Microchip Murder - A Katla KillFile (Amsterdam Assassin Series)

by Martyn V. Halm

  “If that’s what you want.”

  Katla jotted down the address. The target broke the connection and sang along with the radio.

  Katla took the next exit and headed home.

  She checked the address on Google Maps, noting ingress and egress points and possible choke points.

  Nothing beat actual reconnaissance though, so she dressed herself in her motorcycle gear and went down to the garage.

  -o-

  Katla scrolled through the hacked account and found the number Schijf had called. Reverse directory didn’t supply a name or address, so the number was most likely pre-paid. She assembled one of her phones and called the number. A man answered with a curt, “Ja?”

  “I understand you’re in negotiations with someone in regards to buying stolen property.”

  “Who is this?”

  “An ally, if you play your cards right.” Katla paused. “Assuming you still want the property.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “Ms. Schijf intends to screw you on the final delivery. You’re not the only one she’s trying to hoodwink.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “You’re not playing your cards right. I can help you to get what you want and pay for, but you’ll have to make me the in-between.”

  “Let’s say we go along, what guarantees do we have that you’ll deliver?”

  “None, except my word. Which is pretty difficult to validate, of course, so essentially you’re going blind. I can be your eyes, for a 20% commission.”

  “You want 200K?”

  Katla paused. If this stuff was really worth a million, the midget was getting the deal of a lifetime. She shouldn’t get too greedy, though.

  “I’m worth it,” she said. “I can verify if the property you’ll get will be the functional one. So you won’t get the dud.”

  “Who’ll get the dud?”

  The fish was eyeing the hook. “While that’s none of your concern, her former employer is also in the running. And they’re offering more than a million to get their property back.”

  The man cursed under his breath.

  “Yes, I know how you feel,” Katla said. “However, they tried to screw us on the commission, so they’ll get the same research, but not the working microchip.”

  “We can check the microchip ourselves.”

  “First of all, you can’t, because you don’t know the platform yet. Second, even if you have the platform, you won’t know that you have the dud until you put it through the right tests. In short, without me, you’ll buy the dud and you won’t find out until much later.”

  “Or we can simply back out of the deal.”

  The fish was nibbling the hook. She had to act nonchalant and increase the pressure.

  “Why don’t you hash it out with your partners and call me back in half an hour. That should give you time enough to decide.”

  “We might need more time.”

  “That’s too bad. Thirty minutes or no deal.” Katla broke the connection and called the midget. “You wanted the competition implicated? That’ll cost you another seventy-five thousand.”

  “Seventy-five? No problem.”

  “I’ll need a microchip, similar to the one Schijf used. With some bogus program on it.”

  “I can have one sent by courier to your office.”

  “Leave it at the reception desk of hotel Wiechmann, care of LKE. You have my account number. Remit the 75K within 12 hours. Things will be moving fast.”

  “Thank you.”

  Katla broke the connection and put the phone on her desk. Twenty-five minutes left for the competition to react.

  Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. Katla smiled.

  “Ja?”

  “When can you deliver?”

  “Two days.” She gave them her account number. “I’ll arrange the exchange. Just have the money ready.”

  “The meeting?”

  “I’ll let you know where the exchange is going to be.”

  The client paused.

  “You have until noon tomorrow to pay our commission,” Katla said. “I’ll contact you as soon as we have the microchip and research papers.”

  She switched off her phone and removed the battery.

  Taking another phone, she called Schijf and lowered her voice. “Do you know you’re being targeted for elimination?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you want to live?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “The straightforward kind,” Katla said. “You’ve stolen from your boss and you’re negotiating with the competition. Both of them want you out of the picture. Permanently.”

  “And you are?”

  “I am in a position to help you. You’ve reached too high. Your boss is adamant about getting back the goods you stole. And the competition doesn’t want you popping up after the deal, so they hired someone to take care of you when the goods pass in their hands.”

  “And how do you know all this?”

  “It’s my business to know these things.”

  “I can’t be killed that easily—”

  “A course in Krav Maga won’t stop a bullet,” Katla said. “Don’t overestimate your own abilities.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “You won’t be able to enjoy your money if you’re dead.”

  “And you can keep me alive?”

  “Well, let me put it this way,” Katla said. “If I don’t succeed, you get your money back.”

  Schijf laughed. “Funny. How are you supposed to protect me?”

  “We’ll assign a female operative to you, one who can go with you anywhere. She’ll drive you and protect you and you’ll have to do exactly as she says, without question. If you can do that, you are likely to survive.”

  “And how much would that cost?”

  “5K a day, for a minimum of seven days.”

  “I’m supposed to go to a meeting in two days.”

  “Yes, we know. And we’ll prove to you that going to the meeting is a bad idea, if you like.”

  “How will you prove it?”

  “You will be ambushed, but our operative will help you. Her name is Karin from LKE. If you go with her, you’ll owe us two days. Or you can fend for yourself and see if you survive.”

  Katla broke the connection and smiled.

  -o-

  The meeting point was well-chosen. Remote but not deserted, close to Knooppunten Oudenrijn, Lunetten and Everdingen, a triangle where several motorways came together. Katla was posting at the Shell station Haarrijn, her computer showing the exact location of Schijf’s Peugeot as the target took a roundabout route to shake off pursuit. When she was some 500 meters removed from the petrol station, Katla started the stolen Saab and watched the motorway through her binoculars to make sure she had a visual before she’d take up pursuit.

  Many people are terribly sensitive towards their automobiles, and they carry their bubble of intimacy with them into their cars, so they can get enraged simply by being cut off in traffic. Katla was planning on doing something worse than that.

  The Peugeot zoomed by and Katla took up pursuit, staying back some two hundred meters. She called Schijf on her cell and said, “This is Karin from LKE. Did you check your car this morning?”

  “Yes. Like I do every morning.”

  “Your car’s been tampered with, it’s not safe.” Katla spotted a gleaming BMW with two men in the front seats. “You’re being followed by two killers in a BMW. I hope you can make the next rest area, if your car fails before then, get onto the shoulder, abandon your car, and run towards the rest area. I’ll pick you up in a Saab.”

  She broke the connection and swerved into the BMW. The driver reacted quickly, but he couldn’t avoid being sideswiped. At the speed they were driving, it took a mere kiss of metal to damage the cars. Katla swerved back into her lane and went into the fast lane, accelerating away from the BMW, who tried to take up pursuit but got behind in traffic. Sh
e could hear their furious honking, but drove away from them, making sure to keep enough distance to stay in their view.

  She checked the laptop, noticed that the target’s Peugeot was two hundred meters ahead and fifty meters from the rest area. She activated the box and toggled the switch, blowing the Peugeot’s relay. The car swerved onto the shoulder and Katla cut through traffic to go to the outbound lane.

  Schijf had taken her advice, and was sprinting along the shoulder, a briefcase in her hand. Katla checked the BMW, now some seventy-five meters behind her, still trying to get closer. Up ahead, Schijf reached the rest area and Katla flashed her high beams, entering the rest area and skidding to a halt as she closed the laptop, dropped it on the back seat and popped open the passenger door. Schijf looked into the car and Katla said, “I’m Karin from LKE. Get in, they’re close behind.”

  Schijf nodded, tossed her briefcase on the backseat and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “Buckle up,” Katla said, as the BMW roared onto the rest area, swerved with screeching tires around Katla’s Saab and skidded to a halt in front of her. The passenger got out of the car, advancing on Katla’s car. Katla put the Saab in reverse and waited until the driver was halfway out of the BMW. With smoking tires, the Saab raced backward in a tight semi-circle, then roared forward. The passenger ran back to the open passenger door of the BMW, and the driver was still getting into the car, when Katla’s Saab braked an inch from the BMW’s rear bumper. She rolled forward until her front bumper touched the BMW just behind the rear tire and stomped on the gas.

  The force of her push swung the BMW around, catching the driver’s left leg and preventing the passenger from getting into the car. The driver pitched a high scream and disappeared, probably caught under the BMW. Katla steered to the left and the two cars separated. With smoking tires she accelerated away, racing across the rest area and entering the motorway again.

  “Jesus Christ,” Schijf said. “I think you hurt the driver.”

  “Good,” Katla said. “They were planning to do worse than hurt you.”

  She moved quickly into the high speed lane and kept the Saab some ten kilometers over the speed limit while she checked for pursuit in the rearview mirror. The BMW could still be driven, but perhaps she’d injured the driver enough to make them reassess their goals.

  “We’re going to ditch this car.” Katla took the next off-ramp and drove the Saab onto the parking lot of hotel Carlton President in Maarssen, where she’d stashed her Audi. “Grab your briefcase.”

  Katla parked the car, got out and grabbed her laptop. Schijf followed her to the Audi and Katla opened the passenger door for her, then got behind the wheel, keeping an eye open for surveillance. She drove the Audi from the parking lot and got back on the motorway, driving back the way they’d come. As they passed the rest area, they checked but the BMW was gone.

  “I didn’t see any guns,” Schijf said. “Wouldn’t they carry guns?”

  “Trust me, they were armed.” Katla relaxed behind the wheel. “You don’t run around brandishing a gun, that’s for amateurs.”

  They looked over at the emergency lane where Schijf had abandoned her car. A tow truck with a loading bed was backing up to the Peugeot.

  “You asked me if I checked my car,” Schijf said. “I check it every day.”

  “I don’t think the stuff they do to cars will be visible to most of their targets.” Katla took the next exit and took the overpass to cross the A2 motorway, getting back onto the motorway in the direction of the Peugeot.

  “You think it’s smart to return to the scene of the crime, Karin?”

  “What crime?” Katla slowed down when they got near the tow truck, the Peugeot already standing high and dry on the loading bed. The driver looked around the Peugeot as the Audi stopped behind it.

  Katla turned to Schijf. “Where are your keys?”

  “I left them in the ignition.”

  “Lock yourself into this car. I’m going to check for sabotage.”

  Katla got out of the Audi, walking over to the tow truck driver. She shook his hand. “Karin.”

  “Giel,” he said. “Is this your car?”

  “No, my colleague.” Katla pointed a thumb back at the Audi. “Her car seemed to totally fail on her, suddenly. She has some bad experiences breaking down along the motorway. I was behind her, but I couldn’t stop, so I went to the rest area and picked her up, then circled back.”

  “She left the keys.”

  “Yes, I know. Like I said, she panicked and ran to the rest area. I’m a mechanic myself, I’d like to check under the hood for a moment.”

  “I already checked. Nothing seems out of order, but all the electricity seem to be down. Must the wiring.”

  Katla hopped onto the loading bed next to the Peugeot and opened the door on the driver side to pop the hood. As she looked under the hood with her flashlight, the driver looked up at her and said, “I have to go, they don’t want me to block the emergency lane too long.”

  “I understand, Giel.” Katla pulled the lever to disconnect the tampered relay. “Where will you take her car?”

  Giel gave the name of a garage in Leidsche Rijn and said, “I’d like for one of you to sign the papers that I towed the car.”

  “No problem,” Katla said. “Take the papers to my colleague.”

  She signalled to Schijf to sign and waited for the driver to walk away from the tow truck before she took the relay. She put the original relay in its place, but left the lever undone to make it seem as if the relay had disconnected itself due to engine vibrations. When the driver returned, she closed the hood and said, “Can’t see what’s wrong either. Not without tools anyway.”

  She jumped from the loading bed and strolled back to the Audi.

  Schijf eyed her curiously as she got in. “And?”

  “I think I found it.” Katla patted her pocket as she buckled up again. “Let’s find a quiet spot.”

  -o-

  Katla parked the Audi at an almost deserted parking lot near Ouderkerk aan de Amstel. Only three other cars were parked, probably from people walking their dogs in the nearby reservation. And a car from a driving school was slowly making rounds, parking and pulling out again.

  Katla fished the tampered relay from her pocket and showed it to Schijf. “The culprit.”

  “How did you know this was the culprit?”

  Katla wiped her finger over the relay and showed it to her. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Exactly. If you want to check your car for tampered parts, look for the parts that are less dirty than the rest.”

  With the micro screwdriver set from her glove compartment, she opened the relay and exposed the wiring. “The outer casing of this relay is original, but this looks like a remote switch.”

  “To switch off the relay?”

  “First you switch off the relay, then you stop behind the broken down car, save the damsel in distress.”

  Schijf ran her fingers through her hair. “They would’ve succeeded if it wasn’t for you, Karin.”

  “What do you want to do now?”

  “I need the money from the sale to make a new life for myself.”

  “Money is nice, but you need to be able to spend it,” Katla said. “You might want to rethink your strategy here.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to sell.”

  Schijf flipped open her briefcase. A small revolver rested on top of her papers. She opened a compartment in the lid of the briefcase and took out a tiny translucent box. “The program on this microchip is not yet patented, and all the research papers are in my possession.”

  “So, whoever has the chip and the papers can file for a patent?”

  “The program is an advanced guidance system that works independent from GPS satellites, although that is only one of its features. It’s an important feature, though. Weapons guided by this system cannot be traced by ordina
ry means, so they’re less likely to be intercepted.”

  “The people you were going to sell it to are arms dealers?”

  Schijf shrugged. “It’s only one application, but probably the most profitable.”

  “If you still want to sell it to them, you’ll have to do it in a more roundabout way. Make sure they don’t get what they want before you’ve been paid and in the wind.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?”

  Katla smiled. “Of course.”

  -o-

  With Schijf riding pillion, Katla left the Haarlemmerbuurt and rode her Vespa through the small tunnel at Tussen De Bogen, crossing under the railroad embankment and entering the south side of Bickerseiland, the largest of the three Western Isles.

  Like New York City’s Meatpacking District and London’s Docklands, Amsterdam’s Westelijke Eilanden started out as an industrial area. In 1609, when the harbour needed expansion and the city council wanted a place where flammable goods could be stored away from the wooden houses of the inner city, three artificial islands were created at the south-west shore of the IJ.

  Bickerseiland stretched out along the IJ and featured mostly larger shipyards, Realeneiland was home to the smaller shipyards for smaller industrial vessels like barges and recreational boats like sloops, as well as a tannery, salt works, and a tar and pitch factory. Prinseneiland was filled with over a hundred warehouses for the storage of incoming goods.

  Back then, the whole area featured easily combustible salt refineries and highly flammable tar distilleries which made pitch to repair the wooden ships. Add to that the storage of large amounts of timber, rope and canvas, and the creosote oil used to treat hulls, and the whole area became a veritable tinderbox. To contain the inevitable fires the islands were separated by wide canals that served as moats as well as waterways and connected solely by drawbridges and bascule bridges.

  After two centuries of bustling activity, vessels became too large to dock at the Westelijke Eilanden and moved to the new East Harbour. With the area slowly becoming derelict, housing mainly small crafts and industries, the situation remained in a downward spiral until the second half of the twentieth century. Artists, sculptors and musicians took to the large warehouses for their work spaces. When London started redeveloping and converting the Docklands into a housing area in 1971, Amsterdam followed suit.