“You okay, Tom?” he said, while climbing out the bin, just in time to avoid having Tom land on him.
“Never better — you?”
“I’m fine.”
He admired his new environment. Most of Amsterdam was built on dikes, or piers above the waterways and canals. The National Archives Center was above such water, but below it there was a world built for boats — shallow boats — that could move waste from underneath hundreds of buildings just like this one. If Sam reached up, he could almost touch the ceiling, which formed part of the road above them. In the distance, light flickered in through several openings to the outside world.
Next to him, as promised, a wooden sports boat was tied up to the jetty.
“Look Tom, some nice person left the keys for us.”
Tom grinned. “I knew you weren’t going to get us killed — today.”
Starting the motor, Sam grinned as he threw off the rope lines and began heading out. A heads up display came on in front of him, revealing a preprogramed map of the waterway below the city of Amsterdam. Like a GPS, but based on navigation markers instead of satellites. He began to follow it.
“That was close,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I thought you’d give me a bit more of a heads up before doing something reckless with our lives.”
“Sure was. Hey, what was plan A, anyway?”
“Plan A?” Sam laughed. “I call my dad, he asks a favor from a friend who’s President of the board, and we get to borrow the Arcane Stone.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We nearly got killed, and you could have just mentioned that your dad’s friend is on the board?”
“Yeah, well, to be honest, it could have taken a few days to arrange. I’m with you. Every minute counts. Besides, we’ll return their artifact when we’ve got Billie back in one piece.”
“You might want to throw in a couple million in rebuild costs,” Tom said.
“I wouldn’t say we did that much damage.”
“Yeah, but he might.”
Sam looked up at the bridge ahead.
Where a man dropped a grenade down on them.
Chapter Eleven
Sam swerved the boat to the left.
As it turned in a sharp arc, both men were pushed hard into the boat’s leather seats as centrifugal force hammered them with pressure. The massive V8 engine screamed, and the back of the boat dug deep into the water. A bow wave seven feet high lapped toward the grenade, and then the boat took off again.
Shooting off in the new direction, their bow had only just broken the surface tension, allowing them to skim along the water — and then the grenade detonated.
The blast sent jets of water in all directions.
But their boat rode high, with its bow skimming above. Sam turned his head back as much as he dared while keeping the boat on its careful balancing track.
“Are we clear?” Sam shouted.
“Yeah I think we just made it.”
And then just ahead, five jet skis approached.
“Any chance they’re just out for a joyride?” Sam asked.
A dozen bullets raked the front of their boat.
“I guess that’s a no.”
Sam swerved to the right.
“Tom, have a look in the back there. See if Elise left us something more useful.”
“I’m onto it.”
A moment later Tom lifted up an RPG 7 — the Russian version of the Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher, with an explosive head designed for antitank warfare.
“How about this?”
“Sure…” Sam said, taking a turn to the left again, down a narrow waterway. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a machine gun, but that’ll have to do. But there’s five jet skis. What are you going to do, blow up each of them?”
“I think I’ve got an idea. See that bridge over there on the right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you can make it there?”
“I’ll give it a try.” Sam turned to the right again.
More bullets sprayed the water just behind them. “You’d better make it quick!”
Turning into the next waterway, Sam replied, “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” He took one more quick turn and then was travelling underneath the bridge. “Okay, I’m here — now what?”
The jet skis came on.
Tom ducked.
Their pursuers’ machine guns fired in a blaze of red tracer bullets.
“Just a little further…”
Tom fired the RPG.
It struck the base of the largest pier. For a second the only sound that could be heard were the machine gun bullets, getting closer to them.
And then the tip of the explosive head ruptured.
One after the next, the shock waves sent vibrations through the water. Behind them, he heard the crack of thunder. It was the sound of the pier collapsing, sending an entire road bridge plummeting into the water.
The jet skis were forced to turn back, while the subsequent wave of destruction plowed eagerly toward them, with deadly force.
“You might want to pick it up a notch Sam. That thing looks like it’s going to swamp us.”
“I’m trying,” Sam said impatiently. “What do you suggest I do?”
Tom grinned. “Press the red button?”
“What bloody red button!”
At the center of the little wooden sports craft’s dashboard stood a single red button. It had the same kind of refinement as a British high end motor car, while appearing equally out of place on the little wooden boat.
Tom held on and pressed the button.
The engine sputtered for a second and then sounded like it was choking, before the turbo charger filled with jet fuel and kicked into life. The boat literally leaped out of the water, its propeller barely touching the surface of the water, while Sam fought desperately to keep it from flipping.
The turbo burst lasted just forty-five seconds, and then the boat settled back into the water. Behind them, the wave had disappeared along with the jet skis.
Sam returned to the preprogramed route on the heads up display. Elise had left him the boat with a destination.
Tom looked up ahead. “Any idea where we’re heading?”
“Yeah, Nepal.”
Tom latched onto the boat’s handle, as Sam swerved to the left. “Why the hell are we going to Nepal?”
“Because I just realized what Billie was after.” He stopped the boat before Tom could ask more. “Here’s our stop.”
Sam engaged the boat’s autopilot and sent it off into the canal again. A single workman’s door was located at the base of the concrete pier. There they climbed the stairs and entered the main foyer of the Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam.
A waiter in a tuxedo looked at the two disheveled men with a bemused smile. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, we have a reservation.” Sam smiled. “Can you please send your best scotch to the penthouse?”
Chapter Twelve
Andrew Brandt stepped down to the water’s edge, staring at the ducks in the distance. Like a child, he picked up a rock and threw it at them. They scattered in an instant, and three jet skis approached in their wake.
It was a burst of temper that he rarely allowed himself to show. And he immediately reined in on it. Forcing himself to smile, he said, “There were five of you, and still you lost them?”
“We found his boat, but it appears he and his friend must have got off somewhere before and then left the boat going on its autopilot.”
“One of you is going to fix this. Or I suggest you don’t bother coming back to see me.”
Each of the three men looked at each other and then back to him again. One look at his serious face, and they clambered back onto their jet skis and disappeared. Although none of them had seen Andrew kill a person himself, no one doubted what he was capable of.