Temple of Greed

By Willem Mulder

Following the discovery of fraudulent gold trading, Richard Genetti flees Rome Italy. A price on Richard’s head leads to mafia’s involvement. It results in a manhunt through Europe where Richard must stay out of the hands of the hunters. He receives help from an Australian Commando Unit and a beautiful Japanese woman who knows how to handle insolent guys. The wild, humorous journey takes victims but also friendships and romances are made for life. The exciting adventure concludes spectacularly on and under the canals of Holland.Nominated for the Indie-Award 2017 in the Netherlands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willem Mulder
• Release date: Aug 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9789082815863

Willem Mulder

Willem Mulder is al meer dan 35 jaar zelfstandig ondernemer en het was geen toeval dat hij een uitgeverij begon om zijn eigen boeken uit te geven. Hij schreef verhalen en columns voor een lokale krant en een tijdschrift. Sommige van zijn verhalen waren zo lang dat het boeken zijn geworden.Zijn schrijfstijl wordt vaak omschreven als vlot leesbaar, spannend maar met een flinke dosis humor.Boeken die verschenen zijn: Fout Geld (2014), Utrecht van Toen (2015), Temple of Hebzucht (Genomineerd voor een Indie Award 2017 en vertaald met de titel Temple of Greed (2018), Wraak op Maat (2019), Misbruikte Erfenis (2020).Willem Mulder has been self-employed for over 35 years and it was no coincidence that he started a publishing company to publish his own books. He wrote stories and columns for a local newspaper and an magazine. Some of his stories were so long that they have become books.His writing style is often described as easily readable, exciting but with a good dose of humor.Books that have been published: Fout Geld (2014), Utrecht van Toen (2015), Tempel van Hebzucht (nominated for an Indie Award 2017 and translated with the titel Temple of Greed (2018), Wraak op Maat (2019), Misbruikte Erfenis (2020).

Book preview

TEMPLE OF GREED

TEMPLE OF GREED

Willem Mulder

TEMPLE OF GREED

Author: Willem Mulder

Coverdesign: VM Holding-Istock

Translator: Alison Jungerius

ISBN Pocket: 9789082815863

ISBN E-Book: 9789082815870

www.willemmulderweb.com

©willemmulder

All rights reserved. This book or any portion there of may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The Temple of Greed is based on historical facts, people and places. However, this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is totally coincidental.

Enjoy the book

1

Richard Genetti looked pensively from the parking garage of the large arrivals hall of Fiumicino airport in Italy. Under an undulating roof with a glass frontage was a building full of people with travel plans. From his position he considered the busy departures lounge, there were long queues of people waiting to check in. Shuffling slowly forward with their luggage, he could see their stress moving with them. The sun was reflected in the glass at the front of the terminal, bouncing back from the shining metal of the parked cars. It was still early in the morning, and the sun was already warm, it was going to be a hot day.

People were flowing from a queue of cars and buses in front of the terminal into the entrance, thick diesel mist hung stinking in the morning sun and was carried inside with the rolling suitcases of the nervous passengers.

Standing in semi-darkness behind a concrete pillar in the parking garage, a sign for Hertz was hanging above his head, these were spaces 23 and 24. Two cars were parked under the flag, one of which had a reserved sign on it. The other vehicle was a brand new large BMW which was not booked.

It crossed his mind to hire the car himself, but he had booked a flight and as beautiful and tempting as it was, it was a long journey to his destination. He decided to stick with his original plan.

In the meantime, he had checked out the various entrances for the departures lounge. Just before his taxi stopped in front of the terminal building, he saw the men and told the taxi driver to keep driving. After driving around the building one more time he knew what he had already feared, the entrances were all being guarded.

Swearing to himself he recognized a couple of men from the Swiss national guard, he should have left the Vatican much earlier, it was now an uncontrollable flight for him. He had clearly underestimated the influence of the Cardinal. If the Cardinal could use the army of the Pope to pick him up outside of the Vatican, he had more authority than he had thought. He had an idea to get out unnoticed and grabbed his mobile phone.

Searching his contacts, he found who he wanted and pressed the green call button. Hopefully, his friend was at work. On hearing ‘Pronto' he greeted Antonio with relief, he was one of the customs officers at the airport.

‘I need a ticket,' said Richard and had to hold the phone away from his ear as a stream of swearing came back at him. It then went quiet. Richard smiled if Antonio didn't want to do what he had asked he would have hung up by now, so he waited.

‘Ricardo, no, damn no, forget it. I had sworn I was never working for you again. It always lands me in trouble, damn, you only ever ring me when you have a problem, loser. Get lost.’

‘300 euro to hold your id card for a minute, money quickly earned, right? Where are you?

Antonio had regularly done work for him outside of his routine work. Remarkably in the past, he had worked in Rome's underworld and was now customs officer at the airport. Richard knew more about his history than his current employer. Following many convictions and pressure from a new love in his life Antonio wanted to better himself, and it was easy to rustle up an employment history on paper for him. Richard had helped him further by hiring him regularly. He was a good informant for which he charged a reasonable rate. The favor he was now asking of him was inside the law, he would effortlessly pass through customs.

‘Who’s not letting you work for me anymore? Is it your new girlfriend, have you gone soft on me man?’

He heard grunting from the other end.

‘I’m at the transport terminal A, come and find me.’

Richard knew the way so after quickly greeting Antonio he walked with him to the back of the airport. Antonio was not a big man, one meter 60, with short legs and a large stomach and had to scurry alongside Richard to keep up with him. He had once told Richard that he had to train every day to keep supple.

That was three years ago, and it had not helped him, it was quite the opposite.

‘Are you still training every day?’ Richard asked sarcastically.

‘Drop dead.’

With his hands on his expansive stomach, Antonio looked around nervously, his eyes shooting from side to side. His head trying to keep up with the movement of his eyes. Using a filthy tissue, he wiped the sweat from his shiny bald head. Antonio pointed to an open door in the long brick back wall of the airport building.

‘Use number 3.’

There were five numbered doors, in front of door number 3 stood a couple of men smoking, the ground around them littered with old cigarette butts. They were deep in conversation and were not interested in anything going on around them.

‘Through the door turn right, fourth door on your right, you will come out here by the toilets.’ He pointed to a ventilator and a window with smoked glass.

‘There you will return my id card to me. Listen carefully, you then need to cross over the corridor. You will find yourself in the customs officer's changing room. Take the door on the left, walk to the end of the corridor and you will see the glass door that takes you into customs. You will be on the wrong side of the control, just look around you as though you are lost, look dumb, you are good at that. Get rid of anything that is not permitted because they will check you inside out and upside down. I am completely crazy to do this, man, if they…'

Not finishing his sentence, he holds out his hand.

Richard gave him the 300 euro as agreed, which helped somewhat in taking the concerned look off Antonio’s face.

‘By the way, what’s she called, your new flame?’

‘Screw you,’ said the small Antonio gesturing for Richard to leave.

Richard turned away with a smile on his face and walked past the wall to door 3. Antonio is short and stocky but extremely useful which he likes about him.

He looked towards the men smoking next to the door and walking towards them nods. Richard slides the id card through the slot next to the door, with a click the door springs open. He steps into a white tiled chilly corridor which used to be the accommodation used by security and customs, not much had been done on the interior. It was clean and smelled fresh. The stillness went with him as he walked. This was one of those places where you whisper for no reason, trying not to disturb the quietness.

As he walks, a tall, stately woman in uniform walks towards him, she is good looking and walks like a catwalk model. The clicking of the heels of her shoes reverberating around the chilly corridor. She stares at him with her authoritative glare, she is apparently a supervisor.

‘So, who are you, are you new?' She asked with her nose in the air. Shit, thought Richard, why me?

Before he can respond, she grabbed the cord and id card that was hanging around his neck and pulled it towards her. A waft of sweet perfume engulfs him.

While she read the name on the card she hissed:

‘So, this is a surprise. Where’s your uniform?’

Richard stammered:

‘I don’t have it yet, I’m working out the back.’

He was gambling that this was enough information and that she would leave him alone.

That was not what she had planned and looked at him inquisitively. She was tall, at least one meter ninety and looked him up and down.

‘I know you Antonio Valini, you have had a uniform for years and this morning you looked like a very different person.’

‘I think your mistaken ma’am,’ stammered Richard.

He began to sweat, this was going totally wrong.

The woman bent down further towards him, a couple of centimeters from his face, calm and icy: ‘Well, I don’t think so Sir.’ And then pausing for a moment for effect, followed with: ‘The Antonio I know was lying beside me in bed this morning.’

‘O, damn,’ replied Richard.

The woman nodded evilly.

‘Yes, just the word I would use. How did you get hold of the id card?’

While she was asking her hand slid up to a red button on the wall. On top of it ‘Alarm' was written in big white letters. Quickly Richard responded: ‘Stop, think of your boyfriend.’

She looked at him questionably with her hand on the button.

‘I didn’t steal the id card.’

‘O, damn,’ She said closing her eyes, a dogged look coming over her beautiful face.

Her shoulders dropped, and she let go of the button.

‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘I’m sorry, it is my fault and…’

She gestured angrily that he should keep his mouth shut.

‘Come with me,’ she commanded as she walked away with her heels clicking loudly. As they came to the customs, she pushed Richard into the queue and nodded at a colleague.

‘I’ve no idea how they do it, but here is another one who was lost.’

She looked at Richard pissed off, tapping the id card on the palm of her hand.

‘I need to go and sort something out,’ she said to her colleague all the while staring at Richard.

‘Have you got everything here under control?’

‘Yes, no problem.’

‘OK, check this man over then, and do it thoroughly.’

Her colleague called two customs officers who took Richard with them and pushed him into a room.

Following a comprehensive examination he pulled his trousers back on and did up his belt, he would have instead chosen the person himself for what they had just done to him.

He thought about the beautiful tall woman and Antonio, what an unusual combination. She was intensely beautiful but also intensely fierce. Antonio would find himself in stormy waters, and hopefully, their relationship would survive. His next job for him, if he ever agreed to it, would cost Richard dearly, that he was sure of.

Two officials lead him to the departures lounge, he had asked them if they wouldn't check him in straight away as he only had a backpack with him, but the two sullen men were not so agreeable. They pushed him roughly through a door and locked it behind him. The difference in noise levels was huge, he was standing in the passenger hall, and the sound thundered around him. He could see that it was busier since he had observed it from the parking garage.

Next to him were a young couple arguing over the weight of their suitcases. The woman is blaming him for leaving everything up to her and messing everything up. He makes silly faces, and that makes the woman cross. Richard leaves them in a cloud of blame behind him.

Outwardly calm and unmoved but tense to the bone he walks into the central hall and stands in the queue to check-in. He checks his surroundings regularly. There is nothing that concerns him, and he can relax slightly.

He could not imagine that all the entry gates would be guarded, and they didn't know where he was going. Even the Cardinal would never be able to implement so many people, so he was hopeful that he could board the flight without further problems. He needed to get out of here, his life was in danger if they picked him up. If they got hold of the file he had pressed to his chest, it would be over, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

At a price, security could be paid to look the other way, that he was sure of. It had happened before, crush him and then make him disappear. This was the reason he was on the run. To be caught was not an option, it had been close, and he had been lucky.

He had reached the front of the queue and gave his passport to the man behind the desk. He was the first person who had been friendly towards him today, he smiled at him sincerely, and the customs officer beamed back at him. As he passed him his boarding card, the customs officer placed his hand on his.

‘Unfortunately, I’m finished at 4 o’clock, it’s a shame you won’t be here.’ He had a look of desperation, this quickly changed to a beaming smile as he greeted his next traveler.

‘Hello sweetie, are you flying with me today?’

Richard grinned, it could still be a beautiful day. With new courage and the boarding pass in his hand, he walked towards the gate and then he saw them.

‘Shit,’ he said out-loud, an old lady passing him giving him a punitive look.

Damn, they had found him! The men were waiting for him at the gate, he recognized them and was more surprised than shocked. This was no coincidence, he had assumed that they didn’t know where he was going.

The pair of them were not difficult to recognize, one short and the other tall. The tall man squeezed into a smart grey suit was quietly reading a newspaper. His short, excitable companion, who was dressed in a baggy black tracksuit, was pacing up and down like a small terrier. They were hit men, and Richard knew who had hired them. They were well known, expensive and deadly. They carried out their assignments without compassion or regard to the situation. You would not want to meet this pair of criminals, anywhere, and especially at a busy airport.

Richard immediately turned back, hoping they hadn’t seen him and walked straight into a soft but firm spongy wall. Something cold and wet splashed onto his face. A loud scream could be heard in the corridor.

‘Shit, what the fuck?' From the accent, he had just been introduced to an American woman. Richard could not be called short, but he still had to look up to see the woman's face. Her face was as dark as the look in her eyes. Her double chins were covered in ice cream. As a precaution, Richard took a couple of steps back.

She was large, colossal and furious. Looking down at her dress the woman's double chins spread up to her ears. Her squashed empty ice cream cup slid together with a block of ice and cream slowly down her body. Clouds of cream filled the space between her enormous breasts. Richard wiped the remnants of the cup from his face.

‘Do you know what you have just done?’ She screamed at him.

‘You fucked up my brand-new dress, and that will cost you.'

Richard was just about to say he would pay for the damage when she punched him hard on the chin. The thump came down like a sledgehammer due to the weight behind the punch. So much for a discussion, he thought, shaking his dizzy head. Quickly, he looked around. This was not the time to be drawing attention to himself. It was clear she did not want to talk, thought Richard, and he began to walk away. The woman grabbed him, it was as though two bench screws had been attached to him.

‘Oh, no,’ she hissed, ‘you are not going anywhere.’

In her grip, Richard was unable to breathe. She pressed him against her body. They must have caught the attention of the two men by now. He needed to sort this out and get away.

He had to hit a woman. He had no choice. He swung his left arm back and then threw a punch into the woman's stomach. There wasn't much room, but the punch needed to be hard enough to temporarily stun her. Due to her hefty stature, he put extra effort into his punch, just to be sure. His fist disappeared into the belly of the woman, nothing happened. The grip she had on him was just as secure, she hadn't felt anything!

Richard was more concerned that he couldn’t breathe than his dented ego. She was not aware that she was chocking him. He thought about giving her a knee but feared that this would also go unnoticed. She had one hand around his middle and the other on the back of his head. His face was pushed between her enormous breasts. He could not breathe. In a desperate attempt to free himself he gripped her breasts with both hands. They were too big for his hands, but he gripped on hard.

He felt the woman stiffen and the chocking relaxed a little.

‘What?’ She screamed.

Richard took advantage of her confusion and the extra room she had given him by releasing her grip slightly. Pushing her breasts to the side, he gave her a hard headbutt, straight into her breasts.

In shock, she let go of him and began to scream loudly.

‘Pervert! You pervert, please somebody help me,’ she called out desperately.

Richard didn't need to look around to know that in the meantime they had attracted too much attention. Around them was the sound of people calling out. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Kicking back, he created the room he needed. He didn't know who had touched him and at that moment it didn't interest him, the only thing that counted was that he could move again. He dived between the legs of the woman to get away from the man who had tried to help. The woman probably thought he was trying to attack her and said something in the vain of ‘Uhh…’ and then fainted.

With a dull thud, she took three men down with her who were trying to help her. Moaning could be heard from someone under the women. In all the consternation Richard saw a way to get out, and he sprinted away. As he ran, he saw in the corner a sign for the toilets.

He flew through the door to the toilet, it banged hard against the wall much to the shock of the people present. Raising his hand in the way of an apology for his rude entrance. It was busy, but luckily a toilet had just become free. The air was dense in the claustrophobic space, but he was relieved to pull the door shut behind him. He hastily took off his black leather jacket and white shirt. From his backpack, he pulled out a package that he always carried with him. A red t-shirt, a black wig with a ponytail and big dark glasses. A baseball cap completed the outfit. The leather jacket and shirt he rolled up and put them in his backpack.

Carefully opening the toilet door, he peeked out. No excitement or people searching, not yet.

On the exterior calm but tightly stretched as a bow he walked towards the wash basin, carrying his backpack as a bag with him. He looked approvingly in the mirror, his change of clothes had only taken twenty seconds of his time. Opening the door into the corridor, he stepped outside. One of the men who had come to the woman's aid came to a slippery stop next to him. Out of breath the man looked at him but gave no indication that he recognized him. With no regard for Richard, the man entered the toilets, breathing heavily, to check them out. Calm, as though he had all the time in the world, Richard walked out of the airport and took a taxi to the Central Station.

He sighed.

He'd had better starts to the day!

At the station he bought a ticket to Paris, choosing consciously to leave later, as in the coming hours the first place they would be searching was the station.

The train was due to leave for Rome at 23.11. In the meantime, the people searching for him would think he had gone and given up their search. He booked one of the sleeping cars on the train, he would be arriving in Paris in the afternoon of the following day. He considered again his plan to hire a car, but the long journey was not something he relished. He saw no further danger in taking the train, if needed he could always change his plans just as he had done today. He had for the moment shaken off the people following him, but they apparently knew his travel plans by standing at the gate for the Amsterdam flight. He expected that they would take the trip to Amsterdam themselves and wait for him there. He would be arriving there but not at the airport. He planned to go directly to his destination, of which they had no knowledge; they couldn't.

To kill time, he found a cinema and watched three films, none of which he could recall afterward. On the way to the train he carried out all the controls that he had learned to check he wasn't being followed, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He was tense as he watched the other passengers stepping onto the train and after a couple of stops he went to find his sleeping car.

The sleeping car had dark wooden walls with a bed that had seen better days. It was well used, and traces of other passengers were very evident. The walls were covered in names that had been scratched into the wood, travelers who had legitimized themselves by vandalism. Opposite the door was a large window which had on both sides a red curtain tied back in a loop against the wall. On the left a couch covered in a red worn out fabric and on the other side of the car a made-up bed. Above was another bed that could be folded out. Hanging next to the bed was an aluminum ladder to reach the bed on top. On a suitcase rack above the couch lay extra blankets. Big grey worn out spots were in the brown Marmoleum floor covering. It was all ancient but had what he needed and was generally clean. In the corridor just next to his car was the shower and toilet. Putting his backpack on the couch, he freed the curtains of the loops and pulled them closed. At the door of the sleeping car was a narrow window, he pulled the curtain that hung to the side of it. With a sigh, he fell into bed. A lot had happened in the last hours, sometimes things didn’t go to plan.

It is as it is, things always work out for the best, was what his mother would tell him. Today had proved this to be true, once again.

His name was Richard Genetti, a professional accountant. This description was a cover, he was, in fact, a Specialist Investigator with the most significant crime research agency in Europe: RIS.

Accounts investigation was just part of his job, there was usually much more involved. He often worked out in the field, not in an office. Just as he was doing now, only this job had taken a very different direction. It had never been the case that his life had been in danger. This observation gave him goosebumps. He looked around the sleeping car and listened to the monotone sound of the train. He shivered even in this moment of peace and quiet, slipping slowly into a dream filled sleep, he was being followed.

He woke with a shock covered in sweat, for a minute not knowing where he was. The drone of the train brought a frown to his face, and he looked around dazed. Suddenly he remembered everything, he was on the run, and his life was in danger, he sighed deeply. Feeling for the cord around his neck, the small folder was still there.

He gave himself a pep talk: find a safe place then everything will be ok. With the knowledge that two hitmen were following him, this was perhaps a naïve thought.

He jumped up as someone knocked hard on the sleeping car door.

2

Standing tensely behind the door, Richard grabbed the aluminum ladder from the wall. It was the only object close by that could be used as a weapon. He carefully looked out the window of the car door.

A man dressed in a conductor's uniform was informing everyone in pigeon English that he needed to punch a hole in their tickets.

Richard smiled, the man had probably been asking the same thing for years, but it had released his tension. He undressed and slept the rest of the way undisturbed. The train arrived in Paris precisely on time, and Richard waited in a door opening before moving again. He threw his backpack at the last moment onto the platform and jumped out after it. A gesticulating man was walking towards him as he slowly put the bag over his shoulders.

‘Sorry, I overslept,’ he said, spreading his hands wide to show the man there was nothing he could do about it as he walked down the stairs towards the exit. He didn’t speak French but heard the man shout something like ‘stupid tourist’ at him.

He was right, he thought grinning, he shouldn't have done it, accidents could happen. To make up for it, he threw a euro into the pot of a beggar sitting by the entrance to the station. As he walked he pulled his wig straight, it was itching, it would be nice when he could get rid of the dead cat on his head.

He found a restaurant and sat outside on the terrace. He needed to get changed again, it was all part of the routine to minimize the chances of him being found. In the toilet of the restaurant, he pulled off his T-shirt, removed the wig and glasses from his head and pushed everything into a wash bag. In a white shirt and without his hair and glasses the friendly waiter couldn't remember which table he had been sitting at when he went to pay his bill.

He walked to the station the long way around. On the way, he had not seen anything that had made him uneasy. Reassured he bought a train ticket to Antwerp. Stepping onto the next arriving train, he was on his guard as he walked through all the carriages from front to back. He was ready to instantly run if needed. If necessary, he would attack, but there was only a small chance that the people following him would use a weapon on a crowded train.

After they had passed a couple of stations he began to relax as he watched the coffee cart coming towards him, a young woman was pushing it in front of her. She was easy on the eye as she moved gracefully and served her customers with a charming and friendly smile. The material of her dull uniform was stretched around her feminine curves giving her outfit an extra dimension. He immediately needed a cup of coffee just so that he could chat with her.

The aisle was narrow and behind the woman were several people waiting to pass the coffee cart. Staring, he sees the same two men who were at the departures gate in Rome looking straight at him. They were slowly moving towards him behind the coffee cart and then sat two seats in front of him. Staring right at him they were not trying to hide. It was a mystery how they had managed to track him down on the train tracks. His choice of words bought a smile to his face as he looked pensively at his backpack.

He had read the profile of the two men a while back during an investigation he had carried out. It concerned a witness who had died just before the court case he was attending. He was convinced that the men had a role to play in the death of this crown witness. The case had been dismissed as there was no substantial evidence against them.

The tallest of the two, a Bosnian who went by the name of Carlo Sabic, looked like a man of status. Richard knew he was thirty-nine years of age from his file. Everything about him was correct. Dressed in a smart suit with shiny black shoes that protruded from his grey trouser with a sharp pleat at the front. He could be mistaken for a Victorian English gentleman with his accompanying red and white tie and his neatly cut grey hair. Only the bowler hat and black umbrella were missing. Ticking on his Rolex watch, he made it very clear what he meant.

The message was clear: his hours were numbered. The man’s face was unmoving, his eyes were cold, ice cold. Richard had heard rumors that the man used advanced instruments and gadgets during, what he called, his jobs.

He was the brains of the team and did everything that was needed to complete the directive. This had given him the reputation of being highly effective and working with deadly precision. He worked well without collateral damage. Richard had read in a file about a liquidation that had been assigned to the man. The Bosnian had stabbed a Russian in the buttock as they stood in a hotel lift.

Almost immediately the Russian became unwell, upon which the Bosnian had escorted him to a couch in the hotel lobby and left him there.

The receptionist at the hotel had seen the man but thought he was sleeping. Horrified cries had sounded through the lobby as after an hour the Russian had fallen from the couch.

Even though the allegation was never proved, there was no doubt that the Bosnian had carried out the killing. His presence in the hotel and the liquidation method used were too recognizable. Evidence was never found, and the Bosnian was never charged. This was a man that you kept at a significant distance, and he now saw himself sitting a few seats away from him. Richard swallowed, then there was the other small criminal next to him.

The squat Albanian that was sat next to the Bosnian was called Besnik Nikolla. Richard had come across his name in many different files. At thirty-five years of age, he was younger than his buddy. The difference between the two was remarkable, he wore a worn-out tracksuit, faded t-shirt, and sneakers. The Albanians hands were laid flat on the seat next to his legs, and his body was bent over slightly. He gave the impression that he was ready to spring into action as soon as he received a signal from his partner.

It was clear to Richard in which direction he would be moving. Waiting like a dog for his order, he regularly glanced at his tall partner. He stared at Richard with his small piggy eyes. Squinting, with his head bent to one side his eyes were pushed into the corners of the sockets. It looked strange, as though he didn't know where Richard was sitting. He was finding it difficult to read the short man's facial expression. There was something about his look, he realized he had seen the same look on the Bosnian's face. He was amused.

Richard realized they were playing with him. They were enjoying the hunt. Ok let them, he thought grimly. You want to hunt me, fine, he would give the bastards something to do. He would love to turn the tables on them, and for the first time in his life, he regretted not having a weapon on him.

Looking at the Bosnian Richard didn't let it show that he was in-fact scared to death. He calmly took his laptop out of his backpack and pretended to be working. Giving himself plenty of time before the train arrived in Antwerp he closed his computer and lay it on the seat next to his backpack. He gave a distinct look toward the lighted sign for the toilet. When it turned green, he put his telephone on his laptop and stood up. In both devices, he had entered a code. If anyone tried to log in the chip and hard drive would be deleted.

With a straight back and giving the impression he was at his ease his walked past the two men pursuing him towards the sliding doors of the compartment. Behind the entries in the hall were the toilets. He looked behind him towards his pursuers. He saw the tall man nudging his buddy. He shook his head ignoring the command to follow him. He gestured towards Richard's backpack, laptop, and telephone. The tall man shrugged and carried on reading his newspaper. The short man moved to the seat opposite him, so he could visually follow Richard.

They were convinced that they had him, he was, after all, traveling on a train. They would follow and wait for a right moment to grab him.

Richard, however, was not planning on them taking control of the situation. Waiting at the end of the aisle he looked at the toilet door. On looking back, he saw that the Albanian had swapped seats and was sneering at him. His arms were folded over his chest, apparently happy that Richard had nowhere to go. The train thundered through the dark landscape, no one would be getting off at this speed.

The toilet sign remained green. Even though the toilet was not occupied, Richard waited in front of the door where the Albanian could see him. Another passenger came and stood behind him, Richard let him pass explaining he could wait. The Albanians view was blocked as the man opened the toilet door. This was the moment Richard had been waiting for, he tripped the man with his foot and shoved him hard. The man fell against the toilet door and blocked the aisle. The man looked up bewildered, ‘Sorry,' said Richard. He sprinted around the corner and pulled open the door to another carriage. The block had given him a small head start. He pulled another door open and walked through an empty freight carriage where he saw a large sliding door. He had difficulty staying upright as the train swayed.

He couldn't get out here and carry on. He found himself in a small corridor at the end of the carriages and saw to his relief on either side a door. Looking out of both windows he chose to open the door where he could see no train tracks.

Rain and wind hit him hard in the face, and he recoiled. There was no choice, he had to get out.

Counting, every four seconds a shadow whizzed past by, the connecting posts for the track. Richard needed to jump between them, that meant jumping two seconds, at the most, after a pole had passed.

He had waited until ten minutes before arrival before he walked to the toilet. His timing was good. The train began to slow as it approached Antwerp. It was still going too fast, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. They could be behind him at any moment.

He jumped just as a pole had passed him, he saw another shadow shoot past him, and something lashed his face.

What in god’s name was that?

He later realized that he had been lucky, he hadn't seen a row of trees as it was dark. He had missed the first tree by about half a meter, had felt the branches of the second and then had landed hard on his back. Rolling and bumping in the darkness he slid through bushes full of thorns down a slope in the direction of the pond. At the water's edge, he came to a stop against a concrete pole that dug into his stomach.

Breathing was difficult and painful as he tried to catch his breath. Queasy he decided to ignore the pain. He was still unsteady as he stood up, jumped over the water and sprinted towards the high fence that was between the train line and the street. Panting he climbed over and ran into the dark alley that ran parallel to the train line. Halfway along he sheltered in a porch. It was a dark hallway which was about four meters deep, three doors lead into houses. At the side of the entrance was a stone staircase which leads up to the second floor.

Out of sight, he pressed himself panting hard against a wall. In the darkness, he was practically invisible. He tried to control his breathing and to make as little noise as possible. The queasiness slowly left him. He tensely looked towards the train track, he couldn't believe that his pursuers had given up so quickly.

He shook with a cold or maybe fear, probably both. With every breath pain shot through his body. Rubbing his stomach, he would find out later what the damage was. He was still mobile, that was the most important thing. He looked around reviewing his temporary hiding place.

He surveyed the dark and misty street. It was drizzling, and the roads were wet and grey. A cold fog hung like a cold, damp blanket against the facades of the old houses. The visibility in the street that ran along the tracks was limited. There were, here and there lights in the windows of the houses but there was no street lighting. He looked again towards the train line where his pursuers should be appearing. Had he really surprised them? After fifteen minutes he was sure that no one would be jumping over the fence from the railway line and he was able to relax somewhat. He cleaned himself off as best he could from the mud and grass, pulled the biggest thorns out of his hands and walked in the direction of the city center. There were no taxis in this area, he would need to be closer to the city center. He had only walked another hundred meters when he saw a taxi coming towards him, thank god. The light on the roof came on, he was available.

He waved to hail the taxi and it stopped twenty meters in front of him, there were passengers in the back seat. He took a step towards the cab and then stopped as he recognized one of them.

Looking at him with a broad smile on his face was the Bosnian. For the third time today, he was looking at someone he would rather not see. It was so unexpected this time that Richard stood petrified on the pavement. Dumbfounded and stunned Richard was unable to react in time as the Albanian stepped out of the taxi on the other side. The man grabbed him expertly from behind. The Albanian thought he had him under his control, but Richard had had years of training for this sort of situation. He relaxed at the moment that the Albanian pushed him to the floor which caught him off and lost his balance. With all his strength Richard stretched his legs and pushed upwards.

The Albanian was launched into the air and came down with a loud bang on the roof of the taxi. He slid headfirst over the bonnet of the cab onto the ground. Swearing, the Bosnian pulled a pistol from its shoulder holster.

The taxi driver was apparently not interested in the outcome of the altercation and sped off at top speed, the tires desperately trying to grip onto the slippery cobbles. It skidded away in a cloud of blue exhaust fumes, just missing the head of the Albanian.

Richard focused and found himself eye to eye with the barrel of the Bosnians gun. It seemed like a lost battle.

He looked around on hearing a scream coming from the street. They saw a group of people approaching.

Someone called: ‘It’s a robbery.’

Another called out something that Richard didn’t understand. Some of the people out the group started running and screaming in their direction.

The Bosnian looked pensively towards the approaching group of at least ten men and put his gun away.

The Albanian had stood up and was just about to throw a punch in Richard’s direction when the Bosnian lay his hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head and gestured to the side.

They both sprinted away into a dark side street, the short man slightly more flexible than his tall friend, who was running awkwardly.

3

Richard thanked his rescuers extensively. They asked if he needed any other help and if he would like to join them on their pub crawl, then he would be safe and drunk. He politely declined, and the group walked on singing, We are the champions. He looked in the other direction to where his pursuers had disappeared. He had seen that the Bosnian had reloaded his gun. He wondered if the man would have fired his weapon, he was unsure, and it seemed to him to be illogical.

They would first need to know what information he had and more importantly what evidence he had. It was now clear to him that this was a matter of life and death. It seemed to him as though they were always a few steps in front of him. He was puzzled how they had found him so quickly, it was nearly impossible. First on the train and finally here. Was there a tracer in his backpack? Without a doubt, but he didn't have it with him any longer. They couldn't trace him through his telephone or his laptop, but they were still able to be nose to nose with him. There must be something…

‘Damn,' he said out loud, and felt over his clothes, they can't of?

He saw an old shop in the street, the entrance was set back from the front of the building. On both sides of the hall were big windows that were painted white that were once used to display the products. The room was dark except for the scarce light that shone through a small window above the old shop door. This was an ideal place to search for the tracer. He first examined his leather jacket but found nothing. He had just pulled off his trousers when the shop door behind him suddenly opened, and a beam of light lit up the hallway.

Shocked, he turned around with his trousers in his hand. A middle-aged woman was looking at him wide-eyed. In bewilderment and fear, her mouth fell open. The little white dog that she had with her on a lead growled and showed his teeth. Richard realized how this must look for the woman and her dog. The light from the former shop had put him in his full glory standing in his boxer