The first sign that he’d been spotted was the unmarked police car easing its way down Herengracht past a restaurant called Amnesia. Bodie was staring into the place, the name having caught his attention, when the big black shape passed by, reflected in the glass like a slow-moving predatory shark at his back. Bodie didn’t turn to look, but moved in the other direction, eyes on a swivel.
Ahead, two cops looked unsure as he started toward them.
On the bridge to the right, a plain clothes man gazed right at him, not even faking disinterest. Two more ran to assist him. Bodie saw that the canals acted as a natural barrier. He couldn’t use the streets to easily melt away here; there were only a few routes across the canals, and they would all be guarded.
But there were options.
Satisfied he’d been recognized, Bodie sprang into action. All his life, he’d been a natural thief, even before being trained by the best. He would need all his skills to get out of this.
First, he strolled toward the two cops and then darted left, disappearing up a side street. Cobbles flew beneath his feet; grimy shop windows flitted past to the right. There was a map of Amsterdam in his head, but it wasn’t exhaustive. And, typically, this narrow alley wasn’t on it.
He reached the end and dashed along another street. Behind, he saw figures giving chase; heard the roar of a car engine.
Ahead, a police car blocked his way.
Bodie accelerated, running hard. Before the cops could jump out of their car, he slid across the hood, landed on both feet, and kept going. The cold wasn’t a problem now. Sweat coated his face. The black jacket and pants he wore stuck to his skin. The occasional blasts of drizzle were a blessing.
He switched up Singel and flew past more restaurants. The bridge across the next canal stood ahead and to the right; but, as anticipated, it was already blocked.
Bodie raced straight for the two cops and their police car.
At first they looked startled. One was tall, the other broad. After a few seconds they readied themselves. Bodie didn’t slow. He sprinted up to them and then slid in, taking one at the knees so that he staggered into the other. Bodie rose as they fell, and raced past, crossing the bridge onto Korte Korsjespoortsteeg and gaining valuable distance.
He’d gained enough time for his first trick. Still running, he darted up an alley, pulled out a new blue jacket and black beanie hat from his backpack and pulled them on before shoving the old clothes into a trash can. Making several more twists and turns through Amsterdam’s alleys, he soon found himself staring through a window into a bakery. He used the wide sheet of glass to check his peripheries. His heart was racing, his head focused. This was fun. It reminded him of the old days running along Kings Road with the local gendarmes at his back, outpacing them, outdistancing them and, finally, losing them. Those early days in London had been good, shaping him. And, before the gangsters took control, it had been relatively harmless.
Now, in a different world, Bodie saw two police vehicles cruising both sides of the canal. He slipped on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, turned, and drifted toward one. He tugged a mobile out of his pocket and pretended to be swiping at it, face down. The cop car passed by without slowing. Bodie used more windows to check his progress.
The chase, it seemed, was over.
But the entire purpose for this charade was just beginning. Word would already be flowing via Interpol across the channel to Washington, he hoped. And then to Langley. Soon, Pang, Heidi and anyone else that cared to know would hear that Guy Bodie had been spotted in Amsterdam.
Part one of their plan was checked off.
CHAPTER THREE
Cassidy enjoyed Moscow. She’d been here several times in the past, purely as part of Bodie’s crew, but never hesitated at grabbing a chance to come back.
Hers was one of the trickier missions.
She knew that the Russians wouldn’t necessarily inform the CIA of anything, much less a known asset on the loose, but Moscow was rife with agency spies, and she knew just where to look for them. A sighting here would land on Pang’s desk in about eight minutes.
Cassidy smiled grimly under the faux-fur Russian hat she wore and pulled a heavy coat around her muscle-bound frame. She’d been ready to act for over an hour now, but the local agency boys were being complacent. They hadn’t spotted her yet. Cassidy was standing in a dirty doorway, red hair cascading over her shoulders, right knee jutting out of the front of her coat and turned to a provocative angle, smiling at everyone that walked past, and still they hadn’t spotted her. Old buildings lined the street in every direction. At ground level many sported red and white canopies that belonged to cafes, restaurants and bars. It was a heavy footfall area, perfect for being spotted.
Still...
Cassidy was considering getting naked to attract even more attention when a scarred man in a black leather jacket stopped dead on the other side of the street. He stared, unable to take his eyes off her. Cassidy assumed he either had a thing for redheads or a good notion of who she was.
When he blinked and removed a phone from his pocket she moved away, maintaining her pace at a steady saunter to enable him to keep up. She was well aware that these agents weren’t the local cops and would be more vested in and better trained to apprehend her, but she wasn’t going to give them the chance.
As soon as she noticed more men arrive on the scene, moving to flank her, she was certain
