Lost

by James Patterson

  Albert said, “I have an idea.” He reached into the outer pocket of his sports coat and pulled out a case about the size of a deck of cards.

  “What’s that?”

  “The tracker you told me to buy. I was going to test it to make sure I understood it. This will work perfectly.” Without waiting for a reply, Albert started walking toward the parking lot on the side of the apartment building. The very first car in the lot was a Volkswagen Golf hatchback with a police emblem on the dashboard.

  He was already on his knees checking the batteries in the store-bought tracker when his sister caught up to him.

  “Do you know how to use it? Can it be traced back to us?”

  “No, it can’t. And we need to practice with this gadget. Once we have the diamonds, we’ll want to be sure we know how to track them accurately.”

  Hanna heard a door shut. She glanced around the corner of the building to see Detective Marie Meijer strolling down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

  Hanna barked in a harsh whisper, “Hurry up. She’s coming.”

  Albert smiled and said, “Last chance. I can kill her right here, right now.”

  Hanna shook her head.

  Albert said, “Got it. Let’s get out of here.”

  Hanna was surprised by the rush she got from doing something as simple as this. Her heart was racing, perspiration forming on her forehead. They stepped onto the sidewalk with their backs to the detective, and Hanna put her arm around Albert’s waist as if they were a couple on a date.

  She heard the car door open and shut, then the pinging sound of an underpowered engine as the detective pulled away from the parking lot.

  Albert brought up his phone and opened an app. He said, “We got her. Let’s see where she’s headed.”

  Chapter 36

  THERE WAS A different vibe between Marie Meijer and me the next evening. The swelling in my eye from the suspect’s elbow had receded during the night, but I was still disturbed by what I’d seen after the raid by the Koninklijke Marechaussee. The image of the dead girl stuck in my head. Her pretty face would never smile again.

  It’s easy for a cop to pretend he’s seen it all and nothing bothers him. The reality is that if you see too much, there’s nothing anyone can do to save you.

  So on the job, I never minimized the tragedy I saw. It kept me human. Connected. I embraced the fact that I could still be shocked. I tried to stay positive, and I genuinely liked people. Most people. Even knowing what I knew, I gave people the benefit of the doubt. Like my dad used to say, people do what they have to do. Of course, he was using that as an excuse for why he was leaving my mother, but I could see how it made sense.

  Now we were back in De Wallen, the largest of the red-light districts, and Marie was showing me the building where she believed the human-trafficking ring operated. We walked because it was faster than sitting in traffic, no matter what kind of car you had.

  I didn’t like seeing the young women in bikinis behind windows. I knew what a hard life prostitutes had, sanctioned by the government or not. The girls in the booths with red lights worked twenty-two hours a day. The booths were closed from six to eight in the morning, then opened again for the businessmen to stop for a quickie on the way to work.

  I was surprised at the number of tourists, some with children, casually walking down the district’s narrow streets. We slipped into a café for a quick break.

  Marie took a sip of coffee and stretched her arms. She seemed more relaxed in this setting. She said, “What’s your social life like back at home?”

  “Dull to nonexistent.”

  She smiled and said, “I doubt that. A tall, handsome police officer in a city like Miami? I bet you’re busy every night.”

  We’d shared a lot over the past couple of days, but I wasn’t quite ready to get into my home life with her. At least, not the details about my mom. We sat quietly for a while longer, then I finally had to ask her about her eye.

  She focused both eyes on me and said, “It’s a birth defect. Why? Am I not pretty? Would I be a freak in Miami?”

  I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. It’s just that you’re so confident and your eye doesn’t seem to bother you. You even made a joke about our eyes matching. I was just curious.”

  Marie waved off my apology and said, “I try not to be self-conscious about it. The doctor said the eyelid droops slightly because of damage to a nerve. I used to wear nonprescription eyeglasses to hide it, but when I turned thirty, I realized anyone who was bothered by my eye was not someone I wanted in my life.”

  I said, “‘Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.’”

  Marie gave me a dazzling smile. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who said that?”

  I couldn’t hide my own smile. “Anne Frank.”

  “So you have a quote for every situation.”

  I laughed. “I picked that one up reading about Anne Frank last night.”

  “Why did you learn all these quotes?”

  “My bachelor’s degree is in philosophy. I noticed that it freaked out my coaches at the University of Miami when I spouted quotes. No one expects a big tight end to go to class, let alone study. I knew there was no way I was going to go pro, so I studied hard.”

  Marie gave a dainty laugh. “What does one do with a degree in philosophy?”

  “Go to law school.”

  “And how does someone who went to law school become a police officer?”

  That, I was not about to get into. There were too many complicated elements involved. I could’ve told her that I wanted to make a difference in the world or that I liked the excitement. Instead, I just shrugged and said, “I like my job.”

  She got that I didn’t want to talk about it. “Do you live alone? I bet you have a fancy apartment on South Beach.”

  “That’s almost exactly right. Except that I live fifty miles northwest of South Beach in a house with my mom and my sister.”

  Marie paused, then said, “That’s sweet. I think.”

  “Sweet, weird—it’s a matter of perspective. The fact is they’re good roommates and I can trust them. I haven’t always had that kind of success in my other living arrangements.”

  Clearly wanting to move on and not make me uncomfortable, Marie said, “Why don’t we take a look at some other neighborhoods?”

  It was like police work anywhere. Gather as much intelligence as possible before you act. I felt at home.

  Chapter 37

  IT WAS EARLY evening when Hanna and Albert started following Marie Meijer. Hanna wanted Albert to practice with the tracker. The signal had faded in and out a couple of times during the day, but he was learning how to follow the display on his iPhone.

  Albert put his hand on her arm as they turned a corner in central Amsterdam. He pointed across a busy street and said, “She’s just leaving that café and her car is parked out front.”

  Hanna said, “Who’s that with her? It looks like a cop.”

  “He’s either a cop or some kind of wrestler. He’d be a handful.”

  “It’s too crowded here. Let’s see where they head next. I’d prefer to get Funky-Eyed Bitch by herself.” Albert had given Hanna a Browning nine-millimeter pistol. He carried the Makarov nine-millimeter he’d bought at a military-surplus show. He’d had to pay the man extra to buy a working pistol, not just a museum item.

  They tracked the couple into the Oost District and found the car parked near Molukkenstraat, a block from the canal.

  Hanna said, “Why would they be over here?”

  “Does it matter? This is perfect. With all the crazy shit that goes on around here, no one would be surprised by a shooting.” He glanced around, hoping to see Meijer. “Remember, your gun is just for extra security. Let me do the shooting. We’ll do it when there are no witnesses.”

  “Are you going to shoot the man too?”

  “If he’s with her, I have to shoot him. There can’t be any witnesses. But
I’m pretty good with this thing. I might be able to do it from down the block.”

  Hanna didn’t like the idea of murder, but she could only deal with so many problems at once. Marie Meijer was the driving force of human-smuggling investigations. With her gone, Hanna could focus on the Russians. Just today, they had threatened her again, after Albert had stabbed one of their flunkies in the shoulder. She’d tried to explain that it was a personal argument in a bar, nothing to do with business.

  That’s all Russians cared about.

  Chapter 38

  WE PARKED THE car on a side street in the Oost District, and I noticed that this area catered to a younger, more vibrant crowd. There didn’t seem to be many tourists here, judging by how clean and serene the district felt.

  I was so comfortable with Marie now that it felt like I’d known her for years. She had a quick sense of humor, and, more important, she could let things go. She showed no resentment for my question about her eye earlier.

  When she took me to a charming place called the Volkshotel, I wondered what she was up to. One of the desk clerks waved to Marie as we entered.

  Marie looked over her left shoulder and said, “There’s a bar on the roof, Canvas. It’ll give us a nice view, and they have several beers that are outstanding.”

  I had given up trying to decipher the menus, so when we got there, I left my order up to Marie and she didn’t let me down.

  The IPA was from Belgium and the name unpronounceable. It had to be close to 10 percent alcohol. But it went down easy. Very easy. If this beer had been available in Miami when I was younger, I might not have graduated.

  Marie looked over and said, “Do you feel like being honest with me for a few minutes? Have I earned your trust enough?”

  I lifted my beer and said, “Fire away.”

  “How’s a smart, good-looking guy like you not married? You wouldn’t be able to stay single for ten days on the streets of Amsterdam.”

  I’d been prepared for a question about my mother. I was even ready to tell her all about the dementia that had stolen Mom from me and Lila a little bit at a time. It was the biggest, most difficult thing in my life. But this question hit home in a different way.

  I took a long pull on the beer and said, “It’s not a big deal.”

  That made Marie laugh. “I’m sorry, but when anyone begins a discussion with ‘It’s not a big deal,’ it’s usually a pretty big deal.”

  She was right. “What I meant to say was there’s not a good explanation. There’s just an old story.” I paused to take another sip of beer and choose my words.

  “Basically, I was engaged to a girl in law school. I took an internship with a local attorney in Miami, and the flashy son of a bitch stole my fiancée. That’s why I’m not married.”

  Marie was quite serious when she said, “I’m sorry the woman didn’t have enough sense to recognize she was with a good guy.” She paused, then added, “I was engaged once myself.”

  “What happened?”

  “Who knows? He got scared, I got scared. It just didn’t work out.”

  I said, “At least my way, you end up with an interesting story.”

  I enjoyed making Marie laugh.

  I said, “The worst of it is that I see the son of a bitch around town all the time. And he’s married to my ex-fiancée. If the fact that he’s still alive doesn’t show how much restraint I have, nothing will.”

  She smiled, patted my hand, and said, “Poor baby.”

  She meant it, and I felt better. Not a bad evening.

  Chapter 39

  HANNA WATCHED AS Albert jogged across the street to her. Generally, in their business, she handled all the details about shipments and money, and her brother acted as an enforcer. But lately, she was concerned she’d given him too long a leash, and she had been accompanying him on some of his jobs to ensure that he didn’t go overboard.

  Now he trotted back to her position and said, “They’re sitting up in that rooftop bar, Canvas, having a beer. Their car is a few blocks the other way. They’ll come out the front and probably take the alley back to the car. We could wait and catch them then.”

  Hanna said, “And you still don’t know who the man is?”

  “No. I don’t care how big he is—a bullet in the face should keep him pretty quiet.”

  Soon, just as Albert had predicted, the Dutch detective and her big male friend came out of the hotel and started walking toward her car, stopping periodically to look at things on the walls.

  Hanna and Albert fell in behind their two targets, and Hanna wondered what they were looking at. It took her a few minutes to realize they were reading some of the historical plaques on the buildings. The man had to be some kind of tourist.

  A few blocks from the car, Albert turned to Hanna excitedly and said, “This is perfect. There’s no one around. It’s dark. They’ve slowed down. This is so easy, it’s embarrassing.”

  Hanna said, “Can you do it from a distance? Even with just a handgun?”

  “We can stay right here behind this Mini Cooper, and I’ll hit both of them. If it doesn’t do the trick, I can walk down there and finish them. But this should be no problem at all.”

  He knelt down next to the British car. There was a blank space where the Cooper emblem should have been. He pulled the Makarov semiautomatic pistol from the back of his waistband and steadied it on the edge of the car.

  Hanna crouched behind him and saw that his barrel was pointing at the Dutch detective. Good. Marie Meijer was the main target. Hanna didn’t really care if they got the big man or not. He wouldn’t be able to identify them anyway.

  She could hear Albert steady his breathing and sight down his extended arm.

  This was one less problem Hanna would have to worry about.

  Chapter 40

  IN FRONT OF a small brick building, I studied a little bronze plaque that informed me the structure had been built in 1790.

  I mumbled, “Holy shit. The oldest house in my neighborhood was built in 1963.”

  Marie said, “Perhaps you can come back when you have more time. I could show you a lot more than just the criminal aspects of Amsterdam—there’s art and history here as well. The Rijksmuseum and the van Gogh museum are fabulous.”

  I let out a laugh. “Art and history? Are you crazy? I’m from Florida. I want to see sports and pretty girls.”

  A smile slid across Marie’s face. She reached up and gently touched my black eye. “We have soccer, and there’s a rugby club on Saturdays that would love to have someone like you. As for pretty girls, that’s a matter of your perspective.”

  I said, “I’m impressed with Amsterdam so far. Who knows, you and I might make some key arrests, and then we can visit every museum in the city.”

  She paused for a moment, then said, “I hope we can sort out the information I’m getting now about another load of people bound for the United States. We think the traffickers will try Miami again. That’s where their contacts are.”

  “Now you’ve got some pretty good contacts in Miami as well. We’ll do whatever we can to stop these criminals.” I was serious. Aside from the fact that she’d shown me a good time here in Amsterdam, Marie was a hell of a cop, and she was working a really big case. A case that could shut down a human-trafficking operation. She had intel and a witness who was feeding her tips; that’s how we’d saved the kids in Miami, and that’s how we’d stop the traffickers. There was no way anyone could pull me off it now.

  I heard the gunshot. Then two more. Instinctively, Marie and I both crouched behind a concrete planter for cover.

  Amsterdam was starting to feel more like home.

  Chapter 41

  HANNA WATCHED HER brother line up the shot. Yes, this was business, but it was also clearly personal, and killing Marie felt necessary. The detective was too interested in Hanna’s operation. The Funky-Eyed Bitch had made it personal first.

  Hanna was crouched low behind the Mini Cooper, watching the spot where the detective h
ad taken cover, when a movement near her left shoulder caught her attention.

  Albert looked ready to shoot when Hanna whispered, “Wait.”

  Albert whispered back, “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s behind us.”

  Just as Albert started to turn, Hanna heard a gunshot, and the rear window of the Mini Cooper shattered. Albert grabbed his sister and shoved her away from the car, across the sidewalk, and into the entryway of a small shop.

  There were two more shots. The bullets pinged off the bricks surrounding the entryway. A fleck of debris hit Hanna in the eye. She was confused and fighting panic. What the hell was this? Who was shooting at them?

  Albert kept low with his gun up, scanning the dark buildings around them.

  Hanna said, “Who’s shooting?”

  He continued to scan for targets. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “The Russians,” Hanna answered. “But why?”

  “Take your pick: The money we owe them. The fact that I had to get rough with one of them in a bar. Or that we’re competition for them.”

  “I meant, why now?”

  Albert was silent.

  Hanna had to ask. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Albert hesitated, then said, “Remember the pretty Canadian tourist I got high with yesterday?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if I told you she wasn’t Canadian, but Russian? And that after we got high, we fooled around at my apartment. Oh yeah, and that her husband is an enforcer for the Russian mob.”

  Hanna shook her head. “You’re an ass, but at least that makes a little more sense. Now I get why the Russians are trying to kill you.”

  Albert fired two rounds that looked like wild shots to Hanna. A streetlight across the road shattered, making it suddenly darker. Then two men scurried out of the shadows.

  Albert fired three more shots. One of the men fell onto the hard brick road and dropped a pistol as he hit the ground. Albert immediately jumped up and ran toward the fleeing man.