I said nothing more to Mila; she was close, watching us from an empty office space across the Singel canal.

On the Herengracht, in the grand Company safe house, August pushed open the door of Howell’s office. Howell glanced up from looking at photos that had come through passport control in Rotterdam. Thousands of faces, none of them Sam Capra. He felt dizzy.

“Sir, we just got a query hit on one of Sam Capra’s old legends. The Peter Samson identity. It just came, moments ago, from an IP address from an Internet café in Amsterdam. Looking for passport information, military records, criminal history.”

“Where?”

“Over on Singel. A few minutes away.”

“Let’s find out who’s so interested in Sam.” God, he thought, maybe it was Sam himself, checking to see if the old identity was still active. That little bastard finally made a mistake. “Any record of the passport being used to enter Holland?”

“No, sir,” August said. “Do you want me to kill all the documentation tied to the identity?”

“No. No. Leave it active. Let’s see where it leads us.”

He and August and Van Vleck, an ex-Marine permanently assigned to the Company office in Amsterdam, hurried down the steps into the bright spring day. “We can call the Dutch police…,” Van Vleck said.

Howell raised a hand. “Absolutely not. We handle this ourselves.” He glanced at August. “This may get ugly. If he’s there, we take him down, and you can talk to him later. Don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t, sir,” August said. “We’ll catch him.”

42

NIC CLOSED THE PHONE and I lowered the beer glass from my mouth. He approached the table. He might have been told that Peter Samson no longer existed. He could have taken a picture of me with his phone, sent it to Piet or even the scarred man—in which case I was dead. I looked at what was on the table: cloth, lovely flowers in a small glass vase, half-pint glass. If he came back to the table knowing I was a fraud, I could kill him with the vase. Shatter the end, put it against his throat. The glass in the vase was heavier than the beer glass.

Nic slid into the seat across from me. He straightened the ponytail and smiled at me.

“You were wanted in Croatia last year for smuggling.”

That was sadly true of Peter Samson; he was such a loser. “That’s so last year.”

“I guess so. The charges were dismissed.”

“Bribes work.” I shrugged. “And a witness decided not to talk.”

“What were you moving?”

“Whatever needed moving. Illicit explosives from the Czech Republic. Old weapons from Ukraine. Opium moving through Turkey.” I shrugged again. “I’m not a product specialist. I move whatever needs moving to Canada and New York.”

“And being a mover made you a good fighter.”

“The Canadian Army made me a good fighter.”

“I have a friend from Prague. I asked him about you last night.”

Gregor. “Yes.”

“He said you could do a good job, but he also said that he thought you might have sold out some people who tried to screw you over, a pair of brothers.”

“The Vrana brothers were screwing over the people who brought me into the deal. Internal politics in a group aren’t my concern. I’m only about the money. Sorry if that makes me sound bad; it is what it is.”

“So your loyalty would be to… me.”

“Are you the one getting me my money? Then, yeah, my loyalty is to you.”

He watched me for a minute, deciding. “I might have a job for you, then. But I need you to do me a favor if you want to land work.”

“I’m not really in the favor business.”

“Then think of it as an investment. My boss, Piet, has become a liability. I think he needs to be cut out.” There it was, bluntly. Nic wanted Piet gone. Probably to take his place, to take his cut. Or to take his power. “If you can get us a route to America, then you and I—we don’t really need Piet in the picture. Or in the profit.”

“And if I don’t want to get into your messy office politics?”

“Then we’re done.”

He was using me. This was survival of the meanest. Nic was using Piet’s mistake in trusting the Turk to bolt up the food chain.

But then, so could I.

“What’s your beef with your boss?”

“Brains make more money than brute force.” The hacker didn’t like the muscle.

“No doubt you’re smarter than your boss.”

“There is no doubt. Piet is a moronic whoreson. He waves a sword around, if you can believe it. A sword. Do you know how unprofessional that appears?” The superior tone I’d heard in his voice last night returned.

“What is it you’re shipping?”

“They’re not large packages, but they must be well hidden. Extremely valuable and not easily replaced.”

“Not an answer. What is it?”

“That you need not know. It is not toxic or poisonous or dangerous.”

I didn’t believe him. But I didn’t press it. Not now. I had a new card to play. Basically, Nic wanted me to tattle on Piet, make him look bad, hope that the scarred man would cut Piet down. Even loose networks are brimming with egos and ambitions. This might be the fastest road to the scarred man.

“You want this job, you’ll help me,” Nic pressed.

“And I design you a perfect route to smuggle your goodies, with documentation and containers and a well-greased captain and the right bribes, and you take my route, and you shut me out? No.”

“We must trust each other a little, Sam. I’m proposing you and I work together; this job, all the other jobs that come. I’m in demand right now, and I need a partner who’s not an idiot and is reliable. I don’t want to have a boss who thinks he’s a ninja.”

I put an edge of nervousness into my voice. “Look, I’m going to put my ass on the line here. I don’t know you people. I’ve got resources to smuggle whatever you need smuggled, but I need appropriate guarantees.” I sounded like a man who was talking too much, and that’s what I wanted Nic to think. I wanted a scent of desperation, to close the deal. But to close it with someone with power. “If you can’t give them to me, I need to talk to someone who can.”

“I can’t take you to Piet’s boss. Doesn’t work that way.”

Compartmentalize. Keep each node of the network safe. That was clearly their operating standard here. It was smart. “Then we’re done.” Bluff time. I stood.

He needed me. I knew that. I was his chance for a power grab.

“There is a great deal at stake,” Nic said.

“The only great deal I care about is a great deal of money.”

“You will get a cut and a bonus for helping me oust Piet.”

“Can’t I get a job without bloodshed?”

“Not these days.” He lowered his voice. “Look, we need our goods moved from Rotterdam to New York. I don’t know where the goods are right now except they’re on their way to Holland from Hungary. Piet knows, all right? You can talk with him and see if you’re willing to take this on. Both the smuggling job and helping me get him out of the game.”

That was as much as I could hope for now. “All right. Let’s go.” And then I saw Howell. Hurrying down the north side of the Singel canal. Heading in our direction. Behind him walked August. I kept my smile in place.

It meant we’d made a mistake. But Mila had left a trail for us to follow if that happened.

Then I saw Howell and August and another man, clearly a Company agent, turn hard into the doorway of an Internet café. A neon coffee cup steamed in the window. Same building where Mila was watching from the top floor.

Choice: help Mila or go with Nic. I wanted to help her. But I couldn’t walk away from Nic. That way led to Lucy and my son.

I followed him, wondering how Howell had found us. From the ID check Nic had done? Maybe, if his associate who searched for the Peter Samson name had hit an electronic tripwire.