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Chapters (73)
  1. Goodbye to the Dead
  2. Also By Brian Freeman
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. CONTENTS
  8. PROLOGUE
  9. THEN
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. NOW
  46. 36
  47. 37
  48. 38
  49. 39
  50. 40
  51. 41
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. 59
  70. 60
  71. 61
  72. FROM THE AUTHOR
  73. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

He examined the automatic inside. It would do. He preferred revolvers, but the bigger clips of the black gun would be more useful. And his last revolver had been bad luck. After he’d blown off the face of the blond woman who was trying to run, he’d lost the gun on the wet steps when that other bitch tackled him.

Bernd shoved the gun into his belt and pulled his T-shirt over it. He squeezed the box of cartridges into his back pocket. He felt more secure having a weapon again. It had been a long time without a gun, but those purchases were easier in the USA than in Amsterdam.

The two men stood silently beside each other. The business of the docks went on around them.

‘So,’ the other man said. ‘Duluth again, eh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Another delivery?’

‘Yeah.’

The fat man thought about this. ‘Captain says he’s hearing things online. More surveillance. More questions.’

‘A body turned up in Amsterdam,’ Bernd said. ‘One of ours.’

‘So they’ll be searching. People will be on guard.’

‘Let them search.’

‘You say that, but it’s all our asses if things go bad. Maybe we should wait.’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ Bernd snapped.

The fat man didn’t look happy. He wasn’t alone; others among the crew had begun muttering about the authorities. Bernd didn’t like extra heat, but skipping the delivery wasn’t an option. Their buyers were already impatient. The Saudis paid a freaking fortune for the American girls on their shopping lists, so they got what they wanted. Bigger risks meant bigger payoffs.

‘Well, keep your eyes open, eh?’ the fat man said, waving goodbye, heading across the busy port for the Ingersstrom.

Bernd grunted a salute.

His full name was Bernd Frisch. He was twenty-six years old. His narrow, pale face was heavily dotted with freckles, and his chin was rounded. He had blond hair shaved to his scalp on the sides and sitting in short, tight curls on top. His lips were thin, his nose a small, shallow bump on his face. Unlike most of his crew mates, he didn’t have a tattoo anywhere on his skin, and he was mostly hairless. He was tall, with a lean, hard body.