Wolf Angel, Mark Hobson [best free ebook reader for pc .txt] 📗

just in time to see a small speedboat emerge from the boathouse, turn onto the canal at full speed, and race away. On board he counted three or four people, all clad in dark clothing and heavily armed. Without giving himself time to think, Pieter raised his gun and aimed, then fired at the fleeing target.

The round missed, he saw a spout of water fly up just in front of the boat, but it was enough to startle whoever was at the controls, making them yank at the steering wheel. The boat twitched, and the sudden movement unseated one of the passengers who fell off the stern and into the water. The speedboat roared away, leaving their man behind.

For a couple of seconds the figure floundered in the water, but he quickly recovered his composure and struck out for the far side of the canal, making for a steep ladder fixed to the side of the wall. Pieter watched as he reached out and grabbed the bottom rung, then hauled himself up, drenched in water.

The gunfight in the tower sounded to be nearing the end, with just single shots ringing out as the police assault squad began mopping up the last of the holdouts. Again making a snap decision, Pieter raced back up the slope and past the burning police car, then turned right to run full-pelt over the bridge and by the bullet-riddled and smoking tram. Around him he saw dead and wounded civilians lying in the road, but he could not stop to offer them aid, instead he charged past and preyed he could cut off the escaping gunman in time.

Yet even as he thought this he saw just ahead of him the figure emerge from the canal and clamber off the ladder, then race forward onto a second bridge, this one crossing over Oosterdok. It was packed with people, some peculiarly drawn towards the sound of the battle, others just standing as if frozen with terror. The gunman charged through the crowds, pushing and screaming at them, which sparked even more fear as they tried to move clear.

Pieter followed through the crowds, holding his gun high and shouting for them to get away, and he emerged on the far side having lost sight of his quarry. Pausing on the corner, he soon saw him, running alongside the dock and heading east, no doubt hoping to escape in that direction. There were fewer people here, and the man was fast, already racing at full speed down the long, straight quayside, with the large expanse of water on his right and the huge, modern library building on his left. Pieter set off in pursuit again.

A cold wind blew across the open dock, buffeting against Pieter and whipping up small waves on the water. There were a few boats moored here, mostly pleasure crafts, but most of the larger ones were at the very far end where the museum haven was, and because the location was slightly off the beaten path for tourists there were thankfully very few people around. Which was good as the gunman was still armed, Pieter seeing what looked like a small snub-nosed Uzi strapped over the running figure’s shoulder. He was also probably feeling increasingly desperate, abandoned by his fellow gunmen, and with a cop on his tail, so who knew what actions he would take to stay alive and escape?

To make this clear to his pursuer the black-clad gunman turned and fired a short burst towards Pieter. The rounds went high, and the few people about scattered and ran. Pieter ducked and stayed back, keeping his distance, but when the man spun away and continued to run Pieter followed once again.

Half way along the quayside was the large Chinese restaurant, permanently moored on its floating island out on the water. He thought perhaps the gunman might run up one of the narrow gangplanks and begin shooting people inside, but no, he ran straight on by, Pieter noticing the small faces of the diners within pressed up against the windows and watching events in amazement.

On they went, Pieter feeling increasingly winded and wondering how long he could keep this up. There was no sign of his quarry slowing at all. Somewhere he thought he could hear a helicopter but it was hard to be sure because of the strong, gusty wind.

Finally they came to the end of the quayside. Crossing the water here was a wide footbridge, linking the dockside with the roadway and the tunnel passing beneath the river Ij to the north shore of Amsterdam. Above the tunnel was the peculiar science museum with its rooftop café terrace. Pieter followed as the figure crossed over. Halfway across the bridge had a small turn and as he rounded the bend another burst of bullets came his way, tearing up the metal handrail inches from his chest.

He waited a moment, using the pause to get his breath, and when he risked a quick peek he saw the man he was pursuing jump down off the far end of the bridge and turn sharply to the right, running alongside the steel flank of the museum. Pieter raced after him.

They ran by the old ships and barges moored at the jetties. Sitting in his chair, a fisherman watched them, and then calmly went back to his fishing.

Further along, where the museum ended, eight lanes of traffic vroomed into the cavernous entrance to the road tunnel, and here the escaping figure clambered over the retaining wall and dropped down to the road. Pieter went to follow, then saw that it was an eight or nine foot drop. He didn’t have time to take the longer route right around the incline, and so he gritted his teeth and jumped. He landed hard, the impact jarring his knees, but nothing twisted or tore, so he picked himself up and ran out into the busy lanes of traffic. Cars and vans screeched to a halt or weaved around him, and horns