Smith’s world stopped spinning for a moment, and he felt his trigger finger tighten as his brain registered the threat. He locked eyes with the man staring back at him. They were green, an inch below the edge of a dark wool cap. Smith saw recognition grow.
“Mr. Smith?” the man whispered.
Smith jerked his head in a quick nod.
“Thank you for not pulling the trigger. I’m Andreas Beckmann. I shot the two men in the window.” The building shook again with another explosion.
“Cover me, point to point,” Smith said. He moved around Beckmann and kept going downward, swinging his gun in an arc. At the next landing he pressed himself against the wall and Beckmann moved into position again. They made their way to the first floor, taking turns advancing and waiting until they reached the final door.
Smith pushed open the door half an inch. Cool air rushed past him, mixing with the heavy fumes in the stairwell. He was happy to breathe fresh oxygen again. He peered out. The stairs opened into the hotel’s lobby. Here the destruction wrought by the terrorists was evident.
The hotel’s gleaming parquet floor, marble pillars, and plush velvet furniture had absorbed the effect of what looked to Smith like a hand grenade thrown dead center. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and several chairs lay in a jumble where the bomb’s force had blown them. A settee, which Smith had noticed when he’d checked in, was shattered. Two of its four legs were cracked in half, and the dark brown velvet fabric smoldered from a stray spark. The pillar at the center of the lobby had sustained the most damage. A ragged chunk of the marble was cut from the side, and the parquet floor below had a deep crater in it.
“Clear?” Beckmann said.
“So far. Let’s go.”
Smith moved into the far end of the lobby, keeping his back against the wall and sweeping his eyes around to catch any sign of movement. He held the AK up, ready to fire as he continued to slink along the room’s perimeter and toward the door and freedom. Beckmann followed, edging around corners with the same silent step. Smith heard a sound in front of him and to the left. He waved Beckmann to a halt. Twenty feet more and the lobby would widen into an L-shaped section recessed to the right that contained the hotel’s registration desk. There was no way to see from the perimeter if anyone lurked there. A thick marble pillar five feet from the wall would provide cover yet still allow him to see into the recessed area, but he would be exposed for the few seconds it would take to get there. He gauged the darkness, trying to decide if it, coupled with his black clothes, would camouflage his movement.
“I’m going to the pillar,” Smith said. Beckmann nodded.
Smith lowered to a crouch, took a deep breath and slipped out, reaching the column in two long strides. He pressed against the cool stone. Beckmann joined him two seconds later, crouching next to him and placing his back against the pillar. Smith’s heart hammered at the risk he’d taken, but one glance told him that it had been necessary.
Three men stood in formation at the head of the recessed area, shoulder to shoulder, their heads turning from side to side as they scanned the lobby. All three wore stocking masks over their faces, and all three held submachine guns at the ready. Behind them the registration desk with its granite-topped counter had been shattered, along with the mahogany-paneled wall behind. A gaping hole allowed Smith to see directly into the offices behind.
“We’ve got company,” he whispered to Beckmann.
“How many?” Beckmann said.
“Six. Three sentries and three others.”
Beckmann turned and rose a bit to see over Smith.
The three others were also masked, and they stood in front of what Smith assumed was the hotel safe. Though it was covered in black dust, the steel container appeared to have survived the blast without sustaining enough damage to cause the lock to fail. The door remained closed. One man held a piece of paper in front of his face, placing it close to his eyes to enable him to read it, and used his other hand to work a keypad. After he had pressed a series of buttons, the door opened with a loud clicking noise. The attacker operating the keypad reached in and removed a small insulated cooler. A decal on one side of it read, Bioelectrical agent. Handle with care.
“What’s in those containers that they want them so badly?” Beckmann whispered.
Smith shook his head. “I don’t know, but there are six of them, two of us. I don’t like that they’re taking the containers, but I don’t like the odds, either.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Beckmann said.
Smith had to agree. He counted five Uzi submachine guns and one AK-47 against his Beretta and AK and Beckmann’s rifle. It would be a bloodbath, and all one way. Nothing would be accomplished, except that he and Beckmann would be dead.
“We’ll let them go and track them,” Smith said.
The men collected two more coolers before backing away from the safe, leaving its door gaping and keeping their guns at the ready; they jogged away from the entrance toward the back of the hotel and disappeared. “How do they expect to leave? The front of the hotel is surrounded,” Smith said.
“But the back isn’t,” Beckmann replied. “It leads onto the beach and they have snipers covering the sides. The Dutch police are staying well away. They’re waiting for the Dutch Special Forces.”
“Then the terrorist crew must have arrived by boat,” Smith said.
Beckmann nodded. “I came from the beach side as well. We should leave that way. I don’t want to risk using the front door unless the police are warned that we’re friendly.”
“Let’s go.” He crossed the lobby and made his way to the safe, stepping over the branches of an overturned tree in a large terra-cotta pot. He reached the safe and peered into it. The interior contained several shelves, with each shelf divided further into compartments marked with numbers from one to fifty. Nearly all held something placed there for safekeeping. Smith reached out and removed a flat jewelry box from compartment number thirty-six. He flipped it open to find a stunning sapphire necklace with a center pendant stone of several carats surrounded by diamonds. A heavy gold chain also inset with diamonds accompanied the piece. Smith was astonished that the terrorists had left such a treasure trove behind, opting instead for coolers of biomaterial.
“Interesting that they didn’t even look at these jewels,” Beckmann said. “They’re worth a fortune. What was in those coolers?”
“Whatever it is, it’s worth more than diamonds.” Smith replaced the necklace and closed the safe door, ensuring that it was locked. Whatever had happened to the owners of the valuables inside, he hoped that someone would eventually sort it out and get the pieces to the family members.
“Let’s get moving. We don’t want them to have too much of a head start.” Smith headed to the back and left through a door that led onto a small terrace. After checking for sentries, he took a few steps toward the beach. A trail of footsteps in the sand indicated the attackers’ direction and he headed that way. Ten feet from the hotel entrance he was hit with a cool breeze and took in his first full breath of fresh air. Smith thought nothing could smell sweeter.
“Which way?” Smith said.
Beckmann jerked his chin to the left. “There. Toward the train station. Let’s cross here and enter that park on the far side. We can stop there and get our bearings.” Smith nodded and jogged ahead. He breathed a sigh when they reached the park without any further incident. Beckmann waved him into the darkness of a nearby tree and took out a phone. He dialed a number, said, “I have him” into it, and handed it to Smith. “My employer would like a word with you.”