Just behind her, and occasionally jostling her, were a couple of unruly teenagers who belonged to an exhausted-looking Korean couple. The mother had a shopping bag with sunflowers on them, containing booty from the Van Gogh Museum souvenir shop; her bleary-eyed husband had his headphones plugged in, no doubt dialed to the Korean audio channel, listening to the pre-recorded tour guide: On your left … On your right … The teenagers, a girl and a boy, were engaged in one of those private sibling tussles that were both sport and squabble. Trying to tag each other, they would, every so often, bump into her, and their giggling apologies were perfunctory at best. The parents seemed too tired to be embarrassed. Meanwhile, the kids happily ignored her glares.

She wondered whether she should have sprung for the Rederij Lovers cruise, the passengers of which were promised “an unforgettable evening whilst enjoying an outstanding five-course menu.” That scene might have been imprudent for a woman on her own, but she hadn’t known the choice was between getting hit on by strange men and getting hit by strange children. Once more, she forced her eyes to focus.

Unseen by her, a man shifted slightly from his rooftop perch, high above Prinsengracht’s busy streets. The time of waiting had been long, almost intolerably so, but now he had reason to think that it had not been wasted. Yes—there, standing in the glass-topped boat. It was her. As he fine-tuned his sniper scope, suspicion settled into certainty.

The American woman’s face was now perfectly centered in his scope; he could even make out her spiky brown hair, her high cheekbones and sensual lips. He exhaled halfway, and then held his breath as the crosshairs settled upon the woman’s upper torso.

His concentration was unwavering as his fingers caressed the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-nine

Less than an hour from Dulles, Janson found himself on small winding roads that took him through some of the most tranquil territory on the Eastern Shore. Deceptively so. He recalled Jessie’s words of warning. If Collins wants you dead, don’t count on leaving his company alive. Jessie believed he was taking an enormous risk, meeting a deadly adversary face-to-face. But a bolus of sheer rage impelled Janson. Besides, Derek Collins gave orders: he did not execute them himself. To do so would be infra dig, beneath him. Those long-fingered hands would not be sullied. Not as long as there were others to take care of matters for him.