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

hard to the left as they left the main roadway, and the men on the benches tilted sideways in unison.

Now they were bumping over the hard, frozen ruts of a small dirt track leading down towards the small dock at Trintelhaven, and Pieter felt the vibration rattle his teeth. He looked through the windscreen in time to see them whip by the branches of several fir trees, then they made a hard right and he watched open-mouthed as they crashed straight through a three-barred gate and slid to a halt in a gravel yard.

There was a series of explosive popping sounds as the smoke grenades were fired, then a hydraulic hum as the truck’s rear hatch glided down, and the men piled out, roaring and screaming at the top of their lungs.

Pieter followed them without thinking, his thoughts all scrambled and confused, his head ringing like a punch-drunk boxer’s, but once outside someone grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back, and then he heard Dyatlov screaming in his ear: “Wait here Van Dijk! I’ll tell you when it’s safe!”

Then he was gone, disappearing through the smoke with his men.

Pieter moved to one side as more vehicles roared into the yard, and then back-up squads of armed personnel poured into the house. There was a cacophony of loud shudders, and through the curtained windows he saw the bright stuttering light of flash-bang grenades going off inside. There was more shouting, doors being kicked in, and in his mind, he could visualize the men moving from room to room and detaining the occupants. But no gunshots nor signs of resistance. Which was good.

Movement caught his eye just then and he turned to see a line of armed police snaking across the concrete jetties. This would be the other strike-team securing the perimeter.

Then he heard the loud engine of the mobile command centre and saw as the long vehicle slid to a halt just beyond the wrecked gateway, and moments later Huijbers appeared, flanked by his bodyguards as he stomped into the yard, baseball hat on his head and a huge grin on his face.

“Bloody awesome Van Dijk,” he shouted, his body all energized and bursting to the seams with adrenaline. “What a sight to behold. Coming across the dam, and then seeing the men go in, I tell you I had tears in my eyes.”

Pieter stared back at him. He thought about asking who had tipped off the media, just to see what he said, but just then Dyatlov emerged from the house and waved them across. The assault was over.

Huijbers set off at a jog, his wide girth making the ground shake, and he pushed straight past Dyatlov. “Where the hell is that woman?” he called as he disappeared through the doorway.

Dyatlov caught Pieter’s eye, and the Russian gave a tiny shake of his head, and Pieter felt his stomach give a peculiar backflip. Oh God, he thought to himself. Nina? Had they…?Please, not now, right at the end. He went inside, feeling the blood drain from his face.

He found himself standing in a small and dusty room filled with old furniture, the upholstery on the chairs all faded, a musty smell of age and decay in the air. The door was hanging off its hinges, as was the one leading into what looked like a kitchen. There was lots of activity in there, people moving about, and he stepped over to join them. From somewhere above he heard more footsteps.

The kitchen was a wreck, possibly from the assault. Smashed furniture and broken crockery and shelves and curtains and broken glass lay everywhere. A path had been cleared through the mess towards another doorway, and Pieter glimpsed a set of steps beyond, leading downwards.

Moving over, he squeezed by members of the assault team and went down.

Huijbers was already at the bottom, standing in the centre of the basement and looking around, hands on his hips and shaking his head.

Pieter saw in a moment that the place was empty, just like the house at Warder, but whereas then he had felt frustration, now he felt relieved. Relieved that he wasn’t looking at the body of twelve year old Nina Bakker.

“Fucking bastards have gone,” Huijbers said needlessly. “Taken the girl with them. They must have been holding her in there by the looks of it, but they fled just before we arrived.”

Pieter said nothing, he just turned to look at where the police chief was pointing, seeing the small cage in the corner underneath the stairs, and a chill went through him. The front was open, the cage door swinging back on its hinges. Inside he saw a thin blanket, all crumpled up. There was a sharp smell of urine.

He turned a full circle, his gaze taking in the small room, seeing the bed, the small table and couch, the shelf of books and DVDs, the television in the corner. There was even a bathroom with a shower and toilet.

Huijbers stalked back up the staircase, mumbling and cursing under his breath, and after one final glance around Pieter went after him.

Pieter followed him back outside. Up on the roadway, one of the blue helicopters was just touching down, its rotors buffeting the air. The back of his throat feeling tight from the hazy smoke drifting around the yard.

He found Huijbers standing near the gate.

“Where the hell is Dyatlov?” He was livid, his face all red and blotchy. “This is impossible. They’ve got away twice now, first at the other house and now here. Between the two of you, Van Dijk, you’ve royally screwed this up.”

“Now just a minute-” Pieter began, unable to bite his tongue any longer, but then one of the other men was shouting and gesticulating at something out across the water beyond the small pebble beach.

“Sir, look sir!”

Pieter and Huijbers both looked across the slate-grey expanse in unison.

“It’s a boat sir!”

Pieter spotted it after a moment, a small motor launch bobbing about and nearly lost in the waves. It was