A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

in that very brief moment, just before he whipped his face back out of sight again, he caught the bright muzzle-flash of the gun, coming from one of the windows near to the larger entrance tunnel on the opposite side of the small courtyard.

He noticed more lights coming on in several of the other apartments, their occupants no doubt drawn by the sudden noise, and he prayed they didn’t venture outside to see what was going on.

Taking several deep breaths, he quickly swung his arms around the wall, took a quick aim towards the window where the shots had come from, and fired twice. The Walther P5 bucked in his hands, nearly spraining his wrists, and there was the sound of breaking glass.

Hoping his return fire would keep the apartments’ occupants hunkered down, Pieter chose the moment to quickly backtrack across the cobbles and hurry down the narrow passageway leading down the side of the church, where the large building would shelter him from view and give him vital cover.

Reaching the end he slipped out and darted over to the far side of the lawn. There was a low wall surrounding the grass, as well as a set of steps running up to the front door of another apartment, and he crouched down low behind them. From here he had a direct view towards the shattered window but out of the line of fire. If he could quickly get around the steps he could use the shelter of the buildings to creep right up to the spot where the gunman was.

But even as he readied himself for this last rush forward the door next to the broken window suddenly flew open, and the silhouette of a tall man came rushing out. He had what looked like a large canvas bag in one hand, and in the other he held a small handgun, and he blazed away like some bank robber in an old western movie, his shots fanning out over the courtyard.

Pieter dropped onto his knees.

He stared in amazement as the man continued to fire shot after shot. Then he saw a second figure emerge from the doorway, sliding silently behind the first, using him as a shield. This one was smaller, lithe, moving with almost feline grace, and he caught a quick flash of long blonde hair, and Pieter knew in an instant that it was Lotte.

He watched as she raced for the opening to the short tunnel leading out of the courtyard, with the man hot on her heels, and in the next moment they were gone, their footsteps crunching loudly on the snow.

Pieter ran across the square, slipping through the deep snow, and was just in time to see them disappear through the far exit and he charged down the covered passage after them.

There was a crossroads of narrow alleyways at the end. The ones branching left and right were poorly lit, the tall buildings on either side leaning out like drunken old men, but there was just enough illumination for him to see these were empty. Just ahead was a third twisting little lane lined with bars and cafes, a short-cut that led through to the busy pedestrianised Kalverstraat, and he caught sight of the fleeing pair running flat-out by the bewildered patrons sitting at the tables drinking their beer.

He followed them, shouting and waving for people to take cover, but they just stared open-mouthed at him.

Halfway along and he saw the gunman up ahead turn and fire again, the bullet striking the ground and sending up a flurry of powdery snow, and now the people sitting watching the scene dived for cover beneath their tables, one old man taking his drink with him. Luckily nobody seemed to have been hit.

The running figures turned left and disappeared from view, and Pieter bolted down the lane.

Kalverstraat was the busiest shopping street in Amsterdam, lined with expensive boutiques, fashion stores, bakeries and fast-food joints, and was always jam-packed with people, and this evening was no exception. It was filled with Christmas shoppers hurrying through the snow to grab a few seasonal presents, and when Pieter burst out of the exit from the narrow lane he found himself hemmed in by the crowds, hoping that the man wielding the gun didn’t open fire here.

For several seconds he thought he had lost them. He could not see them anywhere. Then he caught another glimpse of Lotte’s hair, and he picked them both out amidst the bobbing heads, and Pieter pushed his way through the shoppers.

They must have seen him coming for a moment later he watched as they ducked down another alleyway.

Turning the corner, and relieved to leave the congested street, he ran after them.

At the far end, cars and trams flashed past. They were making for Rokin, the main road feeding traffic in and out of Dam Square, and beyond that was the rabbit-warren of the Red Light District.

Lotte and the man with her were halfway along when suddenly, from up ahead, trundling towards them came a motorcycle courier, with round helmet and goggles over his head and his eyes glued to his mobile phone.

Lotte’s companion charged straight at him and swung the heavy canvas bag he was carrying straight at the unsuspecting rider.

The man didn’t know what hit him. The bag struck him square in the chest, lifting him up and out of the saddle, and he pitched into the alley wall. The motorcycle spun to the ground with a grating of metal and Pieter watched in dismay as the man grabbed the handlebars and twisted the bike upright in one fluid movement, letting the revving engine propel it back onto its wheels. It was now pointed back the way it had come, towards the far end of the alleyway, and the man climbed into the saddle and swung the bag onto his back.

“Get on!” Pieter heard him shout, and seconds later Lotte was on the bike behind him, and with a roar, they sped off towards the