growing erection from the six feet of blonde Norwegian hotness he’d somehow managed to pick up. The American had set the trap perfectly and she’d fallen straight into it. He’d been sitting at one of the bar’s tables, sipping Krug and tipping the waitresses with a fifty-euro note every time they so much as wiped his table. It was one of his best tactics. Waitresses liked tips, and they liked ridiculously huge tips even more. When such tips came along, they told people about them. People told other people and before long every gold-digger was looking at the small, balding guy sitting alone in the corner.
The bar had a load of modern art on the walls that looked like something Callo’s niece might make after too many E-numbers. There were no chairs around the tables. Instead there were cushioned stools that were as uncomfortable as they appeared. Behind the bar itself was a huge array of bottles neatly aligned and backlit. They glowed hypnotically to Callo’s ever more inebriated brain.
Before the blonde had arrived, Callo had let a couple of skanks swoon over him, but when the statuesque Viking goddess appeared through the bar’s door he shooed them away. Callo liked tall women, which he knew was a good thing being much closer to five feet than six, but most of the girls he ended up with only had a few inches on him. In stiletto heels, the Norwegian beauty dwarfed him.
She was on the seat next to him solely because of the money he was flashing, but Callo didn’t care. What mattered was that she wanted him. She was a good talker too, classy, and she loved that he was American. She wanted to hear everything about him. Where did he live? What did he do for a living? Did he have a family? What was he doing in Athens? What did he like to do for fun?
‘I’m a diamond merchant,’ Callo slurred. ‘I live all over. I’ve got an ex-wife but no kids. I’m in Athens to unwind and I like doing all sorts of things.’
‘Oh, wow,’ the blonde said, inching closer. ‘I love diamonds. They’re so sexy.’
Her English was flawless and she didn’t have a Norwegian accent that Callo could detect. Not that he knew what one sounded like. She liked her champagne too and had Callo order another magnum, but he seemed to be doing most of the drinking. He’d only known her for twenty minutes but he was sure he loved her.
When she whispered into his ear and asked him if he wanted to go back to her place, he knew he was in for the night of his life. He followed her out on to the street. The bar was in downtown Athens and overlooked the sea. Callo loved it in the Greek islands and always visited after a big diamond sale.
He let the blonde hail a cab while he kept an arm around her slim waist for support. Taxis were usually a bitch to get late at night in this part of town, even at weekends, but one pulled up in front of them straight away. He remembered his manners and held the door open for the Norwegian. She slid on to the seat elegantly and Callo stumbled in after her.
The driver didn’t ask where they were going and the blonde didn’t tell him, but the taxi pulled away regardless. Callo tried to put his arm around the blonde but she shrugged it off. She opened her purse and took something out.
By the time Callo realised it was a hypodermic syringe, the Norwegian was already stabbing him in the thigh. She gave him an angry stare.
‘Pervert,’ she hissed.
‘ What the…?’
He tried to keep speaking but the words wouldn’t come out. His head felt heavy and flopped forward. He couldn’t move his limbs.
He remembered nothing after that.
CHAPTER 5
Hamburg, Germany
Hamburger Kunsthalle was open until 9 p.m. on Thursdays so Victor spent an hour perusing the art hanging in the various galleries while he checked for surveillance. When he was sure no one was watching him, Victor lingered in the Gallery of Old Masters for his own pleasure, before buying a takeout coffee at the Kunsthalle’s tastefully decorated Cafe Liebermann, and left.
The art gallery sat overlooking the Elbe and Victor walked the short distance along the river bank to the ferry port.
He boarded behind an elderly couple who moved slower than he would have believed possible, waiting patiently until he had room to walk past. He took the rolled-up newspaper from a pocket of his overcoat, unrolled it and kept it in his left hand. In his right hand he held his coffee cup. After climbing the steps to the top deck, he found a spot on the port side from which he could watch the steps without being obvious. He counted twenty-two passengers.
The vessel was just under ninety feet long and twenty-four feet wide. Smaller than he’d expected. Good. Too small for anything to happen. If there was an ambush waiting for him, it wouldn’t take place here.
The waters of the Elbe were black like the sky above them. The horn sounded and the ferry pulled away. Victor pretended to be just another uninterested passenger while he studied the other people onboard. He was dealing with criminals, not trained operatives, and he saw nobody who could be either.
At each stop, he watched who embarked. The ferry was used by a range of people, some on their way back from work, others on their way out for the night, tourists, a few on the way to the night shift. He paid attention to anyone who wasn’t young or old, but no one gave him reason enough to watch closely. A couple sitting across from Victor had no inhibitions about expressing their affection for one another. He did his best to ignore them.
At the fifth stop three people boarded, of which a lone man registered on Victor’s radar. The man ascended the steps and with no subtlety paused to look around at the other passengers. He wore loose jeans and a long leather jacket. His square face was etched with purpose. After waiting too long to avoid being noticed he sat down in front of Victor.
‘Get off at the next stop and follow me,’ the man said without turning around.
At least you did that right, Victor thought.
Victor disembarked at the next stop. He abandoned the newspaper and switched the coffee cup to his left hand. In the distance, moonlit clouds silhouetted the harbour’s tall metal cranes. The air was cold. Victor’s suit jacket was unbuttoned. He had no gun to draw but it was easier to fight or run without a jacket than with.
The man in the leather jacket didn’t wait for him. He was already walking along the riverside in the direction of the harbour. He walked fast, his strides as purposeful as his face had been. Victor didn’t follow immediately but spent a moment observing the area. No one nearby.
Victor followed at the same pace as his guide to maintain the distance between them. He didn’t know where he was being led to or what awaited him when he arrived, so a little space between them was a necessary precaution. When his guide reached their destination, Victor would have some time to analyse the situation while he caught up.
They turned away from the river and along a canal that ran between huge warehouses with tall, arched windows. There were few streetlights and the area was quiet and dark. The sound of traffic was in the distance. Victor’s gaze swept back and forth, down and up, continually evaluating the environment for signs of an ambush and advantages to exploit in the event of one.
Working on the assumption that the guide was right-handed like ninety per cent of the world, if he drew a gun, he would naturally turn around in the opposite direction of his dominant hand to shoot at someone walking behind him. It was quicker that way. So Victor walked behind and to the right to maximise the turning distance, and therefore his own warning.
Up ahead the man stopped near to a wide alleyway. He turned to face Victor and waited for him to catch up. Victor decreased his pace, watching, listening. When he stopped before his guide, the other man gestured to the alleyway. Victor waited.
‘Down there,’ the man said. His hands were in the pockets of his coat.
Victor didn’t move.
The guide remained stationary for a moment. ‘I said down there.’
‘I heard you the first time.’
The purposeful face showed understanding. ‘Don’t like people walking behind you?’
