Color, like life, can be enigmatic. It often attracts, frequently lulls, and sometimes tricks one into assuming one thing while the opposite is actually in play. Take the lush carpet that covers so much of the jungle floor throughout Cambodia. Its mesmerizing greens of sugar palms and high grass seemingly mingle innocently with purple cockscombs, yellow rumduol, and red hibiscus. One would surely think such beauty is indicative of the peace and serenity that resides there. In reality however, the flora arranged by God often hides the snares and tripwires arranged by man to capture or kill the fauna. Once recognized for what it is, regardless of motivation, whether food for poverty stricken tables or recompence for the delivery of exotic animal life, this practice of turning beauty into a home for betrayal is both inhumane and criminal. Its tragic results are also so compelling that it has the ability to engender a financial as well as an emotional response. That's what interested Arbanes the most.

David Arbanes was a tall, thin, aristocratically attractive English expat who had made his home in Phnom Penh for the last eight years. The first six of that eight had been spent as a Vice President in an import/export company that specialized in agricultural commodities and dabbled in precious metals. It was the dabbling that caused the company to go belly up and Arbanes to seek out other forms of income. He found remuneration initially as a private investment counselor for one of the few international banking companies granted operational license by Prime Minister Hun Sen's government. What was harder to find was high-net-worth individuals actually wanting investment counseling. But Arbanes was as industrious as he was insightful, not to mention morally malleable. So even as the repressive Cambodian regime was enacting Draconian laws against many international firms and nongovernmental organizations, Arbanes saw NGOs as potentially low-hanging fruit. Particularly those willing to see kickbacks to the ruling Cambodian People's Party not as bribery, but simply as a cost of doing business. He believed that if a company's cause engendered sufficient interest to generate a relatively continuous flow of income, and the currency came more often in Dollars and Euros than Riels, one could make a go of such an enterprise, perhaps even a profit.

It was Arbanes' search for cause and currency that could collectively coexist, which culminated in his attachment to a drowsy nonprofit he happened to run across in the heart of Phnom Penh's Central Business District. Two floors up on the alley side of a nondescript office building, it had somehow escaped being condemned by the CPP, probably because of the aforementioned graft that contributed greatly to keeping the non in their nonprofit status. Before you can say "Bob's your uncle," which almost no one said anymore, Arbanes had joined the group, risen in the ranks, downsized the organization, and ousted the former CEO. Now the sleepy little philanthropic was about to reawaken under the new management of David Arbanes, President and Chief Executive Officer. It would also sport a brand new name more indicative of its seemingly altruistic mission. The Cambodian Conservation Committee.

If one is going to ask people for money, which Arbanes had done a lot of in his time, the new CEO knew that he needed a compelling raison d'être to fan givers' empathetic flames while simultaneously massaging their egos. He found it in a magazine article decrying the use of snares. Photographs of animals, large and small, ferocious or cuddly, that were caught, killed, or ultimately captured, emitted a devastatingly enthralling plight. So it wasn't long before The Cambodian Conservation Committee televised their first public service announcement. It began by showing a lush forest primeval, animals trapped in snares beneath it, and eventually one angelic preteen girl releasing a trapped slow loris from captivity as the unseen narrator says:

Arbanes thought he had a potential success when even the jaded video editor, who was running the final cut for him, referred to the advert as a tearjerker. He knew it was a winner when donations started rolling in at a one hundred seventy-five percent increase over anything the NGO had ever received before.

***

Kyra Chea, a thirty-something, dark-eyed and even darker haired beauty, sat behind the sleek teak desk that helped create a modern vibe in her office. The desk currently supporting her Apple laptop, two neat stacks of papers, one in an IN box, the other in an OUT, and precious little else. No family photos. No intriguing paperweight puzzles. Nothing that could be remotely referred to as clutter. Behind and above her, the publication's masthead was stenciled on the wall:

DAILY CRIER / Get The Truth.

Kyra had just seen the SopheaSaves television commercial on YouTube with a caption beneath it indicating three hundred forty-eight thousand views. The online magazine editor was impressed. She called out to the young man who had a desk just outside her office.

"Sam! Get in here."

The twenty-three year old Khmer lad with washboard abs beneath his starched white shirt, took a moment to emit a muffled sigh, then rose and walked into her lair.

"Have you seen this SopheaSaves thing," she asked.

"Who hasn't? It's all over the internet."

"TV too. Cute kid. Think it's legit?

Sam answered guilelessly, "Why wouldn't it be? Snares are a real problem."

Kyra frowned as she said, "Typical city boy answer. That's how some rural families eat."

Sam was used to Kyra's jibes. He parried as best he could in the moment. "And how some poachers make money. Selling animals."

"We have anything on this Cambodian Conservation Committee?"

"Just another NGO, I think," Sam replied.

"Here's what I think," Kyra began. "That girl's becoming a bona fide celebrity. And a lot of money is changing hands because of it."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Sam said rhetorically.

"And maybe it isn't," Kyra replied. "I intend to find out. Book me a hotel room downtown."

Sam was about to leave and do as he was told. But before he could, Kyra revised her instructions as she began unbuttoning her blouse. "But first, close that door...and lock it from this side."

***

As the taxi made its way through the crowded, noisy streets, Kyra used her laptop to  peruse The Cambodian Conservation Committee website. Its home page featured a big picture of the adorable girl and her cuddly loris with an oversized headline that read: Sophea needs your help. Jumping over to the navigation bar, Kyra tapped About Us and up came a photo of David Arbanes with his official title underneath. She scanned the biographic information and then went to the Opportunities heading. Job listings were there in alphabetical order, starting with Administrative Assistant.  Upon reaching the building that housed the CCC's offices, Kyra noticed it was a quarter to five. She decided to set up her own observation post in the lobby where she had full view of those entering or leaving the building. Her tactic soon paid off.

Arbanes entered the lobby from the south side stairwell and headed directly to the front doors of the building. As he exited, Kyra followed. The Englishman hadn't gone very far down the street when he entered the Sovanna Hotel. Keeping her distance, Kyra stayed close enough to watch him go directly to the bar. He only had to motion to the bartended who began to prepare his drink. His watering hole, Kyra surmised. As good a place as any, she said to herself, giving him time to take a first drink before she took a seat at the bar as well.

Having a cigarette along with his Martini, Arbanes was decompressing as he noticed the attractive female who had just taken a position two chairs from his. She ordered and when her Martini came, he spoke.

"I see we like the same drink."

Kyra feigning surprise, said "It appears we do."

"They make an excellent one."

Kyra took a sip and replied. "You're right. They do."

"First time here," Arbanes asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"No," he answered. "It's just that I come here a lot. Close to my office. Haven't seen you here before."

"Haven't been in the city that long."

"Apologize for not introducing myself," he said, with no hint of actual concern. "My name's David. David Arbanes."

She doubted he'd recognize her name, but she used an alias anyway. "I'm Lenore. Lenore Chin."

"So, you're new to Phnom Penh?"

"Yes. I'm from Siem Reap."

"Just visiting?"

"Actually, I'm here looking for work."

"Really? What sort?"

"Oh, something in administration. Secretarial work, you know."

Arbanes paused, then smiled. "Do you believe in fate, Lenore Chin?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because, believe it or not, my company is looking for an Administrative Assistant."

"I may be from Siem Reap, but I'm not some yokel. This is a come-on, right? You're just trying to pick me up."

Gesturing as he replied, Arbanes responded, "Hand to my heart. We actually have a position to fill."

Kyra raised one eyebrow without speaking.

"Although...I must admit...you are quite attractive."

She smiled and took a sip of the little that remained in her glass. He took the initiative, turned to the bartender and said, "Same again please. For both of us." Then, looking directly at Kyra, Arbanes asked, "Well then, what about an interview? Say, later. Over dinner?"

The interview was conducted over a tasty turn of spicy beef salad and Kampot pepper crab. The chilies in the salad were bold, the crab sweet, the peppercorns crunchy, and the questions exceedingly benign. Arbanes was much more interested in the curve of Kyra's hips and the way her long black hair hung alluringly over one bare shoulder than he was concerned with how many words per minute she could type and whether or not she took dictation. His most pressing question was saved for just outside Kyra's hotel room door.

"Ask me in for a nightcap?"

"Does the job depend on it?"

"What if it did," he asked.

"Then I guess I'd have to keep looking," she answered.

"Not tempted...even just a little?"

"Actually, a lot. That's the problem."

Arbanes sensed the advantage, but in a surprising move...even to himself, decided not to take it. "Well, you've got the job anyway. But I can't promise to be your employer only."

"Good," she said. "See you tomorrow." Then she unlocked the door, but before stepping in, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well," he intoned to himself, not quite sure what else to say.

***

The following morning, Kyra arrived at the offices of The Cambodian Conservation Committee and was given a walkaround  by a young intern Arbanes had selected for the task. By mid-morning she learned that she'd occupy a desk just outside the CEO's office since she'd be assisting him directly. By late afternoon she had answered the phone several times, prepared correspondence for donors, and examined as many internal files as she could while alone at her desk. Exiting his office, Arbanes had to walk past her desk on his way out.

"Quitting time, Ms. Chen," he said. "You've done quite enough for your first day."

Motioning to a small stack of papers on her desk, she responded, "Just want to finish filing these."

"Meet for a drink at the Sovanna?"

"I'm really bushed. Can I pass?"

"Sure. Long as we're still on for tomorrow night, though...right?"

Kyra picked up a loose-leaf book and said, "Handbook I read discourages employees dating other employees."

"Yes," Arbanes countered, "but since I wrote the book, I can break the rules."

"Still on, then."

This time it was Arbanes who left her with a kiss. A most demur one, on the hand, before he walked away.

Once Kyra was sure Arbanes had gone, she went into his office. With her cell phone in hand, she took a picture of the top of his desk and his computer screen. This would enable her to put everything back in the order she found it after concluding her investigative search. Then she began to rummage through the papers that were neatly stacked before exploring the confines of the desk's drawers. Turning eventually to Arbanes' computer, which was only left in sleep mode, she was able to pull up files labeled SopheaSaves Agreement, SS Income Report, and Arbanes Supplemental Accounts. But each time she tried to enter one, she got the same response: Password Required. With each failure, a look of consternation would form at the corners of her mouth. Finally, consternation turned to composure as Kyra made a decision. What the hell, she thought. It wouldn't be the first time she employed her feminine wiles to find out what she really wanted to know. And Arbanes was a pretty handsome fellow anyway.

***

Outside, the hanger on the hotel room door read: DO NOT DISTURB. Inside, the disturbance of sheets, pillows, and bed spread had already occurred. As had the coupling that initiated it. While it began with somewhat different motives from each, it ended with mutual enjoyment. Kyra, in her underwear, was sitting up in bed. Arbanes emerged from the bathroom wearing only his boxer shorts. He walked to the bedside, bent over and took Kyra's chin in his hand, then kissed her sweetly on the lips, saying, "That was wonderful. I hope you..."

"I did. It was."

Arbanes began to get dressed as he spoke. "This has nothing to do with your job, you know. I mean, we're just two people who find each other ..."

"I know."

"By the way, did I leave my cuff links on the bedside table?"

Kyra glanced across, spotted them, then leaned over and picked up the links engraved with the initials D N A.

"D N A. Are you into genetics?

"My initials."

"What does the N stand for?"

"I never tell anyone my middle name."

"You can tell me."

"Promise not to laugh."

"Of course."

"It's Noel."

"Noel? Like Christmas?"

"Yes. Also my mother's birthday. She said I was the best present she ever had. So she named me David Noel. Don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

"I wouldn't do that. Everyone has secrets."

"They do, don't they?"

"Sure. Deep, dark secrets. And...not so dark secrets. You know?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...like, not so dark secrets. Like passwords and things like that."

"Oh, right. Didn't think of that."

"What are some of yours?"

"Some of my what?"

"Some of your not-so-dark secrets. Got any really goofy passwords or whatever?"

"No goofier than most, I suppose. But if I tell you, they'd no longer be secrets."

"Sure they would. Just secrets between you and me."

"Got a feeling we're already sharing a secret," Arbanes said.

"You don't think anyone's noticed our furtive glances?"

"Yours maybe," he said. "I'm always the model of decorum."

"Oh really," she replied. "Well before your decorum dictates that you knot that tie around your neck, why don't you use it to tie my hands to the bedposts and have your way with me...again."

Arbanes paused with one leg in his pants and the other out. "You are really something...aren't you?"

"David, you have no idea."

***

After their night of debauchery, both were in the office the next day. Arbanes, however, had to attend a previously scheduled lunch with quasi-governmental officials. This left Kyra lots of unsupervised time that she tried to make the most of. Seated at Arbanes' desk, she perused a very long list of word combinations on her pad that she'd been trying as passwords to various files. There was DNA, Noel, 1Noel, Christmas, Christmas=Noel, and countless others. None had worked. Flustered and about to give up, she tossed her pencil down in disgust and leaned back in the CEO's chair. As she did, another idea popped into her head. Worth another shot, she told herself. So she began a new series of permutations. Mother. Access Denied. Mother1225. Access Denied. Mother12/25....Bingo! Kyra had just gotten into the SopheaSaves Agreement file, which would be far from the last that password Mother12/25 opened.

Reading, smiling, connecting the financial dots, then copying the files and sending them to her own email account, Kyra worked feverishly. She did stop momentarily to make one phone call.

"Daily Crier. This is Sam. How can I be of assistance?"

"Sam, Kyra here. Listen, don't talk I—"

"Kyra, can I—"

"Don't talk, I said. Just listen. I've got this Sophea's address. You need to get over there and find out if she and her old lady are straight as the kid seems to be. Here's the address."

It was nearly three in the afternoon before Arbanes returned to his building. Walking by Kyra's desk, he noticed that she wasn't there. It only took a couple of steps into his own office for him to see her leaning back in his chair with her feet on his desk.

"Making yourself at home, are you?"

Pointing toward the two chairs in front of his desk, Kyra said, "Take a seat, David."

As he was following her lead and sitting, Arbanes said, "Kyra, I know that we do have a somewhat different employer/employee relationship, but I'm not sure it's wise to—"

"Let me tell you what I know," Kyra interrupted. "And what you don't."

"All right. I like games as much as anyone. Tell me what I don't know."

"To begin with, my name is not Lenore Chen. It's Kyra Chea. I'm not from Siem Reap, I'm from here. And I'm actually the Managing Editor of The Daily Crier."

"The Daily Crier! That muckraking Internet rag?"

"Yes. That one. And now that you know about me, let me cover what I know about you."

Arbanes wasn't at all sure of where this was going, but somehow he knew instinctively that it wasn't going to be a nostalgic stroll through his previous accomplishments.

"I know you keep two sets of books, David. And I know one of them is fiction. I know you skim money from SopheaSaves donations and put it in one of your private personal accounts. I know you took, and continue to take, advantage of Sophea's mother's business naiveté and her fondness for beer, to use the child for basically next to nothing. And I know the exceptionally diabolical part. I know that you actually have snares planted in the forest...with trapped animals already in them...placed where film crews can't possibly miss them. That way, you're sure to have heart rending footage to use in your public service commercials. You are doing, David, what you are soliciting money to stop. You're ensnaring the public."

Arbanes stare moved from Kyra to his computer and back again. "How did you get into my—"

"Your secret password took a good bit of trial and error. But eventually, the clouds parted and Mother12/25 emerged."

"Damn," Arbanes said. "Smart as you are lovely."

"Smart enough to know evidence when I see it. Evidence I downloaded and e-mailed to myself."

"You apparently have no qualms about taking investigative journalism to the line, over it, and back again, right? I mean one might say you give new meaning to undercover work."

"I do what I have to do," Kyra replied. "To get to the truth."

Arbanes sat slumped in his chair. The wind taken out of him along with his future. "Yes. Well, now that you've gotten there, where do you plan to go next. To the authorities first or that tawdry scandal sheet so you can spew your venom all over the worldwide web."

"I'm disappointed in you, David. Where is your righteous indignation. Your defense of doing bad for the greater good...or the fatter wallet?"

"Sometimes one knows instinctively when to call it game...set...match."

"Ah...English schoolboy acquiescence, is it? Playing fields of Eton and all that rot?"

"I simply know when the jig is up."

"Not really, David. In fact, you're as naive in your way as Sophea's mother is in hers.

"What do you mean?"

"Ever hear it said that what's good for the gander is good for the goose?"

"Believe it's the other way round, isn't it?"

"Not this time."

Arbane's internal deviousness detector started to tingle. A sly smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying. I'm offering you a way out. It's called partnership."

"Sharing the wealth?" Arbanes asked rhetorically.

"My publisher pays shit, compared to what you're taking in."

"And you'd definitely keep a lid on things?"

"For a fifty-fifty split."

"A woman after my own heart."

"Plus an ongoing chunk of your cash."

"Kiss me."

***

Kyra breezed past Sam's desk on the way to her office at The Daily Crier.

"Need coffee, Sam. Black."

Reluctantly, he rose to go get it.

She threw her jacket around the back of her chair, sat, and booted up her computer as Sam entered with her coffee and sat the cup on her desk, being careful not to spill and to put it directly on the coaster.

"Dump whatever you have on that Sophea thing. Conservation Committee's legit. Nothing there worth pursuing."

Sam paused, unsure about responding, then spoke anyway. "But, when I went...like you told me to...I saw for myself. The old lady's a real piece of work. Midday and she was drunk as a skunk. Cursing like a sailor. All while pushing the kid around. Hits her too."

"Everybody's home life is sordid. Nobody cares."

"But I'm sure the mom's spending whatever Sophea makes on booze or worse. Not sure it's safe for the girl to stay there."

"Hey," Kyra spat back, "be a social worker on your own time. Drop it. Move to that piece about art galleries paying for looted artifacts."

Sam sighed, rubbed his temple, and headed for the door.

"And don't leave early this evening," Kyra said without looking up. "Got an itch that just might need scratching."

***

A week later, Arbanes was standing at a podium beneath a banner reading CAMBODIAN CONSERVATION COMMITTEE ANNUAL MEETING. The audience was made up of employees, high-level donors, and selected members of the press. All were impressed with Arbanes' report. Especially when he said, "And our efforts are having an incredibly positive effect. This year, we'll have the largest contribution we've ever had to SopheanSaves.com. Over four hundred thousand Euros."

Two weeks later, Kyra had risen from her seat near the center of the dais, to accept a small, but stylish trophy for her magazine's work in exposing corruption at local government food distribution centers. The audience responded warmly when she began, "None of us does what we do for awards. But I must say it is gratifying to be recognized for uncovering the truth."

Three weeks later, Sam was staring into the video monitor that had been set up to record his interview with Inspector Chang of the Cambodian National Police Force.

"So what kind of evidence do you have to back up these allegations."

"I have email files she copied," Sam answered.

"How did you get them?"

"I used a key-logger malware surveillance program to capture keystrokes and obtain her password."

"Which was?"

Embarrassed, Sam paused before responding, "BoyToy."

Four weeks later, Arbanes was smoking a cigarette and sipping a Martini at Sovanna. Two men approached him from the rear. One tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Mr. Arbanes, you will come with us." Arbanes' immediate reaction was to refuse...until the man showed him his badge.

Four weeks and one day later, Kyra was intercepted at the airport trying to board a plane for Bangkok. She haughtily asked the arresting officers if they had any idea who they were dealing with. They said yes, they did.

One month later, The new Managing Editor was sitting at the desk below the banner stenciled on the wall. The one that read: DAILY CRIER / Get the truth. He had just finished watching a public service announcement warning people to be wary of donating to causes they were not familiar with. The message was delivered by a lovely girl who said her name was Sophea. Bet it works well, Sam said to himself.

Then he called to his assistant, "Sok. Need coffee. Black."

A slight pause ensued before Sok's response echoed back. "Get it yourself."