2.
Traffic ebbed and flowed along the asphalt road in front of the US Embassy of Phnom Penh, though mostly flowed in the early hour. Buses, motos and their tuktuk – the ubiquitous passenger carts attached to many of the motorbikes - thronged and knotted, filling the air with squawks and harsh yells to clear the street, then would just as mysteriously dissipate a second later leaving only dry dust in the humid air. The occasional Western car plugged up the liquid traffic, often turning into the well-guarded black and white front gate of the embassy.
Pedestrians were far fewer, most of the locals skipping the concrete walkways alongside the imposing black steel fence, though saffron-wrapped monks and pale tourists could be seen filling the gardens across the street. To the east, Wat Phnom's grand pagoda towered over the city, gleaming bright in the clear morning sky. Few looked up, even among the tourists.
The smell of jasmine drifted from the gardens, challenging the diesel reek of the street and too often losing. Another throng piled up, a chaotic morass of motos challenging a tour bus to clear the territory, then piling around a small series of little black taxis. And then again, the fading hum of the vehicular crowd.
This time, the sea of metal left something changed. A tall, slender figure stood on the concrete path in front of the embassy, his dead black suit like a line of broken pixels contrasted against the white stone of his surroundings. He was still, not a single trace of movement, though his head was turned to the east. Pale eyes in a pale face took in the distant spire of the pagoda, then half-closed as if to consider. His expression remained unreadable and impassive, even as he finally moved to approach the security gate.
. . .
The embassy guard was stocky and no nonsense, his eyes hidden behind tactical sunglasses and his camo-uniformed body tucked well inside the gatehouse. The thin black FBI wallet and badge stayed firmly grasped in his hand while he made sure the name on it matched his daily entrance list. The head tilted now and again, matching the face and photo, while the lips drew into a thin line. "Information matches. You're expected." He did not sound particularly satisfied with the conclusion.
"Thank you," came the cool drawl. "May I have that back, please?"
The guard didn't budge. "Security car comes direct from the airport, you got dropped in a civ taxi. Mind explaining that, sir?"
"I'm quite sure that's unnecessary."
The guard set the badge down and leaned towards the tall figure. "Unnecessary or not, we're on heightened security and it's my job to ask the questions." He tilted his face down to the badge and then up again. "I respect that once you're verified with the bosses you get to ask all the questions you want, Agent Pendergast. Until then, I get to ask mine. Sir."
There was a long quiet as the two men regarded each other, equally unreadable. Finally, Pendergast tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement of something unsaid. "I wished to take a scenic route and arrange my hotel. On my terms. Nothing more. I will leave my hotel information within, as protocol demands, of course."
"Scenic route. Been to Cambodia before?" The guard reached up and pulled the shades down an inch to examine the man with his own eyes.
Pendergast smiled very thinly, the expression not reaching the rest of his face. "Once."
The guard pushed the shades back up, scooped up the wallet and handed it over to the agent. "Welcome back."