Blindside (Michael Bennett #12)(47)

Christoph took a few minutes to gather his stuff. The pistol that had been provided, some extra cash, and a four-inch combat knife he always left at the apartment when they went back to Amsterdam. He liked the feel of a knife in his hand. He also liked the effect it had on people when he questioned them.

Now that he was ready, Christoph knocked on Ollie’s bedroom door. “C’mon, Ollie. We’ve got to earn our pay.”

A minute later, Ollie stepped out of his bedroom dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before: an AC/DC concert T-shirt with a hole in it and off-brand blue jeans.

Christoph said, “Why don’t you ever try to dress a little better? At least wear clean clothes.”

Ollie looked placidly at his partner. “It’s my image. I have to sell it. No one expects a sloppy, fat guy like me to be a killer. You, you look like a professional. Tall, handsome. You scare people. I’m an asset when I look like this.”

Christoph saw his point. He said, “Henry’s expecting us. I’m sure he wants us to do something with the cop.”

Ollie said, “I think the American is too risky. He doesn’t look like any kind of pushover. Henry hasn’t offered any bonus for this job, either.”

“Are you saying we should pass on the job?”

“I’m saying, as professionals, we need to evaluate the assignment, not just agree to everything Henry says. If you haven’t noticed, he’s become a little unhinged. He’s into feuds and grudges. He may not be our best choice of employer going forward.”

“Do you want to tell him that now?”

Ollie shook his head. “Let’s see how much trouble the American is first. If we even pick up on his trail again. We need to think about ourselves and our future.”

Christoph realized how much he’d underestimated his partner.





CHAPTER 67





I CROSSED THE street in front of the little café. There was no real traffic. Not by New York standards, anyway. A tiny Fiat, a Mini Cooper, and some odd eastern European car whizzed by. They made me feel like a giant.

The building I was walking to was more of an office than a warehouse. It was modern and stood three stories high. The windows were on the small side, making me think it was an older building. No doubt it was solid.

Inside the tiny lobby, I checked the directory. The only business officially listed was a web designer on the top floor. The five other nameplates were blank.

A ground-floor door to the left of the directory was ajar. I looked through the opening but couldn’t see much, so I tentatively touched it and pushed it open. I was trying not to give away my element of surprise, all I had in this situation.

The wide room was about fifty feet long with high ceilings. A catwalk ran around the edges of the room with a few office doors spaced along it. The space looked like it’d been a small factory floor where a boss could walk around and watch the workers below.

The place was empty except for a few desks and tables. I didn’t see anyone around. I slipped all the way inside. When I had stepped about twenty paces from the door, I heard a voice.

“Hello, Mr. Bennett. I’ve been expecting you.” The speaker had a slight accent. It almost sounded Russian, with a hint of Scandinavian.

A man stepped onto the catwalk. It was the same man I’d seen from the café, still in his blue T-shirt and casual slacks. “I thought you’d have been here sooner.”

I said, “You must be Endrik Laar.”

“Please, call me Henry.”

I wasn’t sure what I had expected. The file description had just said white and male. Jennifer Chang had mentioned he was about thirty, on the short side, and a workout buff, but I guess I hadn’t thought of all the variables.

He was shorter than I’d imagined. Maybe five six. He was definitely ripped. The veins in his arms told me he was serious about weights. His whole look screamed steroids. Add in the agitated pacing and I could see why people were afraid of him. Maybe he really was as smart as I’d heard. A mix of smart and crazy was rarely good.

I kept my composure when two men stepped through the doorway near me. They kept walking until they were positioned on either side of me, about a dozen feet away. They didn’t know I had a gun, and I thought I’d save that surprise. Maybe it would teach Henry something as well.

Then a man stepped through a doorway across the room from me. It was the janitor from the last warehouse, Gunnar. That surprised me.

Henry smiled and said, “I didn’t want to take any chances. We thought it would be easier for you to come to us than for us to find you. Gunnar was kind enough to wait for you at our last location and tell you where to go. But then you didn’t show up here right away.”

The gray-haired “janitor” smiled and said, “And by the way, mate, my English is pretty good. I was raised in North Hampton.”

Son of a bitch, Henry had already made me feel stupid.

This was not the first impression I had wanted to make.





CHAPTER 68





STARING UP AT the master cybercriminal standing on the catwalk, my mind raced. Even with the surprises Henry was throwing at me, I tried not to show what I was thinking. It was time to get some answers. I decided to treat our conversation like any other interview: start with easy questions, then move on to the hard ones. Simple.