I heard the door open. Nic, inside his room. Whistling. I was screwed. I heard a clatter on his desk; he was probably only a foot away from me. He might even see my hands if he looked out the window. I heard him speaking rapid Dutch to his mom, annoyed, telling her he didn’t have time to chat.

Thank God. I risked a pull-up and saw through the window that he was walking away from me, down the hall. But he’d left the bedroom door open.

Parkour is about effective movement from place to place. Efficiency. I made my mind a knife. I cut the problem into small steps that could be done in one fluid movement. I had been hanging on to the windowsill for less than ten seconds. I had no time to spare.

I pulled myself up cleanly. I managed to get a foot on the sill and I stood the rest of the way. Nic’s mom called to him from her room, complaining about him not bringing her breakfast. Nic told her to piss off and go back to bed until she was sober. His voice got louder, walking back in the direction of the bedrooms.

I had to make the jump again. I jumped, and this time I closed hands around the beam. I swung my legs up quickly, hearing Nic’s voice berate his mother and her answering bray. I heard a shout from the street—I’d been seen. All I could do was to vanish quickly, before the police were summoned. I moved to the top of the beam and eased myself out of view onto the roof. On the roof no one could see me. I lay and I stared at the sky and I caught my breath. Slowly, I slithered off Nic’s roof onto the neighboring one. I made my way, carefully, silently, staying out of the street’s sight. It seemed to take forever.

A little girl in one of the attic apartments watched me, goggle-eyed, as I reached the end of the block, a dozen buildings away from Nic’s house. She was maybe four, bright-eyed, apple-cheeked. I waved and she waved back. Then I put a finger to my lips and so did she, laughing. I pantomimed cranking open the window; she did.

I slipped through the window into her room. She stared at me. I patted her head and pantomimed silence again. She laughed again. I slipped out of her room, heard bedroom noises that sounded like a mom getting dressed, bathroom noises of a shower. In moments, I was out of the apartment and heading down the stairway.

38

YOU KNOW THE DEAD RUSSIAN? How?” Mila said. She’d plugged the portable drive into her own computer and was looking at what I’d stolen from the thief Nic.

My voice felt thick. “The day of the bombing in London… I gave a presentation on a guy who we believed was tied to financing for international crime rings, ones that even reach into governments. We called him the Money Czar, a guy no one could put a finger on. Nothing on him, he was a blank slate; we only had the one picture and mentions of him by a couple of informants who ended up dead. This is the guy. This is the guy I was hunting, that I wanted to catch. I thought the scarred man might have been working to protect the Money Czar. Instead, the scarred man kills him.” I could hardly breathe, my chest felt cut from stone. “They killed my target. Who the hell are these people? What are they after? Why did they take my wife?”

Mila stared at me.

“This was no ordinary bombing,” I said. “This was a hell of a lot more. This was a murder. I need to go through everything we lifted off Nic’s laptop. I have to find a reason for him to bring me into the operation.”

“Then let’s find you one,” Mila said, leaning over the computer.

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.”