by Jonas Saul
“No problem. It’s just, you killed my only chance of finding James Wong. I needed Sven alive.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on.” Amber started walking. “Oh, and bring Sven’s empty gun. I’ve got the bullets for it.”
Sarah grabbed the gun off the ground and followed as Amber shut off the video on her phone.
“Why don’t I need Sven?” Sarah asked.
“I know James Wong. I know where he stays and the girl he fucks when he’s in town. One of the girls is my horrible roommate, Nikki de Haas.” Amber looked at her phone. “It’s almost dinner time. I’ll take you back to my place. Wong might even be there right now.” Amber looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Thanks for hurting Sven. That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”
“Yeah, um, no problem. You’re pretty wild with that gun.”
“Oh, that was nothing. I needed to kill him. I’ll kill myself later.”
“Kill yourself?” Sarah asked as they stepped outside into the fading light of the sun.
“It was supposed to be a murder-suicide. I won’t fade away and eventually die of AIDS. Not me. Not this girl.”
“Then why aren’t you dead? What stopped you?”
“I decided to wait until you nail Wong. After the skills you used on Sven, I can’t wait to see you maim Wong.” She sounded like a school girl with glee. “Oh boy, is this ever gonna be good.”
“Yeah, real good.”
Sarah reached under her shirt, yanked the fake wire out of her belly button, dropped it on the cobblestones outside the warehouse and crunched it under her shoe.
Fuck you, Dekker. When it’s your time, you won’t see me coming.
They turned a corner and stopped. A blonde man stood about seventy feet ahead of them, clapping his hands.
Casper.
“You could’ve helped back there,” Sarah shouted at him as she strode his way. “And stop clapping. Makes you look like a pompous ass.”
Casper lowered his hands. “I didn’t know where Dekker dropped you off,” he shouted back. “I just arrived. He said you’d be dead by now.”
Amber followed as Sarah began to run at Casper.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Sarah,” he shouted. “And try to stay breathing. I need you in Mexico. Actually, Aaron needs you in Mexico.”
Then Casper stepped behind a building.
Sarah got to the corner seconds later. When she rounded it, Casper was nowhere in sight. The canal bridge in front of her was empty.
“Where could he have gone?” she asked between breaths as Amber shambled up to her.
Out of breath, Amber panted. “He could … be anywhere … by now.”
“Dammit!” Sarah slammed a fist into her palm. “I’ll find you and I’ll learn what you’re up to. Watch your back, ghost man.”
Amber put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders.
“Us girls have to stick together. Come on. Come to my place. I’ll make us dinner and give you a place to stay until you meet Wong. My only deal is you hurt Wong bad when you meet him. Cool?”
Sarah nodded. “Fine. I can’t guarantee Wong lives through his ordeal.”
“I would prefer he didn’t.”
The girls walked up the side of the canal, turned a corner and continued by another canal, the whole time Sarah watching their backs.
What did Casper mean when he said Mexico? And why would Aaron need her in Mexico? Dekker had also mentioned Mexico. How did Mexico tie into all this?
She needed to call Aaron. She had to make sure he was okay. Failing that, she had to contact Parkman so he could look in on Aaron.
If anything happened to Aaron, she would go insane.
If anyone hurt him, she would stop at nothing until they were all dead.
Every last one of them.
Chapter 22
Amber stopped in front of a cozy-looking building that slanted to one side.
“This is where I live. Second floor.”
“The building’s on an angle,” Sarah said, raising her hands to demonstrate by keeping her left higher than her right.
“In Amsterdam tilted houses are called Dancing Houses. This city is built on over 11,000,000 wooden poles about fifteen to twenty meters long. They keep the houses and buildings out of the water and mud. Over the centuries, some sink in places more than others. We have Dancing Houses all over Amsterdam.”
“What’s wrong with us that we just walked away from a murder, one you committed, and we’re chatting about Amsterdam’s history as if we’re tourists?”
Amber smiled. “Nothing’s wrong with us. We did the world a favor. C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Why not.”
Inside Amber’s apartment, magazines were strewn all over the coffee table and sofa. An armchair was clear, so Sarah picked that one to sit in.
“Sorry about the mess. Nikki thinks she’ll be a runway model one day and studies all the American glamour magazines, does her makeup their way and poses in the window she works at downtown like she’s Kate Moss or Miranda Kerr. I can’t stand Nikki. We don’t get along. I hate the men she chooses. They creep on me when she brings them home. She was supposed to move out months ago.”
Amber hurriedly closed magazines, cleared the sofa and took the ones off the coffee table, piled them together and dumped them on the floor by the TV.
“There. Now I’ll fix us something to eat. You hungry?”
Sarah nodded. “A little. But what I need to do is use your phone to make a call to Toronto.”
“Go for it. The phone’s right beside you on the table there. Is there any food you’re allergic to?”
“Nothing,” Sarah said with a shake of her head.
“Then we’ll have caesar salad, bread, whatever else I can find in the kitchen, plus wine. Red okay?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen.
“Red’s preferred.”
Sarah picked up the phone, dialed the international exchange and typed in Aaron’s home number. When it went to the machine, she tried his cell phone.
Nothing.
Then she tried Parkman’s cell hoping he was still in Toronto. He answered on the second ring.
“Who’s calling?” he asked, no doubt not able to recognize the number.
“Sarah.”
“Sarah,” he breathed, the relief in his voice evident. “I’ve been hearing terrible things about you. Are you okay?”
“What have you heard?”
“That the plane you were on skidded off the runway and the media announced a female was in custody. Someone leaked a name. It was you. Tell me what’s going on. Are you calling because you need help?”
“I do need help, but not in the way you think.”
“Tell me.”
“Call Aaron. Make sure he’s safe. Meet up with him. Give him a message for me.” Sarah told Parkman what her sister had said about beating up the student and then lying low for a week. “It might not be too late. Get to him. Make this happen. I’m worried. He isn’t picking up his phone.”
“I haven’t heard from him since we dropped you off at the airport. How did you know I was still in Toronto?”
“Lucky guess.”
“I’ll call Aaron and if I can’t reach him, I’ll head to the dojo. Maybe one of his teachers can tell me where he is.” He paused. Sarah guessed he was moving a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “But you’re okay, right?”
“Yeah. The authorities over here lied to me. I need to figure out why. They set me up, too.”
“Who lied? Who set you up? What’s going on?”
“Too much to tell right now. I’m safe. I’m tired and I need to figure my shit out. I’ve got help.” Sarah looked up as Amber approached with a tray. On the tray was a bowl piled high with salad, a plate with bread and a tall glass of red wine. “Listen Parkman, get in touch with Aaron. I’ll call your cell tomorrow.”
“I’ll do what I can and watch for your call.”
“Ciao.” Sarah hung up. “This looks amazing. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you set this tray in front of me.”
Amber reclined on the sofa with her own tray. “Eat up. We’ll talk for a bit, but you need rest to deal with the jet lag. In the morning if Nikki hasn’t come home, I know where to find her. We’ll get to Wong. Don’t worry.”
Sarah took a bite of the salad and moaned. “This is so good.”
As she ate, she thought about Casper. What could his role be in all this? She thought about Inspector Dekker. He had to be a real cop, otherwise how could he have access to interview rooms at the police station? But if he was a real cop, then how could he send her into that warehouse without protection? Unless the Matt Dillon lookalike—an informant—was supposed to be her backup. No, too dangerous. Something must’ve gotten fucked up along the way. She refused to believe that Dekker sent her to that warehouse to be killed. If it wasn’t for Amber pulling Sven’s bullets out, Sarah would’ve most likely been killed by him.
That made Dekker an accessory to murder, which made Dekker her enemy. As before, Sarah didn’t differentiate whether or not a man wore a uniform or what kind of job he had. A man was simply a man. If he broke the law or put her life in danger, cop or not, she made him pay for it.
There was no menu when it came to Karma. Everyone, cop or not, got served what they deserved, and based on the information Sarah had at the moment, Dekker had a large Karmic meal coming his way.
As she finished the salad and half the wine, she turned to Amber.
“I’ll need Sven’s gun tomorrow or the day after. I’ve got a score to settle with a certain inspector Lars Dekker.”
“Sure,” Amber said as she lowered her head and smiled conspiratorially. “Can I ask what for?”
“I need to send a message to him. I’ve decided I need to kidnap a police officer and hold him hostage at the back of one of the bawdy houses in the red light district.”
Amber dropped her fork and began clapping with glee.
Sarah was starting to like Amber. More than she thought possible.
“I’ve got just the place,” Amber screeched. “Ohh, how exciting.”
Chapter 23
“Took you long enough,” Dekker shouted into the phone. “Where are you?”
Special Agent Buck Schaffer of the CIA, as the Dutch authorities had come to know him, held his breath, waited, then released it in a long torrent. Upon exhale, he said, “A fuck up like this could end a man’s career.”
“Are you threatening me?” Dekker shouted. “In my own country? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I might ask you the same thing. Sarah was supposed to be watched.” He spoke the last word from the back of his throat, making it come out like a growl.
“She was. We had a man with her inside the warehouse.”
“The one with the movie star looks.”
Dekker’s breath sounded like it caught in his throat on the other end of the line. “Where are you?”
“Inside the warehouse.”
“Where’s Sarah?” Dekker asked.
“No idea.”
“Don’t leave. I’m in a restaurant two minutes away.”
Dekker clicked off.
Buck walked the crime scene. He counted four people by the disturbance in the grit on the steel floor of the warehouse. Two left through the back doors and two lay dead on the floor.
Sarah and that girl he saw running alongside the canal. But how did they do this?
One guy still had his gun. The weapon that killed the Scandinavian-looking guy was missing as was the gun that had fallen by his feet. Buck saw a definite imprint of a weapon in the dirt. As far as Buck’s trained eye revealed, it appeared that the Scandinavian man shot Dekker’s guy. After that, a scuffle of some sort happened that explained the blood drying around his nose. Then someone emptied a gun into his body. Since Dekker left Sarah unarmed, he had to assume Sarah’s friend killed the Scandinavian. Unless Sarah was able to beat him, steal his gun, and then shoot him with it.
Sarah Roberts was a lot of things, but was she that good? Without U.S. Army training? Without guerrilla warfare training? Images of a female Rambo flitted through his mind.
And who was Sarah’s friend? How did she come into this, armed and ready to murder people to save Sarah?
Buck shook his head. Momentarily, he entertained the idea Sarah was delusional. Possibly a danger to herself. He didn’t believe Sarah was that good. Sarah had help and she would always need help.
This little test was supposed to go over smoother. Set Sarah up with—he could never remember names—Seven, or Seve or Sven, and let her lead them to James Wong. Then he could fly her to Mexico. His last communication with the HQ revealed Aaron Stevens was across the border and already being held in Tijuana, Mexico.
Kidnapping Aaron had been planned expertly. It would be enough to incite Sarah. But the brains behind all this didn’t know her like Buck was beginning to. She was weak, fragile and gullible. Dekker had her on the ropes back at the police station and Sarah had no idea what she was walking into at the warehouse.
Psychic? Dead sister helping her?
Buck didn’t think so. Sarah was just a lost little girl in over her head with an incredible amount of luck and strong friends. She’d be a worthy ally, but dead in a minute if needed. No dead sister could stop a bullet. Sarah was still flesh and blood.
Leaving Dekker to manage Sarah’s hand-off to the Scandinavian was Buck’s mistake. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The back doors burst open. Dekker strode through, followed by about a dozen officers. Dekker stopped over his fallen man. He breathed loudly, everyone waiting to see what he was going to say.
“I want Sarah Roberts found and arrested for murder. Go. Now.”
Officers shuffled their feet and started for the doors.
“Wait!” Buck shouted. Everyone stopped. He turned to Dekker. “You want this guy’s murderer?” he asked, gesturing at the man on the ground. “Look no further.” Buck pointed at the Scandinavian.
“Why would Sven shoot one of his own?” Dekker asked, then curled his lower lip under and bit down on it.
“You’d have to ask him yourself. But since I’m confident he would plead the fifth, let the evidence speak for him.”
Schaffer went about describing the scene as he saw it, all the attending officers listening in as if this was police college and they were being lectured on a day in the life of a detective.
When he finished, Dekker rubbed his chin in thought.
“So Sven Spaans kills my informant and some girl kills Spaans? Then Sarah and this mystery girl walk away, together? Is that what you’re trying to say, Schaffer? Are you telling me that a sick fuck like Sven just up and shot my guy and he didn’t shoot Sarah who he thought was a runner?”
Buck hadn’t told Dekker that he saw Sarah and the girl on the street. The desperation in Dekker’s eyes told him he needed to watch his step. Inspector Lars Dekker didn’t want to believe what was right in front of him. What he wanted to believe was that the CIA was covering something up to protect an American. Buck had a lot of pull, but the Americans could not tell the Netherlands authorities how to police their own land. He could ask for assistance, even advise Dekker, but that was the extent of it.
“The evidence is clear,” Buck said. “Read it any way you like, but Sarah entered this warehouse unarmed. Your guy still has his weapon. Now Sarah is on the run. She’s scared and not sure which way to turn. But she’s no murderer of cops.”
Dekker moved closer to Buck.
“I see things differently. Sven Spaans has a broken nose that bled. His heart was still beating to pump that blood out. He received that injury before he died. Sarah’s a fighter. She attacked ITA’s senior flight crew member with a knife. Sarah’s tough. You’re underestimating her. That’s your mistake. So here’s how I see it.” Dekker pointed at Sven. “Sarah knew she was going to be shot and figured out we weren’
t listening in on the wire she was wearing as we didn’t swoop in when guns were pulled. Our GPS tracker was found broken into little pieces just outside those doors.” Dekker pointed. The room was silent as he schooled every officer there.
“When Sarah saw her situation was futile, she attacked Sven and broke his nose. He dropped his gun to grab at his nose which accounts for that mark there.” This time Dekker kicked at the dirt. “Since our man wasn’t helping, Sarah shot him and then shot Sven with what was left in the gun.” Dekker cleared his throat, then bit down on his bottom lip again.
