Into the Night: Inspector Rykel Book 2 (Amsterdam Quartet) (26 page)

Tuesday, 11 May
11.34

‘And this judge being suspended affects us how?’

Jaap and Saskia were in a brightly lit corridor deep in the ICTY, the gassy smell of canteen food saturating the air, making Jaap’s stomach churn. Saskia had met with Ronald, heard his news.

‘Because he has a record of being the hardest to get a conviction from,’ said Saskia, her voice tight. ‘The one they’ve replaced him with is much more willing to convict. And I know that he’s been gunning for Matkovic.’

‘So can’t you get him taken off as well? If they’re both showing bias then surely—’

‘Yeah, but the first judge had a profile done in
De Telegraaf
at the weekend; the one that’s been appointed now is smarter than that, I’d have no proof to make any such claim.’

Jaap leaned back against the wall, his heart a series of firecracker explosions in his chest. Saskia had shown him the newspaper report back on Saturday. It seemed like a century ago. If only he’d known then …

He forced himself to think. If there was no chance of getting Matkovic off then he was wasting time. He needed to be out looking for Nikolic.

And there was something not right. He couldn’t work out what was going on between Isovic and Nikolic, from Isovic’s reaction it was clear they weren’t friends. And yet everything Isovic was doing was helping Nikolic.

Jaap leaned forward, his heart was still firing, though it didn’t feel too regular; he wondered if it was going to hold out. He felt like he was on some kind of high, everything weird, unstable. He thought he was sweating but his forehead was dry when he wiped it with his hand.

‘Are you okay?’

Jaap looked up at Saskia. She seemed to be holding up better than he was. But he knew her well enough to see what the calm exterior was hiding.

‘I … Yeah. Let me try him again.’

Back in the cell, Saskia having negotiated another session with the guard, Jaap stepped right up to Isovic, dragged him up off the bed and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with his forearm on his neck.

He brought his face right into Isovic’s, smelling his rancid breath and fighting the urge to pull away.

‘Tell me what’s going on, right now.’

‘Does Nikolic really have your daughter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I sorry, but I not think you ever see her again.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because Nikolic is killer – he kill many, many of my people. And he also kill my son.’

Jaap stared into Isovic’s eyes. Eventually he nodded and released him, stepping back.

He didn’t think it was possible to fake what he’d seen there.

Or maybe I’m just projecting
, thought Jaap.

But if Nikolic had been responsible for the death of
Isovic’s son … Something flashed across Jaap’s mind, too fast to catch, but enough to give him the feeling that he might just be able to work out what was going on.

Something which might increase his chances of saving Floortje.

‘I’m sorry about your son,’ said Jaap. ‘But maybe you can help stop him from killing my daughter.’

Isovic rubbed his neck where Jaap’s arm had been. Jaap could see there was a horizontal red mark.

‘I might be possible to help,’ Isovic said. ‘But you get me out of here.’

Jaap looked at him, looked at the cell, thought about Floortje.

Breaking out someone from ICTY was not what he’d come here to do.

‘I need something better than that,’ he said watching Isovic closely.

‘Get me out of here,’ said Isovic. ‘Or I can’t help you.’

Twenty minutes later Jaap was in Saskia’s office. The door was closed, but they’d still been speaking in whispers. Jaap turned to look out of the window, over the raised pool they’d walked past earlier, and tried to figure out a way. Breaking Isovic out was one thing – he could probably just march down to his cell and do it right now – but his absence would be noted.

Which would put Jaap in a very dangerous position.

It would only take minutes before every police patrol in the country was notified, and that would make any kind of movement so much harder.

‘I still don’t get it,’ whispered Saskia. ‘He’s been our star
witness; I’ve interviewed him so many times, and he genuinely hates Matkovic, so I can’t figure out what he gains from doing this.’

Jaap had been wondering about just that, and was starting to think he did understand. And if he was right, breaking out Isovic might have even larger consequences.

But even so
, he thought,
can I take that risk?

The phone on Saskia’s desk rang. They both looked at it, Saskia finally picking it up. Jaap motioned he’d be back; Saskia nodded while listening to the phone.

He asked a guard walking down the corridor where the toilets were.

‘Down the corridor to the left,’ the guard replied. ‘Though you might want to go up one floor. Colleague of mine was out on the town last night and it’s not a pretty sight in there.’

Jaap took his advice and went to the floor above. He pulled the door shut behind him and leaned back, staring down at the toilet. Then he reached out, dropped the seat flat and sat on it, pulling out his coins. He took a deep breath, then started throwing. The hexagram built up line by line. Once finished he fished out the I Ching.

Lake over Water

DEADLOCK. CONFINED. EXHAUSTED.

He had a choice; leave Isovic and risk that he changed his mind, decide to testify, or take him away, make sure he couldn’t. Trust Isovic to help him find Nikolic.

A toilet flushed in the stall next to him, he hadn’t even been aware there was anyone there. He checked his phone for the time.

You’ve got to make a decision
, he told himself.
Right now.

Tuesday, 11 May
12.23

The baby wouldn’t stop crying.

It’d been wailing for what seemed like days, weeks, a never-ending death ray of sound which cut through his brain and jangled his nerves so bad he didn’t know what to do.

At least he was out of the way. The cabin was right on the water’s edge, a small jetty jutting out beyond the window, and the nearest road way down a muddy track. If he’d been anywhere near other people surely someone would have started asking questions.

Like whether he had a licence to run a twenty-four-hour abattoir.

He strode across the small room to where she was, nestled in a cardboard box with bent edges. He looked down, down at her eyes staring back up at him. In contrast to the constant writhing of her body and the noise coming from her mouth, her eyes were still, glacial, timeless.

Like she knew she was pissing him off, was daring him to do something about it.

He pulled out his gun, settled it in his hand, and pointed the barrel towards her.

Nothing changed.

The screams kept coming, the eyes kept staring.

He moved it forward until the metal pressed against her mouth.

The crying ratcheted down until it was nothing more than an occasional whimper.

Her lips explored the object, it looked like she was trying to suck at it.

Then he realized. She was hungry. If he’d given her something to eat hours ago he might’ve had some peace. He checked his watch.

Only a few more hours to go.

The fact that all the members of his crew had been killed off was starting to look good to him. He still didn’t know who had done it, but he was sure he was safe here.

And once Matkovic was out things were going to change. They’d be out of the country within three hours of his release – everything had been lined up.

He was glad he’d sorted that out himself. None of his crew had been involved, so none of them could have given up the escape route, even if they’d been tortured before being killed.

He flicked on the portable radio he’d bought from a shop in the centre of town, and tuned into a news channel. He kept it on in the background.

Then he grabbed one of the chocolate bars he’d brought with him, snapped a bit off, and crouched down, feeding it to the baby.

It worked. He got silence.

When she’d finished it, he gave her another, then another.

Tuesday, 11 May
12.59

Jaap watched as the hands hit one.

Only eight hours to go
, he thought, staring at the white clock face.

He was standing in the main entrance hall of ICTY, hoping the plan he’d hatched with Saskia was going to work. It was desperate, putting their trust in Isovic’s hands, but Jaap didn’t see that they had any choice.

And time was running out, Jaap could almost feel it, each second bringing closer something he couldn’t even bear to think about. Ronald had pushed the start of the trial back while he tried to convince Isovic to testify, but it was just about to get going now.

It seemed almost certain that Matkovic would be convicted, and then Nikolic would carry out his threat. And if that happened … Jaap wouldn’t even let his mind go there; he needed to keep focused and fear made that difficult.

He found himself trying to bargain with a higher power he didn’t believe in, promising anything as long as he got Floortje back alive.

The doors at the far end of the hall opened and Saskia stepped through, followed by Isovic, hands cuffed in front, being steered by a guard.

Timing was everything.

Their footsteps rang out as Jaap headed over to the
front desk, handing back his mistyped visitor’s badge, accepting his gun back at the same time. He shoved it down the back of his jeans in preparation.

Behind him he heard Saskia cry out.

He turned. Saskia was doubled over screaming, the guard looking startled before moving towards her. Jaap started running just as Isovic lunged forward. The guard, sensing movement, turned just as Isovic hit him hard on the side of his head with his cuffed hands.

Even in the confusion Jaap could see Isovic knew what he was doing, the precision of the movement, the practised flow.

The guard slumped down on to the floor next to Saskia as Jaap sprinted back through the metal detector, the alarm bell splitting the air.

As he reached her he squatted quickly down by her body and grabbed the keys from the guard. He flicked them towards Isovic while he pretended to help Saskia, hoping no one had seen what he’d just done.

Seconds later he felt his gun slide out from his waistband and then something hard touch the back of his head.

He was no longer in control.

It was too late to back out now.

He could hear footsteps. Saskia wasn’t screaming any more, she turned her head to face him. Jaap could see the desperation in her eyes, as if her screams had liberated the fear he knew she was wrestling with.

‘Get up,’ shouted Isovic, his voice only just audible over the alarm. ‘Hands on back of head.’

Jaap did as he was told. Saskia mouthed
Find her
to him.

‘Drop your weapon,’ shouted a guard from somewhere off to Jaap’s left.

‘I will shoot him,’ responded Isovic, moving Jaap towards the exit.

There were guards everywhere now; Jaap could even see one in front, who must have stepped outside for a break. He had his weapon aimed right at them.

‘I will shoot,’ shouted Isovic again, this time his voice taking on an urgency which left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was serious.

Not even Jaap’s.

Has he played me?
he thought as they moved forward, right up to the scanner.

In his peripheral vision Jaap could see a guard dropping on his knee to help Saskia, and then Isovic shoved him through the metal frame.

The pressure of the gun on the back of his head was intense, Isovic driving him on, fast.

He locked eyes with one of the guards standing by the entrance, a tall man with short black hair and no neck.

A curl of white plastic coiled out of his ear down into his shirt collar.

Jaap tried to show he didn’t want any heroics; the last thing he needed was some guard getting trigger-happy.

Once guns started going off it would be over.

Twenty paces away now, and the guard still had his weapon up.

Don’t be a hero
, thought Jaap.
Not now.

Isovic yelled again, the gun still pressing against Jaap’s skull below his interlocked fingers.

Fifteen paces.

Fourteen.

Jaap tried to shake his head, catch the guard’s eye, tell him to stand down.

Twelve, eleven. But the man was stock still, eyes trained on Isovic. Jaap’s gaze zeroed in on the man’s trigger finger.

Ten paces, nine.

The guard’s arm relaxed and he lowered the gun, stepping aside.

Isovic stopped, shouted for him to drop it.

Jaap flicked his eyes to the ground, and the guard did as he was told, placing the gun on the floor.

‘Back, move back,’ said Isovic, and waited for compliance before they moved forward again, rushing past the guard and the gun on the floor, its barrel pointing back into the building.

Outside the fog hit their faces like a cold wet blanket.

A flag, Jaap couldn’t work out the country, writhed on a high pole.

All they had to do now was find the car Saskia had parked.

If Isovic was still following the plan and hadn’t decided to screw Jaap.

Isovic took the gun away from his head.

They turned left, skirting a grey metal fence, and came out on to Johan de Witlaan, where the traffic was building up, lunch rush hour getting going. Dodging cars they reached the central grass reservation, Jaap looking for Saskia’s white Citroën.

She said she’d left it just down the road to the left, but
he couldn’t see it. Using a break in the traffic, he ran, followed by Isovic, across the next lane. And then he spotted it, about a hundred metres away. He started sprinting, Isovic by his side.

They reached it – Jaap had fired the remote unlock a few feet away – and flung the doors open, the wail of sirens hitting Jaap’s ears as he jammed the key into the slot and slammed his foot down.

‘You outrun the police in this?’ asked Isovic, breathless.

Jaap skidded the car out into traffic and accelerated, his hands tight on the wheel. He glanced at the rear-view mirror, adjusting it so he could watch the flashing lights appearing in the distance behind them.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, spinning the wheel left to avoid a motorbike up ahead, ‘but you’d better hope so.’