Read Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) for Free Online Page B

ahead?”
    Katla looked at the stacks of wet timber littering the terrain in haphazard stacks. Straight ahead the terrain was cleared for vehicles, just wide enough for a single car or truck to pass through. Which was odd, since lanes between the stacks were supposed to be wide enough for two trucks to pass each other. And there should’ve been more than one lane. She looked to the right, but there was no other space cleared than the narrow lane in front of them.
    “Take a left,” she said. “Pass behind the warehouses.”
    “Whatever you say.”
    The terrain behind the warehouses was also strewn with rubble, except for the tracks of the cranes at the edge of the quay.
    Katla pointed at the quay. “Drive between the tracks.”
    The driver frowned. “You want me to pass under the cranes?”
    “Trucks can do it, so can you.”
    The Mercedes bumped over the tracks and turned right, occasional pebbles shooting out from under its tires. They passed under a crane, the axles of its wheels level with the taxicab’s door handle. Another crane hulked in the distance, silhouetted against the dark blue night sky.
    Katla pointed ahead. “The office building is just behind those warehouses.”
    The driver pointed with his chin at a slender silhouette between them and the crane. “And who’s that?”
    The silhouette’s right arm appeared slightly longer than the left.
    “Stop the car,” Katla replied. “Put on your high beams.”
    The high beams of the Mercedes illuminated a slender Chinese man in a dark suit, his left arm shielding his eyes, his right hand out of sight behind his back. Next to Pascal’s BMW she noticed three black Lexus SUVs, but Emil’s Saab was nowhere in sight.
    “Park in front of the building.” Katla fished her cell phone from her pocket. “What’s your name and the number on your roof?”
    “Why?”
    “Give it to me.”
    “Laurens Thooft.” He pointed at the laminated card on the windshield. “234.”
    Bram answered and Katla said, “It’s me. If I don’t call you in fifteen minutes, or call you by your last name, I want you to call the police. Location: Sphinx Shipping, Vlothaven. Taxi 234, driver Laurens Thooft. Got that?”
    “Taxi 234, Laurens Thooft,” Bram repeated. “Sphinx Shipping, Vlothaven.”
    “Fifteen minutes.” Katla broke the connection and glanced at her watch.
    The driver halted in front of the building. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” she replied. “Your tip went up to fifty euro. Stay in the car.”
    Another Chinese man walked up to the Mercedes and opened the door. Katla smiled up at him and swung her legs out of the car, placing her cane between her feet before she rose from the seat. The Chinese man held her elbow to help her from the car, reached in his pocket, took out a twenty and held it out to the driver. “We’ll drive Ms. Sieltjes home.”
    “That won’t be necessary.” Katla put her hand on his arm. “He’ll wait for me.”
    The Chinese man looked at her, shrugged and put the money back in his pocket. He preceded her to the door and held it for her, then followed her inside, staying three paces behind her. Katla exaggerated the effort she needed to climb the stairs and limp slowly to the Sphinx office.
    In the tiny office sat three men; two Chinese and Pascal Vermeer, who approached her with his hand extended, a nervous smile around his lips.
    “Thank you for coming, Ms. Sieltjes.”
    “No problem, Pascal,” she replied. “It’s good to see you.”
    Gazing deep into his eyes, Katla clasped his clammy hand and jammed her thumb into the nerve behind the knuckle of his index finger. Vermeer blinked with the pain and his smile faltered, but he didn’t cry out. She released his nerve-deadened hand and turned to the two Chinese.
    The younger man, in his late twenties like the one who followed her, wore a large gun under his armpit; large enough to cause his left arm to hang away from his body. He should’ve worn a broader tie; his suit