“You know I’ve been wondering about that? How do you know?”
“Are you kidding? If you weren’t sentimental about old friends and old places you wouldn’t be Guy Bodie. That’s the main reason we used Giselle Van Santen in London, right? To visit the old haunts one last time.”
“She’s the best.”
“Handy, then.”
Bodie smiled at her. “I guess she was well placed. I miss the old streets, the crappy cafes and arcades, the chip shop and even the old cop station. Sometimes this one cop—when he caught me, he used to press a fiver in my hand and tell me to buy what I needed and stay off the streets. Good memories. Bad memories. Recollections of people I met once or twice; people who made an impression on me. I think of them now and wonder where they are, what they’re up to, even if they’re still alive. Ninety five percent of them I wouldn’t recognize today.”
“I am sorry about your Forever Gang.” She stopped typing. “I know you meant to reconnect with them.”
“They say you should never meet your heroes,” Bodie said sadly. “So maybe it’s for the best.”
“You don’t believe that,” Jemma said. “But I commend you for keeping the mood light.”
Bodie returned to the grill and finished serving the food. By the time he sat down with a full plate and a beer, the Mexican sun was setting. Their ranch house gleamed in the day’s dying light, its silver-gray blockwork lighting up. His friends joked and poked fun at each other, in particular on their accomplishments inside the house. Bodie took the worst of it and didn’t care, because it was their way.
Sunset arrived with an iridescent shot of crimson, like red paint being splashed across a blank canvas, and a welcome breeze played through the fields like an errant child, and all the while Bodie smiled.
Trying... trying desperately to pretend he was happy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Heidi Moneymaker hated Kenny Pang with a vengeance.
Their argument had persisted all the way from London to Amsterdam and not once had it been mature and constructive. Heidi was too pissed at him.
“You’re an asshole, Pang. The genuine article. You hounded them from day one, never gave them a chance. You—”
“I was following orders.” Pang stood wide, tall and well-built. If ever a man carried himself like a soldier, it was Pang, and he came with all the trimmings, including blind loyalty. If Nolan—his CIA superior—ordered him to run head-first into a brick wall, Pang would do his best to knock it down with his forehead. And if he retained any consciousness after the first assault, he’d have another go.
Heidi ran a hand through her curls, trying to calm down. It wasn’t just Pang. Oh, no, Pang came a very tardy second to the object of her wrath. Which was generally the relic hunter team, but specifically Guy Bodie.
Pang put her anger into words. “Bodie and the others left you behind. It’s not my fault. They had every chance to take you with them. They just wanted a better life.”
Heidi’s fists bunched. “Just what the hell is that supposed to—”
“Wait.” Pang held up a hand officiously as if he were in charge, as if that might pause her rage, her disappointment, her sense of betrayal. “Where the hell are we?”
Amsterdam! Heidi wanted to blurt, but knew that would take her down to his level. They’d been wandering the city as they argued, taking little notice of the street names. She pulled out her phone. “This is Singel. The cops chased him down here. They’re supposed to be... there.” She pointed. A police car stood several hundred yards ahead with two bored cops leaning against it.
“Hey,” Heidi called out as they approached. “You the cops that lost him?”
“I was told that was you.” The first, a heavyset individual with a beard and sunglasses turned to her before looking her up and down. “We found your international jewel thief.”
“You did? Where’d you put him then?”
Pang stepped in. “We’re working with your government,” he said, “in the interest of international cooperation. Guy Bodie, the man we’re looking for, is an escaped fugitive.”
“Can we shoot him?” the other cop, a sallow-faced, rake-thin man asked.
Heidi’s lips tightened. She was about to unleash on them when Pang spoke up first. “Go for it,” he growled. “What’s dead can’t tell tales, eh?” He laughed, and they joined in nastily. He grabbed Heidi’s shoulders and marched her away.
“What the hell, Pang? I mean what the fu—”
“Relax, just relax. They’re assholes—”
“They’re assholes? You wanna tell me what—”
“Just. Relax.” Pang helped her along until they’d left the cops behind and were staring out over a set of black railings across a windy canal.
“Pang...” Heidi warned.
“They weren’t going to help us. Just wasting our time. The locals should have more information.”
By locals, Heidi knew Pang meant the local CIA team. Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in a small, stark kitchen, staring at a whirring microwave and listening to the voice of a man whose frozen lasagna was cremating.
“Yeah, the cops are a joke around here. Oh, they work hard for each other and for the city, but you ask for a favor and you’re treated like you got bubonic fuckin’ plague. Anyway, this Bodie character of yours could be in Disneyland by now. Why’d you take so long to get here?”
Heidi felt like she was running up against that brick wall she’d imagined Pang attacking, and knew why. These guys had more important things to do than chase shadows, especially when said shadow vanished several hours ago.
“Any idea who he was meeting? Where he came from? Went to? Places he visited? Anything at all?” Pang asked.
Heidi wished she could believe that Pang was asking out of anything but a desire to track Bodie and his team
