His niece, the beautiful and hypnotic Lotte, had made it quite clear that he should under no circumstances draw attention to himself, or that they should be seen in public together. And although she could easily have arranged for a driver to meet him at the airport, he actually preferred to travel incognito, and with minimal fuss. So he followed the signs for the NS station beneath the airport terminal, to travel by train to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station.
He had just one medium-sized suitcase with him. His other kit, containing the AX338 Sniper Rifle as well as specialized surveillance gear, had been re-routed from South Africa to The Netherlands via Russia, and thanks to some old contacts he had there from the Soviet era, had been repackaged in crates stamped with a diplomatic seal and the necessary customs forms filled out, all to ensure they arrived untampered with. They should all be in place waiting for him.
So he walked through the airport, mingling with the crowds, looking like any other tourist here to enjoy a few days in the Dutch capital.
When he was down on the train platform he took out one of three cheap burner phones he carried and switched over to the national mobile network. He sent a quick text to a memorized number – LET’S HIT THE TOWN BUDDY? – and then deleted the message. Moving casually down towards the end of the platform Johan removed the SIM card and dropped it into a litter bin, and then, ensuring nobody was watching, he dropped the phone itself onto the rail tracks near the tunnel entrance.
Onboard the train he stood near the door and watched the scenery through the windows, the white and frosty fields soon giving way to the city’s outer suburbs. It was sleeting, and the sky was a dismal grey colour, the light already leaking from the sky even though it was only mid-afternoon. He was freezing cold. He longed for the warmth and open spaces of home, yet an undeniable thrill passed through him.
The familiar and electrifying buzz that he always felt when carrying out a hit.
◆◆◆
After a short rest, Johan had hired a car using a cloned credit card and driven through the confusing network of roads across Amsterdam’s Old Centre, weaving his way around trams and bicycles, and then found a place to park near the canal on Elandsgracht. Just over the road was the main Police Headquarters building.
From where he sat he had a clear view of the area reserved for staff parking, just at the side of the red-bricked office block. He could also keep watch on the main entrance, and could see people coming and going.
He waited for nearly two hours. Outside, it grew dark, and he sat with the car’s heating turned up to full, feeling the cold seeping through the thick fur-lined jacket he wore.
Eventually, a little after seven o’clock, he spotted his target emerge from the building and stroll along the pavement before turning down the side street. Johan watched him climb into his car, turn on the headlights, and then slip out into the flow of traffic.
Turning the ignition, he waited until the other vehicle was about fifty yards ahead, before he pulled out and followed on behind.
It was only a short journey to the policeman’s house. Johan already knew the address and he could have just waited for him there, but whenever he was on a job he liked to learn a bit about the target, his route to and from work, his daily routines, whether he diverted to visit friends or family, if he might call for a drink or a bite to eat and where his regular haunts were and what kind of car he drove, his habits, the gait of his walk even. Every tiny detail could prove to be important when the time came, and careful reconnaissance work like this could prove the difference between success and failure, and how to deal with any unexpected hitches that might crop up. The more he knew and learnt, the more groundwork he carried out, the better.
They drove down Prinsengracht, Johan noting all the lights everywhere, with all the bridges over the canals lit up in fancy displays of colour. He remembered Lotte mentioning some special annual event, The Festival Of Light or some such shit, which he admitted to himself did look pretty, with all the nice reflections rippling on the water in a thousand different patterns. Part of the Christmas celebrations he presumed. Yes, certainly the city did look nice at this time of the year, just as his niece had said. If only it weren’t so fucking cold.
On the far side of the canal loomed the tall spire of Westerkerk, and shortly after, the car up ahead turned right. Johan followed, and they drove over four different bridges before turning left onto Singel Canal. Here, he slowed down in order to hang back, and he watched the other car slowly crawl down the cobbled road. It came to a brief halt, an electronic garage door opened below one of the houses, and the other car was steered inside. The door came back down.
With his own car engine idling quietly further up the road, Johan watched and waited. A couple of minutes later, and the upstairs lights went on in the tall canal house.
Johan eased his car forward and parked up just opposite the closed garage doors, and he turned the engine off.
Twisting sideways, he reached behind him and retrieved a slender aluminium case from the backseat. Placing it on his lap he
