Contents ( 44)
- DAUGHTER OF GOD
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
Seth had no ready reply for the agent. Maybe it was a game, maybe not. But Stratton was right: whatever this was, it wasn’t about being a cop anymore. The painting that rested securely in the locker at Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport was a secret too dangerous for him to handle. There was too much to Stratton’s game, and Ridgeway didn’t even know all the rules.
“Stay in your room, Seth. Eat room service. Stay off the street. Wait for me to get there.”
Seth remembered Stratton’s words now as the bartender slid a fresh glass of genever across the bar and took the empty glass. That had been two days ago. What had happened to Stratton? There had been no answer at the number the agent had given him and no messages left at the hotel.
Seth made a show of looking at his watch, then fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a multicolored wad of guilder notes. He retrieved two of the notes, passed them across the bar to cover his drinks, then downed the rest of the genever in a single gulp. He slid off the stool and walked casually toward the door. The thin man with the insane eyes closed his paperback and started to rise.
Outside, the street was cluttered with traffic of every description: bicycles, trams, buses, and a melange of autos, from battered Fiats and CitroSns to brightly polished Mercedeses, all dancing a delicate mechanical ballet with each other, trying to merge from one nonexistent lane to another in search of a turn, a parking space, or a break large enough to accelerate forward for a few lengths. Seth passed the display window of a diamond merchant He stopped abruptly in front of the window, as if something extraordinary had caught his attention. In the reflection of the window, he saw the man with the insane eyes walk quickly out of the bar and then stop short as he caught sight of Ridgeway.
Seth turned abruptly away from the diamonds and headed toward the central train station, a plan beginning to form in his mind. The man with the insane eyes had not hurt him. Who was he working for? If not for Stratton and not for the KGB, then who? The crowds thickened as he drew closer to the train station. Christmas shoppers hauled gaily wrapped packages and shopping bags. Most of them were women, housewives from the suburbs who had taken the train in for a morning of shopping.
Christmas, Seth thought. Shit. He looked at the date calendar on his watch. Five days until Christmas.
The women with their shopping bags crowded tightly around him now as he stood at the corner of the Spuisstraat and the Prins Hendrikkade waiting for the light to change. Seth was surrounded by a million tiny rustlings of paper and wrappings and shopping bags that crinkled. Women chatted gaily in Dutch. Seth could only understand a few words, basically ones that resembled German. But he understood enough to know that, other than their tired feet, the shoppers were happy, satisfied, content, anxious to return to their homes and their families. He resented the hell out of all their happiness.