Lost(18)

“What are you thinking of?”

“A girl.”

I laughed. “A pretty one, I assume.”

“Beautiful. She’s nice too.”

“Oh, is this a real person? Not some fantasy?”

“She’s real.”

“Who is it?”

He didn’t answer. Then he blushed.

“Jacques, you can tell me.”

“You won’t tell anyone or get mad?”

“Of course not. Who are you thinking about?”

“Your sister.”

“Lila? She’s ten years older than you.”

“Nine.”

“Are you crazy, telling me that?”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad.”

I smiled and snapped my fingers. “Foiled by a loophole.” That made Jacques giggle.

The flight attendant announced we were about to take off.

I said to Jacques, “You okay now?”

He nodded.

“By the way, my sister can be a handful. You might’ve dodged a bullet by leaving town.”

He liked that.

As I went back to my seat, I looked at the smiling Michele and Olivia and pulled a deck of cards out of my back pocket. “How would you guys like to learn a counting game? It’s going to be hard because of our language differences, but I think you’ll like it.”

Olivia managed to say, “What game?”

I smiled and said, “It’s called blackjack.”





CHAPTER 23



Amsterdam


WE ARRIVED AT Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport about midmorning. The children had slept during most of the interminable flight, but I’d stayed awake. I felt like the kids were too vulnerable. I didn’t want to risk taking my eyes off them.

This airport was either a lot less busy or a lot more organized than Miami International because walking through it seemed like taking a quiet stroll. The airport even had its own shopping mall. I held Olivia’s and Michele’s hands and let the boys fight over who would push the little cart with everyone’s luggage.

A tall woman wearing a tailored blue dress approached us before we reached the police substation where I was supposed to contact my Dutch counterpart. She wasn’t walking so much as marching. A few feet in front of me, she stopped and said, “Detective Moon?”

I gave her my best smile and said, “You must be psychic.”

“I’m hardly psychic. I was told to look for an American over one hundred and ninety centimeters tall who looked like he played professional rugby and who was accompanied by six children.” She held out her hand and said, “My name is Marie Meijer. I’m your liaison with the Dutch national police.”

She had an elegant accent, graceful movements, and a grip that could crack a walnut. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her.

Marie leaned down and spoke French to little Michele, then greeted each of the kids by name.

“Wow, you learned everyone’s names before we arrived. You’re quite thorough.”

“I’ve been working on this ring of human traffickers for more than a year. I finally have someone to feed me information, so I’m hoping we make some serious arrests soon.”

Olivia was either scared or bashful. She hid behind my right leg, peeking out like a puppy. The other kids had gravitated behind me too, and we now faced this woman as a single group.

Marie smiled and said, “I’m happy to see the kids trust you. That must mean you’re trustworthy. Kids and dogs are rarely wrong about such things.” She focused her blue eyes on me and said, “Shall we get to work?”

After being at the FBI for the last eight months, I liked that attitude.

A few minutes later, we were in front of the airport looking at a long white Mercedes passenger van. A blue VW hatchback with an official police emblem on the dashboard was parked behind it. Marie directed the kids into the van, then turned to me and said, “You can say your goodbyes. I’ll drive you in my car.”

I almost didn’t understand. I saw the stunned expressions on the kids’ faces. I said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride with my posse. I want to see where they’re staying and what the conditions are like.”

Marie didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”

I watched her walk toward her car. Jacques looked up at me and said, “I wouldn’t mind riding in her car.”

I laughed as I playfully shoved the Belgian teenager toward the van.

About twenty minutes later we arrived at an apartment building. I’d been relieved to see that the Dutch drove on the right side of the road. And so far, aside from about three thousand bicyclists, traffic didn’t look all that much different from what you’d see in a big city in the U.S.

Marie showed great patience as I checked out the rooms, questioned the two social workers, and made sure the children were all settled with their bags next to their own beds. I’d friended them all on Facebook and gotten their e-mail addresses, and they all had my e-mail address and my cell phone number.

I couldn’t believe how upset I was to say goodbye to them. I promised I’d see them again before I flew back to Miami. Everyone wanted a hug.

I couldn’t meet Marie’s gaze as we walked out of the facility because I was trying to keep the tears out of my eyes. I hate that kind of shit.