drove alongside a deep-cut body of water flowing in a ravine about thirty meters down. At first, he thought it only a river, and then recognized it as a sewer.
An open sewer that flowed through the middle of town. Savin didn’t even seem to notice, and Haatim assumed most people simply grew used to it over time.
“Where does that go?”
“It flows into the Mekong River and out of the city.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t particularly want to get used to the smell. After a moment, their path led away, farther from the sewage, and the smell dissipated a little.
“You are from America?” Savin sounded a tad surprised.
Haatim nodded. “For the last several years. I grew up in India. My father was a religious figure where I’m from, which is probably why I decided to study religion. He was important.”
Savin nodded. “Sounds like a great man.”
“He was. Or, at least, I thought so. Now, I don’t feel so sure.”
Savin looked at him, expecting for him to elaborate. Haatim didn’t, having no desire to talk about his father. Instead, he turned and looked out through his window at the passing buildings. The city had an old feel to it, but a lot of newer structures stood mixed in with a more modern appearance. They drove past countless restaurants, and all of the signs showed both Khmer and English.
They even passed a handful of fast-food restaurants, though none of them had names he could recognize or a brand that existed outside Southeast Asia. How closely would they match up to American fast-food establishments? That seemed something they tried to emulate.
As they drove, the one thing he noticed, in particular, was how young the entire population appeared. While people walked down the streets, he barely spotted anyone over the age of forty.
Father Paladina had explained the Khmer Rouge to him prior to this trip and the bloody way in which the country had fallen into civil war. So many people had died, the country had starved, and a huge proportion of elderly people hadn’t survived.
As such, the entire nation remained young, rebuilding from scratch to regain what they had lost in their civil war. The scars of that conflict lay everywhere, a testament to the brutality of humanity, much the same as the French Revolution, though much more recent.
Haatim couldn’t even begin to imagine why Abigail had come out here. For what did she search? Did she simply want to hide away from everything?
The Church assassins hunted for her and had done so for a few days. So far, they hadn’t managed to locate her, but Father Paladina insisted it would only take a matter of time.
Abigail played everything close to the chest, but that didn’t make the hurt go away. The knowledge that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him she still lived stung him to the core.
The fact that she didn’t care enough hurt even more.
“We’re here.”
Haatim glanced up, dazed, and realized they’d reached another section of Phnom Penh. This part seemed a bit classier, more upscale, and they’d parked in front of an expensive-looking four-story hotel.
“Ah,” Haatim said, stepping out of the car.
Savin hopped out as well, but let the engine run. He popped open the trunk.
“Here, let me carry them in for you.”
Haatim intercepted him and picked up his bags. “No, I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Savin shrugged. “Okay. When do you want me to pick you up?”
“A few hours,” Haatim said. “I just want to rest some, and then we can go. Have you found any sign of her?”
“No. But I’ll ask my friends. Tourists are usually fairly easy to find.”
Haatim nodded. A number of tourists occupied the city from what he had seen, but they tended to stick out.
Still, it seemed a big enough city, so he had no idea how long it might take to track down Abigail. His job—as far as Savin knew—was identifying her if they did locate her.
He thanked Savin, grabbed his luggage, and headed into the hotel. Savin climbed back into his car and jerked back out into the street, heralded by another wave of honks and shouts.
A cool wave of cold air hit Haatim when he stepped inside the lobby, and he took a moment to bask in it and breathe, eyes closed.
“Can I help you?”
A young woman stood behind the counter, watching him suspiciously.
“Yes,” he said. “Sorry. I have a reservation.”
She nodded, and after a short back and forth, presented him with a keycard to his room. It lay on the second floor, and they didn’t have any elevators.
At one time, that might have bothered him, but now it just reminded him of his time with Dominick at the Council building. He still dreaded stairs, but now, they’d become the sort of evil he could understand.
He made it into his room, dropped his luggage on the floor, cranked up the AC to max, and then collapsed onto his bed.
Though not comfortable, right now, it felt like heaven. Exhausted, he fell fast asleep after only a few moments.
