Final Target(50)

“My jacket pocket.” He fell into step with Jan. “You weren’t followed?”

“Is the student questioning the teacher now? I’m never followed when I don’t want to be.” He glanced at Travis, whose gaze was scanning the surrounding trees. “You don’t believe me. I’m insulted.”

“Sorry. It’s habit. I’ve had to be a bit cautious in the past several months.”

“And now also, evidently. That fake mustache definitely does not suit you.”

“I thought it wouldn’t hurt. One of Galen’s sources told him my picture was ordered to be circulated to every police officer in Amsterdam. Let’s hope they haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Well, they won’t expect you to be strolling in a place as public as this.” He thought about it. “Maybe.”

“Thanks for being so comforting. Is that the phone booth where we’re supposed to leave the package for Karlstadt?”

Jan nodded. “The minute we’re sure the money’s in the waste can.”

“Which waste can?”

“The red one by the front gate.” He grinned. “The one being discreetly monitored by the bearded man by the cotton-candy stand. I told you Karlstadt would be anxious.”

Travis glanced at the man Jan had indicated. Good-looking, blond hair, full face, beard. As he watched, the man casually folded his newspaper and strolled over to a bench by the gate. He frowned. “There’s something familiar about him.”

“How can you tell with that bush on his face? It’s got to be as phony as your mustache.”

“I don’t know. It’s just . . . something.” He shrugged. “I may have run into him before if he’s a hired gun.”

“Possibly. Are you worried enough to walk away?”

Was he worried? He was always worried when an unexpected element appeared in a deal. Yet familiarity was not recognition.... “I guess not.”

“Good,” Jan said. “I want the deal done. I don’t think Karlstadt’s man will try to stop us as long as he sees us make the exchange. And Karlstadt knows you’re holding back half of the goods.”

“Let’s get it over with and get you on that cruise.” He waited until the crowd around the playground entrance had dispersed before strolling toward the red waste can, keeping one eye on the man by the stand. “A department store shopping bag?”

“Right. De Bijenkorf’s.”

The shopping bag was jammed to one side of the can, the top stuffed with newspaper. So far, so good. While Jan blocked him from view, he retrieved it and moved quickly toward the phone booth. “Come on, Jan. I can practically see you walking up that gangplank now. You’ve got it ma—”

A popping sound.

Silencer.

Shit.

He dove for the ground as he reached for his gun. “Down, Jan.”

“ Too . . . late.” Jan was falling. “My . . . leg. Run, Michael.”

The blond man was sprinting toward them with a gun drawn.

Another shot.

The bullet whistled by Travis’s ear as he rolled over in the grass. He got off a shot.

The blond man faltered, blood sprouting high on his shoulder. But he was almost on top of Jan. He grabbed Jan’s shirt, jerking him to a kneeling position, then pressed the gun to Jan’s temple. “Throw down the gun and pitch me the money, Travis.”

“Screw you. Let him go, or you’ll have a bullet in your brain before you can press the trigger.”

“Do what I say and I won’t kill him. I’m actually grateful to van der Beck. He’s been very helpful. Give me the money and I’ll let him live.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “Even though you’ve caused me no end of trouble, I’ll even let you live for a while. Your usefulness isn’t at an end yet.”

“You’re lying. You won’t do it. There are witnesses all over the place.”

“I dislike witnesses, but I’ll make an exception. Look at my face.”

The cold son of a bitch would kill him. He threw him the shopping bag. “I’m putting down the gun. Now back away from him.”

“Very wise.” He glanced over his shoulder as he heard a commotion at the gate. Several security guards were racing toward them. He smiled. “Never mind. I’d love to stretch this out, but it seems we’re about to be interrupted. Next time.”

He shot Jan in the head.

“No!”

Agony twisted through Travis as he watched Jan’s blood and brains splatter on the grass. “Jan!”

Dead.

And the man who had done it was streaking down the path toward the street.

Travis grabbed his gun, leapt to his feet, and raced after him. He could hear the shouts of the security guards behind him.