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One of his cell phones chirped for attention. He pulled the device from inside his jacket, but his eyes stayed on the two blond women walking toward Oude Zijde.
A freighter passing in the north canal on the other side of the station sounded its horn, the tone mournful on the night air, like some lonely beast.
“Yes,” Joachim said into the phone. He spoke Russian now. Like his German and English, his voice carried no dialect.
“I have an address for you,” the young woman’s voice on the other end announced. “Your target lives on a houseboat called Satyr Dreams down on Achterburgwal. It’s near the intersection of Rusland Street.”
“I can find it.” Joachim paused, wondering how much he should reveal. But then, there was always the possibility that the woman was tracking his progress. “Beck’s men are here.”
Some of the confidence vanished from the young woman’s tone. “Are you certain?”
“One of them is known to me. He’s a criminal named Felix Horst. He specializes in armory and wetwork.” Wetwork was a euphemism for murder and assassination. Joachim knew people who did such things, but he would never be one of them.
“You knew that it was likely you would cross paths with Beck. I told you that.”
“You did. But if Beck, or at least one of his lieutenants, is here, it affects what we are able to do in the future. If you have any influence with him…”
“Beck is not part of this organization. I told you that, too.”
She had, but Joachim hadn’t necessarily believed her. The fact that she knew Beck, and knew what kind of man he was, made her information on him suspect. Most people outside the criminal syndicate and law enforcement didn’t know about Beck. That she did told him he needed to be careful.
“Concentrate on your mission, Joachim,” she chided him. “Call me when you reach his houseboat.”
The phone clicked in Joachim’s ear. He closed the cell phone and replaced it in his pocket. Slowly, he turned and surveyed the street. Is she watching? He wasn’t certain.
Paranoia was a constant state of his profession. The feeling was one of the things that kept him alive all these years. His world was filled with gunrunners and black marketers, dope dealers and blackmailers, thieves and murderers. The sad thing was, he felt more at home in that world than any other.
Sometimes, when he let his own doubts and limitations plague him, he lost hope that he would ever be out of the sewer he was in. All his life that he could remember had been about violence, about crime that boiled down to sex and money. Even if he got out of it, got away from Günter and men like him, Joachim wondered how he was supposed to live like a normal man.
He would never be normal.
At the canal he flagged down a water taxi and gave his target’s address, wishing he knew more about why he was there.
And why a man as dangerous as Arnaud Beck was, too.
As Sam walked toward the area, Amsterdam’s red-light district pulsed neon against the encroaching night. It was just after 10:00 p.m. locally and the nine-to-five crowds had given the city over to the nightlife. The clubs and bars were full, and music stained the air, but traffic was sparse.
The city was shaped like a horseshoe, built on the old streets that had accommodated horse-and-buggy traffic. The canals had always offered transport, and the majority of destinations were within walking distance. Small parties and big groups walked through the streets and window-shopped.
She and Elle walked alone.
The Voorburgwal Canal lay to their right and the Achterburgwal Canal to their left. Buildings were crammed together in the space between. Trees and boats lined the canals and bicyclists weaved between the pedestrians.
The red-light district created a ruby bubble of illumination in Oude Zijde, the old side of the city. Although she hadn’t been there yet, Sam knew sex shops and brothels filled the area. What she was probably going to see intrigued her, but at the same time she was put off by reports of sexual slavery. Willing adults putting on a sex show in a window was one thing, but she had to wonder if some were forced to perform.
“When was the last time you were in Amsterdam?” Sam asked, curious about her sister’s life.
“Five months ago. Perhaps six.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“I was working.”
“Ah.” Although they’d shared a lot about their lives, Sam knew they kept secrets from each other. Given the nature of their professions, they had to.
However, the unclassified bits and pieces gave them much to discuss. Like who to bribe in Rio de Janeiro to get weapons and transportation, or who to lean on in Paris to get information about the black market network. Several of the people they’d met on missions had been the subject of more than a few laughs over beer and pizza.
Sam couldn’t help wondering if the mission they were presently on would be something they’d laugh about later. The fact that she hadn’t found her quarry yet spoke volumes about how difficult it might become.
Neither Allison nor Alex had given many clues. They’d simply come to Sam and asked her to find the man. Sam knew that Allison had been digging around in some of the secret files they’d found during their investigation of Rainy’s murder. The files’ importance had taken on a new dimension when Alex had connected them to the death of Allison’s own mother, Athena Academy founder Marion Gracelyn. She’d felt certain that the mystery assignment came out of those, but she had no clue what it pertained to.
Now, in the middle of Amsterdam, misgivings rattled against her confidence. She didn’t doubt that she could find Meijer, but the danger quotient was doubtlessly going to go up.
And I invited my sister to do this, Sam thought. Way to go.
“Who are you after?” Elle asked.
“Tuenis Meijer. He’s a—”
“Computer cracker,” Elle said.
She used the correct term for the man’s chosen illegal profession. Hacker was a term used by the public as a result of movies and misinformation. True masters of the craft referred to themselves as crackers because they cracked the code that protected information. “Right,” Sam said.
“Sorry,” Elle said. “Didn’t mean to spoil your briefing. It’s just that I’ve dealt with guys who have done business with Tuenis in the past.”
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “I knew you were familiar with Amsterdam. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to meet me here instead of canceling out. Your knowing Meijer is a plus.”
“He’s truly slime.”
“That’s what I gathered.”
Elle stopped and gazed south. “He keeps a houseboat on the Achterburgwal near Rusland Street.”
“I know,” Sam СКАЧАТЬ