making mirror images of fat gray clouds spitting and pissing water. But the cold along the Brouwersgracht was nothing compared with the arctic chill inside Peyton and Carson's flat.
They avoided each other's gaze. They left the flat to take long, useless walks, getting soaked to the bone. Carson took to disappearing for hours on end, while Peyton got good at cataloguing her minders parked in the van across the street. There was Newsboy, of course; a pudgy guy who looked like a down-and-out ex-cop (if that were a type) who'd obviously replaced the dreadlocked wanker who attacked her; and a middle-aged woman with the large, darkly liquid eyes and deep brown skin of the Middle East. They lounged outside the flat windows and lurked in doorways and unobtrusively read the same pages of newsprint in soaking park benches as Peyton walked the canals and wandered the city.
On the third day of the great Dutch Cold War, a text message came through on the safe phone: "Clear one." So Peyton reluctantly caught Carson's eye, and they sighed as they bundled up in their coats and made their way to the Agile Tech offices.
"What's the plan?" asked Carson, a slight sneer underlining his tone.
"I've made an appointment with his secretary."
She expected him to make a crack, roll his eyes, refer to their argument the few days before. But he simply shrugged and followed her down the road.
An hour later they were shown into a light-filled room with Scandinavian chairs and a raw wooden conference table. Anders Van Der Luyden sat across from them with his large, colorless eyes and curiously smooth face, the skin on his cheeks thick like untanned leather, and watched them with crocodile stillness.
"Well." He licked his papery lips. "This has been very curious, Mr. Varis. Our dealer, it seems, passed off a remarkable reproduction as an O'Malley original and scared off an old rich woman from her hobby." He sipped at a glass of water. "How interesting."
"Is it?" asked Carson.
A slight smile curled his lip. "Indeed. Interesting." His watery eyes darted to Peyton. "How very like a script, almost."
Carson merely held his gaze.
"Well then," said Anders, leaning against the table in a sudden swift move. "I see from Birgitte that you have refused my offer of compensation."
"We don't want your money."
"A favor then, somewhere down the road?" He laughed suddenly. "No chance of that, oh no. But I think my thanks are at least in order. So thank you, Mr. Varis, and your tasty accomplice, for preventing me from making an unscrupulous purchase."
"It was our pleasure." There was no mistaking the sneer on Carson's face now.
Anders stood. "Then this meeting is at an end."
They followed suit. "That it seems," said Carson, and without another look back, he left the room.
Peyton followed, feeling peculiar. She seemed dirtied somehow, and small. She glanced behind her just as she reached Agile Tech's lobby to find Anders Van Der Luyden's clear eyes following her from behind the conference room's cool glass walls.
Outside, at the street corner, Carson stood waiting.
"I leave tonight," she said, watching the street.
"No." She looked at him, startled by his hard tone. "One last clear from Gustave, and we're through."
"Why should I–"
He frowned. "I'm not arguing. Go if you like. Don't pretend you don't know who's following you. Just know Gustave won't be calling them off until we get the last clear." The frown turned into a grimace. Carson had lines around his eyes now that didn't seem to be there when they first met at the island, which seemed like a hundred years ago. "You're not the only one who's being watched, Peyton."
Chapter 11
Two days had passed and still the last clear hadn't come.
Chapter 12
Peyton walked Westerpark in a fug of low spirits. The 48 hours of silence that had passed after their meeting with Anders lay on her shoulders like a mantle, weighing her down and filling her thoughts with anxiety. The thought of what Roi would do
They avoided each other's gaze. They left the flat to take long, useless walks, getting soaked to the bone. Carson took to disappearing for hours on end, while Peyton got good at cataloguing her minders parked in the van across the street. There was Newsboy, of course; a pudgy guy who looked like a down-and-out ex-cop (if that were a type) who'd obviously replaced the dreadlocked wanker who attacked her; and a middle-aged woman with the large, darkly liquid eyes and deep brown skin of the Middle East. They lounged outside the flat windows and lurked in doorways and unobtrusively read the same pages of newsprint in soaking park benches as Peyton walked the canals and wandered the city.
On the third day of the great Dutch Cold War, a text message came through on the safe phone: "Clear one." So Peyton reluctantly caught Carson's eye, and they sighed as they bundled up in their coats and made their way to the Agile Tech offices.
"What's the plan?" asked Carson, a slight sneer underlining his tone.
"I've made an appointment with his secretary."
She expected him to make a crack, roll his eyes, refer to their argument the few days before. But he simply shrugged and followed her down the road.
An hour later they were shown into a light-filled room with Scandinavian chairs and a raw wooden conference table. Anders Van Der Luyden sat across from them with his large, colorless eyes and curiously smooth face, the skin on his cheeks thick like untanned leather, and watched them with crocodile stillness.
"Well." He licked his papery lips. "This has been very curious, Mr. Varis. Our dealer, it seems, passed off a remarkable reproduction as an O'Malley original and scared off an old rich woman from her hobby." He sipped at a glass of water. "How interesting."
"Is it?" asked Carson.
A slight smile curled his lip. "Indeed. Interesting." His watery eyes darted to Peyton. "How very like a script, almost."
Carson merely held his gaze.
"Well then," said Anders, leaning against the table in a sudden swift move. "I see from Birgitte that you have refused my offer of compensation."
"We don't want your money."
"A favor then, somewhere down the road?" He laughed suddenly. "No chance of that, oh no. But I think my thanks are at least in order. So thank you, Mr. Varis, and your tasty accomplice, for preventing me from making an unscrupulous purchase."
"It was our pleasure." There was no mistaking the sneer on Carson's face now.
Anders stood. "Then this meeting is at an end."
They followed suit. "That it seems," said Carson, and without another look back, he left the room.
Peyton followed, feeling peculiar. She seemed dirtied somehow, and small. She glanced behind her just as she reached Agile Tech's lobby to find Anders Van Der Luyden's clear eyes following her from behind the conference room's cool glass walls.
Outside, at the street corner, Carson stood waiting.
"I leave tonight," she said, watching the street.
"No." She looked at him, startled by his hard tone. "One last clear from Gustave, and we're through."
"Why should I–"
He frowned. "I'm not arguing. Go if you like. Don't pretend you don't know who's following you. Just know Gustave won't be calling them off until we get the last clear." The frown turned into a grimace. Carson had lines around his eyes now that didn't seem to be there when they first met at the island, which seemed like a hundred years ago. "You're not the only one who's being watched, Peyton."
Chapter 11
Two days had passed and still the last clear hadn't come.
Chapter 12
Peyton walked Westerpark in a fug of low spirits. The 48 hours of silence that had passed after their meeting with Anders lay on her shoulders like a mantle, weighing her down and filling her thoughts with anxiety. The thought of what Roi would do
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