Lost(9)

Albert ran a hand over his neatly trimmed goatee. “You always seem to have something in the works. Are you telling me you don’t have any plans now?”

Hanna gave him a faint smile. “I’ve been trying to put together a big load for a month. At least twenty people. Right now, I’m still waiting for two more to come from Germany. I have them stashed all over the city.”

“And the diamonds? How long do you intend to hold them?”

“Not much longer. I need you to buy an electronic tracker, one we can put in a backpack. I’m going to hide the diamonds in the pack, then give it to one of the people in the next load bound for Miami.”

Albert looked at his sister and said, “You’re not worried about Customs finding it when they go through the airport?”

“They won’t be going through the airport. Twenty is too many people to fly. This time we’ll send them by ship. And when it’s all over, we’ll be debt-free with cash in hand. That’s all any business owner could ask for.”





CHAPTER 10





HANNA AND HER brother, Albert, spent much of the rest of the afternoon visiting various contacts around Amsterdam. They hoped someone could tell them something about what had happened in Miami. There was no way Hanna was going to lose that much money without getting some kind of explanation.

But so far, they hadn’t gotten much information. The longer this went on, the more frustrated Hanna became. And if Hanna was frustrated, Albert was on the verge of fury.

They crossed into the Noord District by way of the Coentunnel and walked until they were a couple of blocks from the city office on Buikslotermeerplein. Their contact would meet them near the bronze statue of children playing.

At the edge of the park, Albert nudged his sister and pointed to a young woman and a man huddled in conversation.

Hanna said, “What about them?” Then the woman looked up and Hanna saw her clearly. It was the girl who’d had Emile Rostoff’s initials carved in her face, an E on her right cheek and an R on her left. Each scar covered almost the entire cheek.

The missing end of her nose was also jarring, but in a different way. It took a moment to recognize the blunted tip of an otherwise normal nose.

The man next to her was missing the fingers on his right hand.

The image of the two sent a shudder through Hanna, just as it was intended to. That was one of the reasons Emile Rostoff could live in a waterfront penthouse without anyone ever touching him: everyone was terrified of him.

Hanna and Albert had spent most of their lives in Amsterdam. They hadn’t heard of this kind of violence until the Russians arrived en masse and took control of much of the city’s criminal enterprises.

Hanna looked away from the Rostoff victims and spotted Heinrich, her contact from the city office, a corpulent little bald man who’d been bleeding her dry for years by claiming to have connections in law enforcement worldwide.

She saw a smile spread across the man’s face as he watched her approach the bench he sat on. She’d never really liked the way Heinrich looked at her. Hanna knew his preference was for young girls because she’d provided him with some over the years, but the grubby, forty-five-year-old civil servant didn’t impress her as being particularly discriminating when it came to women.

Hanna did like the way Heinrich’s smile faded instantly when he noticed Albert walking a few feet behind her. Her big brother had looked out for her ever since they were kids.

A light breeze blew the man’s thinning hair into odd angles. Even though temperatures were mild now in the late summer, he had sweat stains blossoming under his arms.

She wasted no time on small talk. “I’m quite bothered about losing an entire load in Miami.”

Heinrich hesitated, then said, “Is that why your brother is with you?”

Hanna said, “Don’t worry about Albert. I just need a few answers.”

“I would prefer to speak with you alone.”

Albert stepped closer; he towered above the seated man. “What’s wrong, Heinrich? You got something to hide?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Albert plopped down on the bench right next to him. He pulled a long survival knife from under his light jacket. Then he made a show out of using it to clean his fingernails.

Hanna stayed on her feet. She looked down at Heinrich with her hands on her hips like a schoolmarm. “No games. Do you know anything about it or not?”

“The American FBI got the tip from the Dutch national police about your man with the kids,” Heinrich told her.

“You know who gave the tip?”

He shook his head, but Hanna couldn’t tell if it was a nervous gesture or if he was saying no.

Albert slammed the point of the knife into the bench’s wooden seat less than an inch from Heinrich’s leg. That made him jump. Albert said, “C’mon, Heinrich, it’s not like someone from the Dutch police will cut off a body part if you tell us who called the tip in to the Americans.”

Heinrich said, “I think you both know who it was.”

Albert said, “Tell us.”

“I thought we were business associates. I don’t appreciate being threatened,” Heinrich said.

Albert jerked the knife out of the bench and swung it like a tennis racket toward the civil servant’s face. He froze it just as the edge of the blade touched Heinrich’s throat.