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FBI Director Green was the first to speak, his gray suit creasing round his shoulders.

“It seems to me like Kirk is really trying to help. The link to Amsterdam and now this Istanbul thing. It’s good work. Maybe we should offer him his old job back!” The other men around the table laughed. Everyone except for John Piper.

“Oh, yeah!” he said sarcastically. “He’s fucking great. Ever since Kirk’s been on the scene we’ve lost an eight-million-dollar coin, wound up with a stiff in London, and narrowly avoided a major diplomatic incident with the French. Let’s get real here. The guy’s outta control.”

Corbett drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Well, it was your idea to cut him a deal,” he reminded Piper in a low voice. Piper’s eyes blazed but Green cut in before he could speak.

“Calm down, John. Listen, no one knows what really happened in London yet, nor whose fault it was. As for the French, they always turn everything into a diplomatic incident. Makes them feel more important. I still say Kirk has surprised us all. His are not the actions of a guilty man.”

The noise of Corbett’s nails hitting the glossy wood grew louder.

“How do we even know what’s really going on?” Piper insisted. “I told you Browne was not up to this case. I know this guy, nothing’s ever what it seems with him. Now he’s got her believing he’s got nothing to do with all this. And let’s not forget he can still finger the president. We need him under lock and key now.”

Corbett halted his desktop tattoo.

“For once, John and I agree on something,” he said. “Kirk is a criminal. He can’t be trusted. He had the means and the motive to pull the Fort Knox job. If he’s helping Browne now, it’s because he wants something. When he gets the chance he’ll make his move. Then he’ll probably leak the Operation Centaur story just for the hell of it.”

Piper nodded at him. Corbett raised his eyebrows at this unexpected show of solidarity.

“You may well be right,” said Director Green slowly. “But given where we are, what other options have we got? Are you saying we should just pull her out? I still think that we have more chance of locating the coins and who took them with Kirk’s help than without it.”

“I’m not disagreeing with that.” Corbett nodded. “And I still think Browne will come through for us. She can’t afford to fail and she knows it. All I’m saying is that Kirk needs watching.”

“Ah want to cover all the bases here.”

Treasury Secretary Young leaned into the table and spoke for the first time since they had sat down, his bald head shining like a mirror, stubby fingers gripping a thick Montblanc ink pen.

“Let’s see what else they dig up together. You never know, they might get lucky. If Kirk becomes a problem then we remove him from the equation. Simple. Frankly, when this is over, Ah don’t care what happens to him. From what you’ve told us, John, he’s a dangerous man with a lot of dangerous secrets. If he’s behind the Fort Knox break-in, then let’s nail him for that. If not, then Ah’m sure you can find something else to pin on him. Centaur’s far less likely to leak out if he’s inside anyway.”

Corbett nodded.

“Meantime, we need to make sure that Browne has backup. John, can you arrange for one of our consulate guys to get over to their hotel and keep tabs on them both? And, Bob.” Young locked eyes with Corbett. “Ah want you to get a bag packed and a team ready. If your girl needs help, Ah want you on the next plane out there. We don’t leave our people swinging in the wind. Never have. Never will.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

SEVEN BRIDGES HOTEL, AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS
9:33 P.M.

It was dark before Jennifer heard footsteps outside the room, followed by a knock at the door. Tom had been out well over three hours. She’d taken the time to relax, have a bath, shave her legs and under her arms, pluck her eyebrows and moisturize herself from top to toe until her skin radiated pH neutral hydration.

“Come in,” she called out.

“How did you get on?” Tom asked as he stepped into the room.

“Fine, thanks. What about you?”

“Oh, I just had a walk around.” Tom poured himself a glass of iced water from the jug on top of the dresser. “It’s hot out there.”

“Tell me about it. Haven’t they heard of A/C in Europe?”

“Oh, they’ve heard of it. Just don’t believe in it.”

“Any news?”

“I called a friend of mine to see whether he knew anything about this Istanbul link.”

“And?”

Tom disappeared into the bathroom and his muffled voice echoed out into the room.

“He said he didn’t know.”

He reemerged, fastening his watch onto his wrist and made for the door.

“You going somewhere?” Jennifer’s voice registered surprise. “You just got back.”

“Yeah. It’s just this thing I’ve got to do.”

“What?” She took a step toward him, put a questioning hand on his arm.

“I won’t be long.” He moved to leave but Jennifer sprang to the door, pressing herself against it.

“You’re not leaving without me. Not with everything that’s going on. Not unless you tell me what the hell you’re up to.”

“This is personal. This has got nothing to do with you or the coin.”

“I don’t care. You’re not going.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. And I am going.” This time Tom returned her gaze without looking away.

Reluctantly, she stepped away from the door. What else could she do, tie him to a chair?

“Just remember,” she said as he reached for the door handle, “you and me, we’ve got a deal. You screw up, we both go down.”

He gave her a quick smile.

“Don’t worry. The deal means as much to me as it does to you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

9:37 P.M.

As soon as the door had closed and the echo of Tom’s footsteps had faded into silence, Jennifer slipped a black sweater over her silk top, swapped her heels for some sneakers, grabbed the room key and flew down the stairs and out onto the street.

She looked first one way and then the other, peering into the darkness, but the street was silent and empty. She was too late. Only a retreating bicycle light flickered in the distance like a buoy.

And then she saw him — a dark figure momentarily silhouetted against the red brickwork as a car turned the corner in the distance. It was Tom.

Jennifer held back, hugging the side of the street, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and shoulders every so often as he walked under a streetlight or past the blue glare of a TV in someone’s front room. She followed him over the bridge, past the serrated brickwork of the Waag on Nieuwmarkt Square and the dancing lights of the open-air restaurants dotted around it, until the unmistakable glow from the approaching shop fronts confirmed where he was headed. De Wallen. The red-light district.

A few hundred yards later, Tom knelt as if to tie his shoelaces, and then suddenly darted into a side alley. Jennifer broke into a run. She knew that if she lost him in these labyrinthine side streets she would never find him again. Her heart was pounding, her mind bubbling over with questions. Where was he going? Why now? And why couldn’t he tell her?

As the alley loomed closer she slowed to walking pace, flattened her back to the wall and edged her head around the corner.

About five feet in, the alley widened into a small square, with another alley on the opposite side leading out onto a street running parallel to the one Jennifer was now on. Three identical glass-fronted shops, their lights staining the cobblestones outside them a dark red, dominated the left side of the square. Opposite them, a dark concrete wall loomed up into the darkness of the night sky like a church steeple, the faded and peeling remains of an abstract mural dedicated to a long-forgotten World AIDS Day the only relief from its grimy blankness.