Adrenaline

by Jeff Abbott

  “We lost the shipments, but my partner says he knows how to get replacements.” He listened. Then said yes three times. He clicked off the phone.

  “Where are these shipments we can take over?” he asked.

  “You can’t steal a legit shipment,” I said. “You can’t redirect it, not if you want to be sure of total control of it. They could have GPID chips inside for the police to track it. You need to steal from counterfeiters. They can’t run to the police and if they want to try and take you on, you might be able to outgun them.”

  “I don’t want to steal in Rotterdam,” he said. “These people could be my customers later.”

  I hate people who think long-term. I needed him panicked, not logical. I tented my tongue with my cheek. “We don’t have time—”

  “We will have to figure it out. Now. We’re on a deadline. I miss it, Edward will kill us both.”

  Well, I was about to ruin his plans. But what if Edward and Yasmin weren’t where we were headed right now? I’d have to continue the charade to get close to them. Where the hell would I find illegal shipments to hijack?

  I considered. “The Chinese usually move their billions in counterfeit cigs in stages, shedding shipments in major cities as they move west across Europe.” I drummed a finger against my lip. “So. I think Chinese counterfeits are our best hope. We can grab a shipment, relabel it, hide the goods, and get it on its way to America.”

  He was calmer. “What do you need?”

  “A team of at least seven, and guns. Silencers. We will need forged papers to replace their shipping manifests with our names in case we are stopped.”

  “And how will we find the Chinese shipments?”

  “I know a man,” I said. But I hoped I’d have Edward in my grip before I had to make that call.

  The house was in a section of De Pijp that was a bit worn and tired.

  If I could get the gun from Piet before we were in, I could work through the house, eliminating them. I would be going in blind, though. But better to get the layout, see the faces, then strike. Assuming I got my hands on a gun.

  God, I was assuming a lot.

  I glanced at the rear mirror. It would have been nice to see Mila pulling up behind us, arms laden with, well, arms. But the street was empty except for two women walking along the sidewalk, carrying their shopping bags.

  A man opened the door as we approached, his eyes hidden behind retro-style sunglasses. His mouth was a lush, cruel curl. I tensed. I felt like I was walking into a gas chamber. This was what my life had come to: killing. I wondered what my baby looked like; I wondered what his skin felt like, what it would be like to know the curl of a hand around a father’s finger.

  You think the damndest things when you believe you’re really about to die. Like you know you only have so many thoughts left.

  The man who had taken my wife and child from me was inside. Waiting.

  Piet said, “He’s clean,” but the sunglassed man guided me into the house with a fist in the small of my back and searched me thoroughly, his hand running along my back, my legs, my groin.

  Beyond the entryway I could detect a scent of spicy food, of laundry detergent, of sweat. Another man, a blond, stood at the end of the hall. Three to kill. But I would kill them, somehow.

  A young woman stepped out next to him. She wore jeans and a faded T-shirt and held a gun. She had brown hair, pulled back. Not Yasmin Zaid. She stared at me with flat eyes. Four to kill.

  And on her arm, a nine paired with a sun, stylized. Just like the man in Brooklyn who I’d killed with my bartender’s guide.

  I wondered if the guy in shades could smell my fear, my tension. I didn’t want to die. The realization was on me like a weight slamming between my shoulders.

  “You’re enjoying this,” I said, as he ran probing fingers up my leg, toward my crotch. “Those are some gifted hands.”

  “Shut up. You talk when I say so,” he said in perfect English. Since his fist was close to my groin, I decided silence was the best option. I could see the gun in the back of his pants. Good to know. I’d already decided I’d take the woman’s gun; she was holding it a bit loosely, as though it were more prop than weapon ready to use.

  “This is Samson,” Piet said. “He’s all right. He—”

  And he didn’t get a chance to finish. The sunglassed man jabbed a hand hard into Piet’s throat. Piet slammed against the wall, choking, and the sunglassed man—probably about six-four, two hundred very solid pounds—said, “I’m not happy with you, Piet.”

  Piet—big, tough sword-ninja Piet—started to beg. “Ah, Freddy, please. Please.”

  “We all want to know how today went so bad. How Marc and Dirk died.” I guessed those were the twins.

  “He can’t answer you if he’s choking to death,” I said. Piet gurgled and brought a bit of color to the dour room, turning a nice shade of robin’s-egg blue.

  Freddy shot me a look. “I don’t know you.”

  “Marc and Dirk got killed because Nic sold us out,” I said. “Nic’s dead. The revenge is done, if that’s what you’re after. I killed Nic and I’m going to get us some goodies to hide your junk.”

  “They were our friends.”

  “I’m very sorry. They died standing up.”

  He had the same tattoo as the woman, the nine that was partly a sun. It looked very fresh on his forearm.

  These guys were Novem Soles? These guys were… nothing. What had they done that ranked a Company file before the London bombing?

  Freddy gave me a long, funny look. Piet started to kick the wall. Freddy’s bicep looked like it was hewn from marble. He probably didn’t keep a gun at hand because he could kill you with one blow.

  The woman said, “Freddy. Let’s hear what Piet’s come to say.”

  Freddy dropped Piet, who coughed and rolled on the dirty floor. I helped him to his feet. I couldn’t get my hands close to his gun, though. And Freddy had a gun out now and had it very close to my temple.

  He steered us into a den at the end of the hallway and I thought: here we go, moment of truth.

  But it was empty. No Edward. No scarred man. He wasn’t here.

  “Edward wanted to talk to us,” Piet said.

  “Edward doesn’t talk to people he doesn’t know,” the woman said. She had an odd tone, as though English and Dutch accents had been puréed in a linguistic blender. She was pretty, in a technical sense that proportion and balance were in her features, but she was ugly at the same time. Like the rot in her soul had inched its way to the surface. I disliked her immediately, and intensely.

  “That must make his social circle very tiny,” I said.

  “Yes.” The woman seemed to be in charge. Freddy wasn’t contributing to class discussion.

  “My name is Samson,” I said. “And you are?”

  “Demi.” She gestured at chairs. I sat.

  “Like the actress?”

  “Like the actress. Did you know her name is very popular with Dutch parents?”

  “I did not,” I said.

  This wasn’t right. They looked like low-level crooks, nothing that could pull off multiple bombings to rid themselves of enemies, or blackmail a corporate titan like Bahjat Zaid. But as my mind flashed across the video images from the Turk’s execution, I felt sure that Freddy and Demi and Piet and the other guy had been among the masked crowd on the tape. I could recognize Freddy’s bulk, the Dutch kid’s slouch, Demi’s crossed-arm stance.

  The house was old, and it smelled, and they looked like youngsters playing at gangsters rather than being real criminals. On the TV a SpongeBob cartoon played, muted. I could smell burned popcorn wafting from the kitchen. A disassembled gun lay on the table. Sloppy.

  “When’s Edward going to be here?” I said.

  “He’s not,” Demi answered. She watched Piet slide into the chair next to me. The blue tint in his face had been replaced by a flushed red. He was pissed.

  “What the hell is this?” he yelled.

 
; “Edward said he’s making sure the shipment reaches us okay. He’ll see you when you’ve got the American side of the trip ready. Not before.”

  I could hardly ask if Yasmin Zaid was here. “Is this all I have to work with?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are four of you, including Piet. I need more people to grab a shipment.”

  “Piet was hired to arrange the shipment. We’re not helping you at all.”

  “But we need more people.” I gained nothing by taking down this group; it wasn’t all of them, and Yasmin and Edward weren’t here.

  “You don’t get to talk to Edward, or anyone else, until you’ve fixed the cargo problem.”

  I glanced around the den; it wasn’t the room where they’d shown Yasmin shooting the Turk. This wasn’t their base of operations. This dump was a backup safe house for them.

  I was going to have get Edward’s operation back on track. That was the only way to get him and the whole gang within reach, close enough to kill, close enough to get answers.

  No choice. Starting tomorrow, I was going to have to steal a shipment of cigarettes from gun-toting Chinese smugglers to give me the man I was hunting.

  Lucky me.

  59

  GREGOR SAID, “I don’t do a lot of business with the Chinese.” He looked at me and then at Piet. He swallowed. “Seriously, guys, I don’t think I can help you.”

  “I just need someone in the counterfeiting chain,” I said. “You must know someone. No way are all these Rolexes entirely real.”

  “I beg your pardon, Sam, but they are.” Gregor managed a moment’s outrage. He turned to Piet. “I honestly can’t think of anyone to aim you at.”

  I was going to owe Gregor big-time. But killing Piet and removing all danger to him would probably be a good settling of the accounts. “I need to know, Gregor. You must have a contact among the Chinese.”

  Gregor looked gaunt and frightened and once again like he was fending off a cold. He shook out a garlic lozenge from a package and slipped it between his lips, sniffling.

  “I have one or two. But I’m not sure they’d appreciate me giving you a name. The Chinese counterfeiters are very, very careful about their associates.”

  “They are also very, very entrepreneurial,” I said, “and I’m sure that we can make them an appealing offer.”

  “What do you want them for?”

  “We want to hire them to smuggle goods for us,” Piet lied.

  Gregor clicked the garlic lozenge against his teeth. “Ask your friend Nic. Wouldn’t he know?”

  “Nic is dead,” I said.

  Gregor dragged a tissue across his nostrils with a wide swipe. “Really?” He looked at me as if to say: Well done.

  “Yes. So. We need a name with the Chinese. We’ll pay, Gregor.”

  He pulled a piece of paper close to him, wrote down a name and a phone number. “You want Mrs. Ling. She handles a lot of trade coming into Holland. I’ve gotten watches from her before. She has a legit export company, but she uses it as a front. I take fake Swatch watches from her, sell them online.” He finished his cigarette. “I would not cross Mrs. Ling.”

  “I’m supposed to be afraid of a woman?” Piet snorted.

  I had no intention of playing the fool. “Tell me about her.”

  “She goes nowhere without her three sons. I suspect their father is the devil and Mrs. Ling won custody. These are vicious people. I do not deal with them unless I have to.”

  “Where are the Lings?” My impatience showed. Fine. I’d face the badass Lings. I just wanted to get close to Edward. I’d thought of my child in that moment when I thought I might die, and now I couldn’t shake the thought of my baby.

  “You can call them,” Gregor said. “Don’t involve me. Tell her you would like to propose a business deal to your mutual advantage.”

  “He sounds like a Dickens novel,” Piet muttered. I hadn’t expected literary knowledge from Piet. I reminded myself not to underestimate him.

  “Thank you, Gregor,” I said. It occurred to me that Gregor could solve a couple of problems for himself as soon as we left by calling the Lings and telling them we intended trouble. Or that we were trouble. “C’mon, Piet.” The plan on how to use the Lings to get rid of a chunk of the gang was already forming in my head but Piet said, “Wait.”

  I turned back. Piet stared at Gregor, who stared back.

  “What?” Gregor said. “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s real nervous today. He’s afraid you’ll warn the Lings about us and so he’s thinking about killing you,” I said. I believe in honesty in all dealings with people like Gregor. He was a crook, but he was not a vicious killer and rapist like Piet. Garbage has different levels.

  Piet shot a look at me.

  “But if he kills you, I’ll kill him,” I said.

  Piet shot out his arm and grabbed Gregor by the throat. Gregor tried to wrench away, his thin, delicate fingers plucking at the sausages that made up Piet’s hand.

  “Listen,” Piet said. “You keep your goddamned mouth shut and you’ll get a cut.”

  “All right, all right,” Gregor choked. Piet pulled out the short sword and ran it along Gregor’s jaw with a frightening tenderness.

  “Let him go,” I said. “Now.”

  Piet pushed Gregor away. Gregor gagged and fell to the floor. He spat out the garlic lozenge, huffing for breath.

  “We’re all cool. All cool.”

  Piet stormed out of the watch shop.

  “It will be okay, Gregor. He won’t bother you again. I promise.”

  Gregor didn’t look at me. “Please don’t come see me again. Please. I don’t want to stay in the business. I don’t want to be tied to whatever you’re doing. I have a wife. A child. Please.”

  I’d pushed him too far and he wanted out; I couldn’t blame him. He’d given me a lot.

  “Okay, Gregor. Thank you for helping me.”

  Piet had repaired to a café across the street.

  I sat down across from him and he said, “You do not issue the orders. The next time you do that in front of someone, I will take the wakizashi and I’ll lop off a finger. Do you understand me? You’re nobody here. Nobody.”

  “I’m a nobody who’s saving your ass and don’t you forget it. The next time you decide to strangle someone who’s helping us, I will take your wakizashi and drive it into your back. You understand me?”

  He glared at me. “Fuck you.”

  “Listen to me. Edward and his people are just about done with you. That’s clear to me if not to you. They’ve had their fill of your screwups. So either we get the shipment or they’re going to kill us both.”

  Piet said nothing as his beer was put on the table. I shook my head at the waiter. “I will find out where the Lings have a shipment heading for Amsterdam, one we can intercept.”

  “How will you—?”

  “I will. Trust me. But give me tonight to do it.” I stood. Piet stared down at his beer. “Give me a number where you can be reached.” He spouted one off and I memorized it. I didn’t want to leave him but I had to. He could duck and run now. But I couldn’t show him how I intended to find the Lings without tipping my hand on my past.

  Because I’d heard of the Lings. One of the suits, the young one, had mentioned the name in the briefing, a minute before Lucy called me and the bomb went off. The Company was watching the Lings.

  60

  THE RODE PRINS WAS EMPTY INSIDE; its few customers were all outside basking in the sun. Henrik wiped down the bar and nodded politely as I approached.

  “You saved me,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Sam. I don’t like that man. Not a bit.”

  “I don’t like him either. Where is Mila?”

  “She is upstairs.”

  I caught her coming down. “We need to talk,” I said.

  She turned around without a word and we went into the apartment. I started to speak and she delivered a slap right across
my face. It stung.

  “What the hell—”

  “We did not bring you inside,” she hissed, “just so you can find your wife, who is probably a traitor. We brought you in so you could do good. Actual, real good.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “You left those women there.” Agony layered her voice. “It is beyond indecent, Sam.”

  “The Company was there. My friend August was there—”

  “And they abandoned the women. They left them behind.”

  That couldn’t be. I tried to think of a reason why Howell would have done such a thing. “Mila… they had wounded and they were operating on Dutch soil without clearance. They had their covers to protect… they would have called the police, I’m sure.”

  “You are sure. So they, and you, leave women chained like dogs in darkness?” Her voice broke.

  “Mila, where are the women now?”

  “They are with friends of mine. I will make sure they are returned home.”

  “Mila, I did my best to protect them.” I took a step closer to her, her slap still stinging my cheek. “I kept Piet from hurting them again or taking them with us. I’m sorry if I let you down.”

  She bit her lip, clutching her elbows. “You will have to fend on your own. I need to help the women.”

  “You’re abandoning me?”

  “You abandoned them.”

  “You know that’s not true. I set it up so they could be freed. Mila, why are you being this way?”

  She looked at the ground. “Because I have to be this way, Sam. Listen carefully. If you have to leave Amsterdam, my employers own a bar in just about every major city in the world. Do a search for ‘Roger Cadet’ on your phone and you’ll find the address for the closest one. Go there and tell the manager that Roger Cadet asked you to stop by and you will be helped, whatever you need.”

  “Who’s Roger Cadet?”

  “The supposed owner. But he doesn’t exist. It’s just a password. But every bar’s location is encoded with it so it’ll show up on a GPS map.”