by Andy McNab
I closed my eyes for a second, as if that was going to block everything. I turned the radio on, but the Dutch presenter sounded like he was clearing his throat after every syllable.
Anna had been busy with her iPhone. She was inputting the meeting place so her sat-nav app could tell us the best route.
‘This is our exit.’
I peeled off the motorway, thankful that I had to start changing gear and going round roundabouts, anything to keep the weird stuff at bay. The architecture changed from glass and steel extravagance to boring two-storey rectangles.
The coalition government had just collapsed and it was election time. Huge billboards had been erected so the competing parties had somewhere to slap their posters. The only face I recognized was the smiling blond-haired right-winger, Geert Wilders, whose anti-Islamic views had barred him from the UK.
They had the same arguments over here as we did about the war in Afghanistan, but ours hadn’t yet brought down a government. The Dutch had about 2,500 troops over there and had taken a lot of casualties. Now it looked like they were all coming home. Their mums would be pleased, but I wasn’t sure the boys themselves would be: they were good lads and wouldn’t want to leave the job half finished.
The iPhone’s GPS was up and running.
‘Another thirty minutes, depending on traffic.’
The address Robot had given her was a cafe on Herengracht, one of the three main canals. It was close to the city centre, and deep in Van der Valk country.
3
We crossed a bridge and turned left onto Herengracht. The houses looked too large for families to live in. A lot of them were offices for banks, lawyers and architects.
Anna put her phone down. ‘It’s down towards the other end. On the junction with Bergstraat.’
‘Got it.’
‘As soon as we get there we turn left.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’ve still got twenty minutes. All good.’
‘I’m going to try to park on the side road. You need to be set up and waiting for him. If anything spooks you, get up and walk. Don’t take any chances. Last night was bad enough.’
Her eyes stayed on the road.
‘Any fuck-ups and we get separated, we meet back at the hotel. No one knows about it. It’s just ours.’
‘There - up on the left, by the junction.’
I slowed down, which made a couple of cyclists very happy, but really because I wanted to give us better eyes on the cafe. It was bang on the junction.
Five or six people were braving the chill to eat their breakfast at tables outside. The canal was less than ten metres away on the other side of the road.
I took the left up Bergstraat. The street was much narrower, with houses on both sides. It was bollarded all along. There was no parking. Behind a window in one of the houses, a woman sat on a stool in her underwear. I looked at the next house. Her neighbour was in the same line of business.
I drove the fifty metres to the end of the street and turned left. I found a pay-and-display space. I did a three-point turn so I’d be facing her.
I wanted to make sure that what I’d said had registered. ‘You must keep your back to the canal, OK?’
She nodded.
‘If anything doesn’t feel right, you get up and walk.’
I got no response.
‘Don’t fuck about, Anna. We don’t know what we’re up against. Anything dodgy, just walk away and we’ll sort it out some other way.’
She nodded again.
‘Make sure he takes a seat facing the canal so I can get a good look at him.’
She tucked her phone into the glove compartment and got out of the car.
I gave her a couple of seconds, then went off and bought a ticket. The guy at the bureau de change hadn’t been happy to change so many of my kroner into euro coins, but I’d insisted. I crossed the road and walked along the canal. I stopped to admire the view. I could see Anna was already at a table. She’d taken the one right on the end by the pavement. She had her cigarettes out and a waitress had already pounced on her.
I strolled to one of the seats by the canal, about seventy metres from Anna’s back.
The street was full of young mums with their kids. Even the dogs had shiny hair. Everything was pleasant and ordered. The air smelt of coffee and grilled cheese.
Anna’s brew turned up and she smoked, drank and waited. As I soaked up the atmosphere, I checked for anyone else doing the same, staking out the meeting place before Robot’s mate turned up.
I sat and waited for another ten minutes. A bald head in jeans appeared from the direction of the bridge we’d crossed. He looked like a bouncer or a Russian billionaire. He wasn’t fat, but he could have done with losing a stone. Beneath his black-leather bomber jacket his gut strained against his shirt. He spotted Anna and went straight over. She gestured at the bench opposite her but he wanted to sit alongside.
He was going to search her.
Not a drama, but I’d wanted him facing me so I could do a walk-past, maybe grab a picture or some video footage with the BlackBerry for Jules. I would now either have to get up and walk straight towards them, or wander down Herengracht and then come back. Either way, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.
I could still walk past, then do a full 360 round the block, but I wasn’t going to leave Anna unprotected for that long. It was better to stay put and give up on the photo. Maybe there’d be a chance to follow him after the meet.
They spoke with their faces inches apart. Both of them smoked. He refused a drink when the girl appeared.
After two or three minutes he got out his mobile. He said something to Anna and she nodded. Then she stubbed out the rest of her cigarette.
My view was suddenly blocked by a crimson Lexus 4x4 with darkened windows that had emerged from Bergstraat and pulled up right next to them. I got to my feet and walked towards them.
I crossed the road in time to see her blonde hair and the bald head ducking into the back of the wagon. I couldn’t see if she was doing it voluntarily or under duress.
I was close enough now to hear the door shut, even see my own reflection in the side windows as the Lexus made a left.
I turned up Bergstraat, keeping to a slow tourist amble. But as soon as the Lexus was out of sight, I broke into a run. The women in the windows looked at me like I was a madman.
I jumped into the Panda and hit the ignition, narrowly missing a cyclist as I pulled out. I gunned it towards Herengracht and turned left.
The Lexus had gone.
4
I had to put my foot down and risk running someone over - there was no other way. My eyes were glued to the road ahead. I braked hard at every junction and stared down it for a second or two before continuing. The Panda’s engine screamed its complaint. So did the people on the pavement.
I reached the top of the street. If I went left, I’d be going into the centre. If I went right, it would be to the harbour bay and then out of the city. If I was going to top her, where would I go? I threw it right, jumping a red light. Horns honked. Fuck ‘em.
I snatched up a gear as the rev counter hit red. The traffic lights were suspended on wires across the junction ahead. They were on red too. A long line of vehicles tailed back towards me. There was nothing I could do. I was stuck.
The honkers from the last junction caught up with me and stared daggers. I jumped out and climbed onto the Panda’s roof. The steel buckled beneath my feet, but I caught a hint of crimson near the front of the queue, in the right-hand lane. The Lexus was aiming for the northern, industrial, side of the city.
The lights went green. I jumped back in and pushed forward, willing them not to change again before I got through. I was flapping even more now.
I saw the Lexus turn right as the lights went to amber. I was two cars back from the junction. The one ahead of me stopped. I glanced behind me for bikes and mounted the kerb. I eased my way past. It wasn’t a popular move. Every driver in Amsterdam stood on his horn.
I bumped my way back down onto the road and edged into the traffic heading right. There were two lanes. I pushed into the outside one, trying to get my foot down as I wove between vehicles. The Lexus was maybe four or five ahead. I had a better view of it now we were starting to go downhill. We were heading under the bay.
A sign for the next turn-off showed a graphic of a factory with a smoking chimney and the words Noord 5.
I went into the tunnel, still in the outside lane. About halfway through we all passed a police car on the inside lane. I didn’t know if we were speeding but the Lexus and the rest of the traffic didn’t seem concerned. Nobody slowed. I went for it.
The Lexus manoeuvred across the lanes, reaching the inside as we emerged into daylight. He was taking the turn-off. I glanced over my shoulder as I moved over. The police car was coming up behind me.
The Lexus took a right at the top of the hill just as the lights turned red. I checked my mirror. The police car was right up my arse. I had to sit there. The signs to Noord 5 now showed more little factories with smoking chimneys, this time with boats parked up alongside them.
The lights changed and I turned right. The police car came with me. I stuck to 60 k.p.h. We had left Van der Valk country far behind. The buildings here were local authority two-up, two-down monstrosities surrounded by muddy swathes of what might once have been grass. There were little Dutch touches like dormer windows, but the streets weren’t lined with milkmaids with blonde pigtails and clogs. All I saw were black or South East Asian women, and many more of unknown origin completely burqa’d up. The weather had changed too: Noord 5 seemed to have its own micro-climate. Everyone was wrapped in a long coat to fight the cold and the dark clouds that were gagging to dump on them.
I paralleled the long side of a rectangular market covered with plastic sheeting. Cheap clothes hung on rails next to stalls piled high with big bottles of cola and shampoo. Nearby houses had boarded-up windows and numbers painted on the brickwork because they’d fallen off the doors. Kerbs were choked with rusty, minging old cars. Sink estates are the same the world over. The only difference here was that Iranian or Turkish flags hung from every other sill.
I took the first option at the next roundabout. The police car carried straight on. The Lexus must have come this way, but I didn’t know which of the three exits it had taken.
I headed along the southern end of the market towards another, smaller, roundabout with another three exits. Where now? I had multiple options to cover. All I could do was cruise with my eyes peeled.
I went with the flow. Everyone I saw was in shit state. It was as if they’d been dumped here and forgotten.
I slowed to a crawl and stared down every side street.
Nothing.
I drove on.
5
An hour and a half later, I was flapping more with every passing minute. I kept telling myself she was a switched-on girl. She knew how to handle herself. She’d dealt with the Russians. But that meant fuck-all. I wanted to find her. I needed to find her.
For the last thirty minutes I’d been parked up by the market, as close as I could get to the stretch of dual carriageway that ran between the small roundabout and the big one - the last known location I had for the Lexus.
Last light was in twenty minutes. After that, I’d go back to the RV, the hotel, and hope that she’d turn up.
I was on the far side of the bay. North-west of here was the canal that connected it with the North Sea and the commercial waterways of Europe. That was why Amsterdam was a hub for trafficking drugs and women.
I was tucked into a line of vehicles. Kids on mopeds screamed up and down, helmets perched on the top of their heads and leaning so far back they could have been auditioning for Easy Rider. Women trundled past, laden with plastic shopping bags. Not one of them gave me a second glance. They were all too busy keeping their own shit together to worry about anyone else’s.
A crimson shape came into view, heading towards the small roundabout. It was definitely a Lexus. I wanted to start the engine and be ready to roll but had to wait until it had gone past and committed to an exit. Everything had to look normal. He mustn’t see me reacting. I guessed he was going to take the third option, towards the larger roundabout, and then right, back through the tunnel.
I couldn’t see anything or anyone through the windows as it passed. It surprised me by taking the second left, into the housing estate by the market.
I followed, engine screaming. No way was I going to lose this fucker now, until I knew if she was inside. If she wasn’t, I would have to take action with the bald head and his mates, and get them to tell me where she was. Fuck finding Lilian. That could wait.
The road widened. Some of the shops already had their lights on. The Lexus’s brake lights glowed. It looked like he was about to pull over. I slowed, ready to abandon the car at the kerb if they got out and walked.
He wasn’t pulling over. He was making a turn. He swung the vehicle right round until he faced me head on.
I was going to have to let him pass before I reacted.
I pulled up outside a kebab shop next to a rank of clappedout taxis. Lads leant against the bonnets, smoking and chatting, wrapped up against the cold. The Lexus had stopped. The rear door opened and I caught a glimpse of her jeans as she got out. The passenger window came down. I pulled out my BlackBerry and started driving. I went past slowly, the phone to my ear, trying to make it look like I was chatting away to someone as I tried to get a clear shot of Anna’s new best mate.
She finished her exchange with the bald guy and crossed the road towards the taxi rank. I stopped to let her past as he powered up his window and drove off.
I dropped the BlackBerry into my lap and carried on for a couple of hundred metres before swinging round by a dark-grey stone building. It looked like an old government institution, maybe a library or a theatre. Its big glass windows were filled with posters in Arabic. It must have been a mosque of sorts. Shoes were stacked on racks outside a side entrance.
Anna was talking to the driver of the taxi at the head of the queue. She saw me, gave the guy a thanks-but-no-thanks, and turned to walk down one of the side streets. I followed and pulled up alongside her. She looked around and jumped in. The expression on her face said she was ready for her bollocking.
‘What the fuck are you doing? I told you, didn’t I? Anything spooks you, get up and walk. Didn’t I say don’t take any chances?’
She listened to me as she fastened her seatbelt. ‘Nick, watch the road. I’ve found Lilian.’
‘Alive?’
‘I think it’s her. There were twelve girls, some of them fresh off the plane. I can show you. Go back to the roundabout.’ She lowered her window and lit a cigarette.
She took a drag. ‘It was dark. But there’s one who could definitely be her.’
‘What about Baldilocks - you get his name? Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s a Brit, but he doesn’t sound like you. He’s like the one in Christiania. The one who gave us the address.’
‘A Scouser?’
‘I don’t know what that means. But he sounded the same.’ She took another drag. As we turned onto the roundabout I let down my window too.
‘Take the second exit - follow the signs for the docks.’
I checked the blue plate high up on the first building past the roundabout. The street was called Distelweg.
‘Follow the road. It twists and turns through this housing estate, and then you cross a canal. After that, it’s a dead straight line down the centre of the docks.’ She turned her head to blow out another cloud of smoke. ‘I told him I’d buy the lot, thinking that maybe I could get them all out quickly. We could find the money, couldn’t we, Nicholas? Five thousand euros. Five thousand each. They’re young …’
‘Brilliant. When do we have to deliver the cash?’
‘We don’t.’ She sighed. ‘Turns out they’ve already been sold and are due to leave this Thursday. He just wanted t
o show me how fresh his merchandise is.’
As we drove over the bridge and into almost total darkness I had the same feeling I’d had at the Bender border crossing into Transnistria - like I was crossing into East Berlin. In my rear-view, the canal shimmered under the street-lights. We passed four or five ropy-looking boathouses. Just forty metres later the world was pitch black.
Anna tossed out her cigarette and climbed into the back without being told. She crouched in the foot-well as I turned onto the dead straight tarmac road that bisected the dock. Potholes lined the verge where it surrendered to the mud, and stacks of wooden pallets sat outside a parade of industrial units. Watery pools of security lighting surrounded a similar group of buildings in the distance. A few trucks and vans were parked up here and there, but there was no sign of life. This wasn’t a 24/7 part of town.
All signs of habitation petered out about four hundred metres further on and were replaced by a run of steel railings. To reinforce the Checkpoint Charlie experience, it started to rain.
Anna rested her head on the baby seat. ‘OK - now we’re at the wasteground. The place I was taken is on its own, set back from the road. There’s a tower on the left-hand side.’
The Noord 5 area was on the far side of the water. Piles of rubble and twisted steel reinforcing rods glistened in its ambient light.
We passed a double gate secured with a shiny new padlock and chain.
‘That’s where we drove in.’
Droplets of rain bounced through the open window and onto my cheek. I studied the dark silhouette of the target: an imposing rectangular structure with a tower at the left end. I couldn’t see a single light.
‘I think it’s a grain silo - or, at least, it used to be. There was flour over everything. It smells like a cake shop when you go in.’
I carried on for another hundred metres or so, to a point where the road turned sharp left and then almost wound back on itself. We passed a ferry point, not much more than a slipway, too small for vehicles, just for pedestrians and cyclists. I drove back towards what I hoped was the Berlin Wall canal. With luck we’d be able to cross it and get back onto Distelweg via the estate.
