39

I DON’T THINK I CAN BRING in new people right now,” Nic said on the phone. I suspected he’d gotten a lockdown order from Piet. They were in panic mode over the attempt of the Turk to infiltrate them. Or, a scarier possibility, he figured out someone had been in his computer or his room. No one new was going to be trusted; the Turk had soured my chances.

But I had no options. I had to sell him on me.

“Listen, Nic. That’s cool. But you got to get me some money, man, because I have some information that’s worth real money to you and your boss.”

“I doubt that, Sam, but—”

“Before you got to the Grijs Gander, the Turk was talking about moving a valuable shipment for you. To the United States. I don’t think you should trust him, mouthing off in a bar. You need delicate goods moved, I can do it. Fast and safe and cheap.”

“He talked about a smuggling route. In the bar.” Nic’s voice rose slightly.

“He said it all in Turkish to his friends and I picked up enough,” I said. I glanced at Mila, who was listening in. “He said he’d make Piet pay if he didn’t get his money. He said he’d phone in an anonymous tip to the cops if Piet didn’t give him what he wanted.”

“I… I can’t have this talk on the phone.” The nervousness in his voice increased.

“But it didn’t mean anything to me until they started going off about your friend.” Of course, if they’d tortured the Turk and he’d told them a different story from mine… I could be in very great danger. But such were the risks. “Well, I will give you a better and more secure route than that Turk and I know to keep my mouth shut. I need steady work, Nic.”

“I will have to call you back. But no promises.”

“Look, fine, you and your friend get fried. I don’t care. Good luck to you.” I hung up.

Mila raised an eyebrow. “You hooked him hard.”

I didn’t answer her.

“Sam.”

“What?”

“Don’t let emotion trip you up.”

“I’m not emotional. Do you see emotion? I am the embodiment of a poker face right now.”

“This Money Czar. If he was working with the scarred man, if he was the money man, why would the scarred man kill him? And why would they kill him this way? Two bullets in the head and dumped into a canal is far easier.”

I didn’t have an answer, and that was part of the problem. Two birds: the scarred man made Yasmin Zaid look like a murderer and he’d eliminated the Money Czar—but why? I had assumed the scarred man bombed our office to protect the Money Czar. Clearly not.

The phone rang in my hand. I let it ring five times.

“He’s pissing himself,” Mila said.

I let it ring twice more before I answered. “Yes?”

“I might be able to get you some work. Just understand that my boss is extremely cautious right now.”

I’ll bet he is, I thought. “I like a cautious boss.”

“I will meet you at the bar we were at last night and take you to Piet.”

“No. In the open, the sunlight. Where I can see you and your friends coming. I know a bar…” But then Mila was shaking her head. “No, I tell you what, Nic, as a show of good faith, you pick.”

“Do you know the Pelikaan Café on the Singel?”

Mila nodded. I said, “Yes.”

“Meet me there. Noon.”

“All right. I’ll see you at noon.” Nic hung up.

“Well.” Mila unclipped her earpiece. “They bit. But they might well grab you, force you to talk someplace of their choosing. There will be no immediate trust. We’ll have to prepare for that eventuality.”

“Why not have them meet here on our turf?”

“Because I wish to protect our turf,” she said. “You must treat the Rode Prins as your safe house. I know the Pelikaan. I know what we will do. Hurry, we don’t have much time.” She rose and I touched her arm.

“Did you get a hold of Bahjat Zaid?”

“No,” she said. “No one seems to know where he is.”

“Look, I think he gave them something from his office in Hungary, the one that Yasmin works at. That’s what they’re smuggling across Europe.”

She bit her lip.

“He’s an arms manufacturer, Mila. What the hell is he giving these people? He’s paying ransoms and they’re never going to give her back to him.”

“You and I have our orders, Sam. We rescue Yasmin, eliminate her kidnappers as witnesses and as a threat. Do that, and you don’t need to worry about whatever he gave him.”

“Do you know? Be totally honest with me.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, and I believed her.

“I still have to know what they want to get to America.”

“First things first. Yasmin. This gang. That’s the way to find out the truth about your wife, Sam. Stay focused.” Her voice got a new steel to it. “I have some leverage for you with Nic. Most unpleasant.”

“What?”

“On his computer.” She opened a file. Photos. Photos of youngsters, in awful, provocative poses. Boys, girls, a range of ages, a range of poses, from coy to hardcore. I saw a list of names, of e-mails. I looked away.

“He’s a child molester?”

“Perhaps. At the least he is a broker of smut. It seems that if you want a photo to your specifications—Nic can provide it.” The steel in her voice faded and she cursed under her breath.

I thought of the odd glance he’d given the little girl in the café by Dam Square last night, and felt ill. “Okay. That’s leverage. I can force his hand.”

“And then,” Mila said, “you can cut it off.”