Requiem for an Assassin

container. But he told you he had to come back?”
    “Yes, to pick up the rest.”
    “There is no rest. The only reason he hasn’t detonated the bomb yet is because he needs to kill you first. Where did you last see him? Someplace public?”
    “Yes, it was…outside the gate. There were guards near. And he tried to…he wanted…”
    “What?”
    “He wanted me to come to the station with him. But I couldn’t.”
    “He was looking for someplace private enough to kill you. That’s all.”
    “But if he wants to kill me, and he knows I’m here, why doesn’t he just…”
    “It’s not that kind of bomb,” Boaz said. “The conventional explosion is small. It might not kill anybody. It’s the radiation that does all the damage, mostly by causing panic.”
    Boezeman moaned softly, but said nothing.
    I put myself in Hilger’s shoes for a moment. The bomb is armed; all that’s left is to silence Boezeman. How do I get to him? Time and place…
    “Mister Boezeman. Did Hilger ask you any questions about what time you leave work, what time you get home, how you commute, that sort of thing?”
    For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Yes. All those things. I thought…”
    “That he was just making conversation, learning about life in the Netherlands, yes. Tell me exactly what you told him. Be specific.”
    “I told him…I’m usually home by six o’clock. That I commute by car.”
    That was all I needed. With a nod of my head toward Boaz, I said, “Can you get this man into the container?”
    “Not again, I don’t…”
    “This man is a bomb-disposal expert. If he can disarm the bomb, you walk away from this without anyone ever even knowing. You can even keep whatever Hilger paid you. If the bomb goes off, you burn in hell.”
    Boezeman stood there, struggling not to hyperventilate. “I…all right, I can take him.”
    Boaz looked at me. “Go. Take the car.”
    “You…”
    “You take care of Hilger. I’ll take care of the bomb.”
    Naftali got out of the Mercedes. The keys were in and the engine was still running. I looked at my watch. It was five o’clock. With luck, I could intercept Hilger. With luck, Boaz wasn’t about to die in a radiological explosion.
    With luck.

38
    R USH-HOUR TRAFFIC wasn’t kind to me, and I didn’t make it back to Leidseplein until six-thirty. I hoped Hilger, who knew he would get another try tomorrow, hadn’t given up for the night. But I had a feeling he’d stick it out for a while longer. Silencing Boezeman was important, and he’d want to do it as soon as possible so he could complete the op.
    The real question wasn’t whether, but where. I put myself in his shoes again.
    No need for anything to look natural. Just a bullet in the back of the head, or a knife in the liver, ideally while he’s going in his own front door.
    But you couldn’t wait right by his front door. There were too many apartments, too many passersby. It would be too suspicious. The end of the street? Similar problem. You might miss the target entirely.
    Vondelpark would be ideal. It was big, dark, and had lots of bushes and trees for concealment. You could lurk there for hours, with a view of Boezeman’s apartment. If you had a sniper rifle, all you’d need would be line of sight. With a pistol, maybe you could drop the target from just on the other side of the Vondelpark fence. With a knife, the trick would be getting from the park to Boezeman’s door before he got inside. At a run, it would take ninety seconds, considerably longer than it takes a man to let himself in with a key.
    Unless, of course, someone’s broken off something inside the lock.
    That was it. That’s how I would do it. Even with a rifle, you’d want to slow the target down, give yourself extra time for the shot.
    I parked the car and set off, pulling my wool hat down low over my ears and turning up the coat collar as I walked.
    I started walking down Overtoom street, thinking I would enter the park from Van Baerlestraat, the northwest side of the eastern quadrant of the park, and a good distance from Boezeman’s apartment. That would maximize my chances of seeing Hilger while he was focused on spotting Boezeman, before he had a chance to see me.
    It made sense, but suddenly it felt wrong. The iceman didn’t like it, and he was trying to tell me why.
    And then I knew. I’d considered the possibility that Hilger would be here. Why couldn’t he, with all his experience, have come to similar,