“What list? And why does Max want it?”
“He’s in all sorts of trouble. Unauthorized hits mostly, because he’s a violent and unstable man. He needs some leverage with the organization to keep his position. And his life.”
“And the list is…” Sam started. A racket at the end of the tunnel stopped him.
Pieter swore in French and turned to run in the opposite direction, back the way we’d just come. I hesitated, staring in the direction of the noise. Could that be Nouwen and his men?
Seconds later, my question was answered. Four men in dark suits ran towards us, each one holding a gun. One of them yelled at us, in Dutch I assumed. None of them looked like police officers.
I glanced back to see that Pieter had reached the steel door into the cabinet room. He jabbed at the keypad and shouted for us to join him. But I couldn’t move. Fear and indecision had cemented my feet to the stone floor. Sam stayed with me.
The four men stopped in their tracks suddenly, like disconnected robots. In the eerie silence, I heard a single set of footsteps coming closer. Soon, a suited figure came into view, striding towards us. The four men fell in behind him.
“You?” Sam sounded as shocked as I felt.
Bleeker inclined his head and spoke in his well-enunciated English. “Delighted to have arrived in time.”
As on the previous occasions when we’d met, he was dressed in an expensive suit, dark grey today, with a starched white shirt and blue silk tie.
“Arrived in time for what?” I asked.
“To save you from poor Pieter. I’m afraid he’s completely out of control.”
A metallic thud echoed along the tunnel. I looked back to see that the steel door had closed, and there was no sign of Pieter. He had locked himself in the filing cabinet room. When I turned around, Sam and Bleeker were talking. Sam said something to me, but I didn’t hear what he said. My attention was on his aura, which still circled over him. That was weird. It should disappear now that he was safe.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get Pieter the care he needs,” Bleeker was saying.
Confused by the presence of the aura, I took a deep breath. Maybe it would take another minute or two for the moving air to go away.
Bleeker held up a hand to beckon one of his men over and I found myself staring at the platinum ring on his finger. Now I remembered noticing it when Bleeker first came to the house. At the time, I’d had no idea what it signified.
“You’re Zeckendorf,” I said to him.
His expression didn’t change, but I noticed a faint twitch under his right eye. “Zecken who, my dear?”
“Are you the leader? The commander?”
Sam moved close to me, his hand seeking mine. He gripped my fingers tightly.
Bleeker shook his head as if bemused. “Let’s get you upstairs. It’s been a terrible ordeal, I’m sure. But you’re quite safe now.”
He whispered to the man next to him, who came over and cupped my elbow in his hand, applying gentle pressure.
“Run, Sam,” I whispered.
“Not so fast.” Bleeker motioned another man forward. This one was less subtle. He stared at us like a predatory animal eyeing its next meal. His shaved head gleamed as he grabbed Sam’s arm and bent it up behind his back.
“So, what we need is your help in finding Karen,” Bleeker said. “We think she has the list. Once that is safely in my possession, you will be free to leave. Where is she?”
That word ‘list’ again. Pieter had said it and now Bleeker. But what list? There hadn’t been anything like that among the papers Karen had picked up from the safety deposit box.
Bleeker repeated his question. “Where is Karen?”
“We don’t know,” I replied. “But Max went to look for her. He works for you, doesn’t he?”
“Max is an idiot,” Bleeker said. “But that does add some urgency to the situation. Where is Alex?”
“She’s with Max.”
He nodded approvingly. “Good. That will make things easier.”
Easier for whom? To do what? While I pondered those questions, Bleeker turned to talk in Dutch to his men. The two already holding Sam and me tightened their grip. The other two ran along the tunnel to the steel door. One of them pressed buttons on the keypad and they slipped in before the door was fully open. I wasn’t sure what to make of Pieter, but I didn’t think he’d easily evade the two thugs. Each of them was twice his size. He didn’t have an aura, though, so maybe I was underestimating him.
“Off we go then,” Bleeker said, turning to lead the way towards the exit through the graphics design office. “You can talk while we drive.”
25
As we marched through the tunnel, I listened carefully, straining to hear any noise that would indicate the presence of Nouwen’s team, but I only heard Bleeker’s elegant leather wingtips tapping on the stone floor.
We reached the end of the tunnel and climbed the stairs to the design firm’s lobby where another henchman in a suit waited, one hand tucked inside his jacket. A wire ran from his ear and he was talking on a mobile. He finished the call immediately, his eyes scanning us, assessing us for threats, I supposed, and he stayed at Bleeker’s shoulder as we headed to the exit.
My captor pushed me out through the door towards a flashy black Mercedes parked outside. And then he yanked me back in as sirens screamed on the street beyond. Within seconds, two police cars sped into the car park, tires squealing and lights flashing. Officers in bulletproof jackets poured out of both vehicles.
Bleeker and his men retreated rapidly, hauling us along with them. They slammed the office door closed and bolted it. Then we scrambled back down the metal stairway and began a hundred-meter dash along the tunnel.
The bald man holding Sam let go of him and sprinted ahead to enter the passcode for the steel door at the far end. It slowly swung open. I guessed we’d all head for the cabinet room and use the metal stairs to reach the top floor. From there, we could get into the house through the hole we’d made in the wall, then run down the stairs and out through the front door. I could only hope the police would be guarding the front of the building by the time we got there.
But no one had followed the bald man into the cabinet room. Instead, Pieter came out, accompanied by the other two thugs. I didn’t know what to make of the nod Pieter gave me. Was he sending a message? I couldn’t decipher it, if so.
All three men were carrying grey metal boxes like the ones we’d seen in the safe upstairs. They contained ammunition, it turned out, which was quickly distributed to Bleeker and the others. Baldy gave Pieter a handgun. Together, they joined the other men to form a solid line in front of Bleeker, facing in the direction of the design office, waiting for the police to break through the steel door.
The prospect of a gun battle turned my legs to water. Standing next to Bleeker, as instructed, I leaned against Sam, glad of his shoulder against mine.
“We’re going to get out of this,” I said without much conviction. “The police will rescue us.”
A deafening bang surged through the tunnel like a tidal wave. The clatter of boots on the metal stairway sounded like a death rattle. It was going to be a bloodbath down here if Bleeker didn’t call his men off. But they were showing no signs of backing down. Guns raised, feet braced, they waited.
I realized that their attention was focused on the tunnel in front of them, as was Bleeker’s. No one was watching us. Taking hold of Sam’s hand, I inched backwards. None of them paid any attention. We took another couple of steps and then froze as the first of the police officers came into view. Bleeker said something to his men and they all lowered their guns. I sagged against Sam with relief.
But the moment lasted only a couple of seconds. Bleeker turned, reached out to grab my arm and put his gun against my temple. He shouted at the officers. One of them spoke into a radio but it seemed it wasn’t working, hardly surprising given our location.
Baldy moved, light on his feet, and stood right next t
o Sam, gun pointed at his head.
The officers raised their semi-automatics again. I couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to slow. I heard ticking in my head, an inexorable cosmic chronometer, tapping out my last seconds on Earth. Thoughts of Josh, my dad and my brother fluttered in my brain, but the prospect of their grief was too painful to dwell on. Sam reached out to hold my hand. His fingers were freezing.
The lead officer yelled something that made Bleeker shake his head. He pressed the gun harder against my temple. My whole body began to shake, great tremors that made it hard to stay on my feet. My brain seemed to shut down. I couldn’t think clearly. It was terrifying.
I couldn’t tell how long we stood there in the netherworld of the old tunnel. It felt like an eon before Bleeker and the officer exchanged words again. This time, Bleeker took the gun away from my head. Baldy lowered his weapon, although he didn’t look very happy about it. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the shaking and get my brain back to functional. I knew we weren’t safe yet. There were still a dozen men with big guns in a small space.
A thought struck me then with the force of a flying bullet. There was another way out. The spiral staircase at the end of the tunnel led up to the wiring closet hidden in the old kitchen. I remembered that Sam had piled shelving in front of the closet door to stop anyone from getting into the house. Still, we stood a chance if we could get that far.
I glanced back over my shoulder, trying not to make it obvious I was looking. A slight curve in the tunnel meant that the staircase wasn’t visible, but I knew it was only ten meters beyond where we stood now.
But a look at the gun in Baldy’s hand dissolved any hopes of escape. It might as well have been ten miles to the staircase. We’d never make it.
And then the lights went out.
The darkness in the tunnel was absolute. Amidst a tumult of shouted orders, I grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him down to the ground. Seconds later, someone threw a glow stick into the space between the officers and Bleeker’s men. It gave off an eerie green light. On both sides, guns were pointed. Baldy had moved closer to Bleeker.
“To the staircase,” I whispered to Sam.
We’d only crawled a meter or two when a gunshot boomed. Then another.
My instinct was to get up and run but, with bullets flying around the tunnel, the ground was a better option. Wriggling along the damp floor on our stomachs seemed to take forever. It felt like a war zone, a blur of noise and intense fear. Gunshots and shouting, the thud of boots on the stone floor, the taste of metal in my mouth. I jerked away as a bullet ricocheted off the ground inches from my shoulder, throwing a spray of dust and concrete fragments against my neck.
“Jeez, are you hurt?” Sam whispered.
“No, just scared to death. Keep going.”
Another shot. Sam stopped moving. It felt as though my heart stopped, too. “Sam?”
He groaned. “I’ve been hit,” he said. “My leg.”
I inched closer. In the faint green light, I saw a small pool of blood spreading on the ground beneath him. “We have to keep moving,” I said. “Can you?”
“No choice,” he muttered. He pulled himself forward on his elbows and one knee, dragging his injured leg. A few seconds later, we rounded the curve in the tunnel. It was dark here, the light from the glow stick barely reaching us. But the spiral staircase was just a few steps away. I scrambled to my feet and helped Sam to sit on the bottom step. It was hard to think clearly through the fog of raw fear that enveloped me, but I knew we had to get out of the tunnel if we were to have any chance of surviving.
First, I took off my jacket and tied it around his leg. “I’m not sure if that will help, but keep pressure on the wound until I get back. I’m going to see if I can get into the house.”
Not waiting for a response, I ran up the staircase and emerged into the corner of the wiring closet. It was so dark I couldn’t see a thing. Hands in front of me, I worked my way along the walls until I felt the door. I knew it opened outwards into the old kitchen, so I pushed hard. As I’d feared, Sam’s makeshift defense system worked well. The door vibrated but it didn’t move.
I pushed again and again, panic urging me on. Frantic, I kicked at the lower panel. It sounded hollow, and I kicked it twice, feeling it give a little. Quickly, I lay on the floor and used the chunky heels of my boots like a battering ram. It worked. The panel gave way and I stood up to peel away enough of the wood to make an opening.
But those damn shelves still blocked our exit. I reached through and took a precious minute to shove aside enough greasy planks to crawl through. Once I was on the other side, I cleared the last of the debris and pulled the door open.
Getting back through the wiring closet and down the spiral stairs seemed to take an eternity, but I was soon with Sam again. He seemed dazed, and I guessed he was going into shock. In the tunnel beyond, there was a lot of yelling but no more shooting. I hooked Sam’s arm around my neck and helped him up. “This is going to hurt a bit,” I warned.
Half-carrying him, I struggled up the metal stairs. The shouting below continued. I couldn’t imagine what was going on down there. I tried not to think about it. All that mattered was getting Sam away from Bleeker and his men.
Finally, we reached the top and crossed into the kitchen with its smell of old grease and smoke. I fumbled in the dark for the light switch, exhaling in relief when the lamps flickered on.
Now that I could see Sam’s wound, though, I felt queasy. It was bad, worse than I’d imagined. Blood soaked his trousers. His skin was grey, his eyes half-closed in pain. And his aura was spinning fast. I had to stop the bleeding somehow, but there was nothing in the ancient kitchen that could help, no towels or rugs, not even a dirty old rag. And I was worried Bleeker’s men would follow us up the spiral stairs.
“One more push,” I said. “We need to get out of here.”
I ran though my options. We could go out the front door and hope for help from a passerby, but it was very late. There may not be anyone around at this time of night, and I couldn’t leave Sam bleeding on the doorstep while I looked for someone with a mobile phone.
So I made a split-second decision. “We’ll go up to the apartment,” I told him. “There’s a phone line up there. I can call for an ambulance.”
I paused long enough in the lobby to turn the key in the lock of the door that led to the old kitchen. It wouldn’t hold anyone back for long, but it would slow them down. Then I got Sam into the lift, supporting him as the little cubicle hummed its way upwards. The door slid open on to the landing.
“We’re heading to the big sofa,” I told him. “You can lie down and rest.”
As we struggled towards the archway into the apartment, I heard a noise. Goosebumps prickled my whole body. There was someone in there. Another step, and I saw chaos in the living room. Paintings lay on the carpet, rugs were turned over, drawers of the dressers and tables pulled out.
A man stepped into view. It was Max.
26
“Well, well, you got out of the cellar,” Max remarked.
I had no time to think about why he was here. Dragging Sam along, I turned back towards the lift and jabbed at the call button. Max was right behind me. Then his hand was on my shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
“Call for an ambulance then. Right now. Sam’s hurt.”
“I can see that. Put him on the couch.”
He watched as I navigated Sam through the debris on the floor to reach the sofa. Alex, standing in the middle of the room, looked stricken. The air over her head still swirled.
“What happened?” Her voice was high and panicked.
“There’s a gun battle going on in the cellar. The police and Bleeker.” I reached the sofa and lowered Sam on to it. “Sam was hit.”
“Bleeker? He’s involved in this?”
I thought about that as I lifted Sam’s legs and slid cushions underneath them. Had she really not known that Bleeker ran Zecke
ndorf? It was possible; she’d said it was Max who coached her earlier this week.
I turned to look at him. “Phone for an ambulance. Please.”
“Sam is not my priority.” He shrugged, a gesture of indifference. “But I will make the call if you agree to cooperate.” As he had his gun in his hand, he wasn’t exactly giving me a choice.
“Whatever you want. Just get him some help. I need towels and scissors.”
“You’re not getting them. We have more urgent things to get done here.”
I bit back the words that leapt to my lips. If Sam died because Max wouldn’t help him, I’d hunt him down and kill him myself.
Alex helped me untie the sleeve of my jacket that I’d used as a temporary tourniquet. I rolled up Sam’s blood-soaked trouser leg as high as it would go. The wound, still welling blood, was in his thigh, just above his knee. I couldn’t see if the bullet was still in there or not, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. I wadded up the jacket and pressed down, hoping to slow down the bleeding. Sam winced but didn’t speak.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked Alex when Max moved away to talk on his mobile. I wanted to snatch the thing from his hand and call emergency services, but he was still holding the gun. “Why is he here?”
“He’s looking for something specific, a document,” Alex whispered. “He thinks it was in the safety deposit box, but said we had to look here too.”
I assumed Max was looking for the list that both Pieter and Bleeker had mentioned. But I didn’t care about any of it anymore. I just wanted Sam to be safe. He was looking a little better now that I wasn’t dragging him around, but his aura was still spinning violently. The danger was far from over.
“Can you get to the phone?” I whispered to her. “It’s in the kitchen.”
Her eyes flickered towards Max. It was only then that I noticed a purple bruise on her temple. I looked at her more closely. Her wrist was red and swollen, and she was cradling it against her other arm.
Assignment in Amsterdam Page 22
