The Reckoning by Jeff Long Read Free Book Online Page B

returned inside. Plainly, he was getting nowhere fast. Once more she felt her story slipping away. They needed proof.
    While the rest of the team nodded off in the heat or waved away flies, she got to her feet, ducked under the tape, and stood beside the well. It was darker than ever down there. Expecting nothing, she snapped another blind shot of the depths, then pulled up the image on her display.
    â€œWhat you got this time, Molly?” someone called to her.
    She looked up from her camera display. “You need to see this,” she said.
    They stirred and came out into the high sun and crowded around. The display was full of muddled bones…and something else. They all saw it. Mixed among the skulls was a flight helmet. “You’ve done it again,” Duncan whispered.
    At 1700 hours—Molly had acquired military time—an American helicopter landed on the road, bearing a colonel and two Cambodian government officials wearing sunglasses. Molly went out with the others to photograph them, and was surprised to see how many villagers had flocked to the area. The Cambodian soldiers were keeping them at a distance from the camp.
    The colonel was not pleased. “Quite the circus,” he shouted to the captain as the rotors wound down. Dust flew everywhere. He gestured at Molly. “Who’s this?”
    â€œShe’s the Times journalist I told you about,” the captain said.
    The colonel did not shake her hand or thank her. “You were shooting the bones,” he said.
    â€œI didn’t know what was down there,” Molly told him. His unfriendliness confused her. Hadn’t she just provided them with proof?
    The colonel looked away from her. He noticed Duncan and his long hair and Che shirt. “And him?”
    Molly saw the captain’s throat tighten. “A local archaeologist,” he said.
    â€œAll right,” the colonel declared, “let’s get this thing under control.” The captain led him and the officials to the mess tent. An hour later the colonel and the officials departed on the helicopter.
    The captain announced that the excavation would resume in the morning. They had been granted a week—seven days—no more. After that the site would be returned to the kingdom of Cambodia. “We’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said. “If he’s down there, we’ll find him.”
    There were high fives, and Duncan whistled through his fingers. The captain did not smile. He asked Molly and Duncan and Kleat to join him.
    There was no Johnnie Walker Black this evening. The meeting was brief. He was grim. “Due to the sensitive nature of the mission,” he informed them, “your presence is no longer expedient.”
    Molly’s mouth fell open.
    â€œ ‘Expedient,’ ” said Kleat. “What the hell does that mean?”
    The captain’s lips pressed thin. Clearly he had argued. Clearly he had lost. “I have been advised to compress the operation to essential personnel only. We’re letting go of the work crew.” He added, “And you.”
    â€œYou can’t do that to us,” Kleat said. “I’ve paid my dues. Year after year—”
    â€œBe ready to leave at 0700 tomorrow morning,” the captain said.
    Duncan appealed, not for himself, but for Molly. “Without her, you’d have nothing,” he said.
    The captain looked ill. He lowered his eyes. “That will be all,” he said.

7.
    â€œLike outcasts.”
    The words poured with smoke from Kleat’s mouth.
    Molly was sitting with him and Duncan at a window table overlooking the Mekong River. It was a brand-new restaurant to go with the brand-new Japanese bridge leading east. Sunset lit the water red. Fans spun overhead, politely, enough to eddy Kleat’s cigar smoke but not rustle the pages of Duncan’s World Tribune. The starched white tablecloth was immaculate.
    None of it seemed