The Wrong Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

timing . . .
    ‘Already?’ he asked. ‘We’re three minutes in. Were they waiting or something?’
    ‘You did read the bulletin before you went out?’ De Groot asked. ‘They upped the terrorism threat to substantial. It’s all to do with that preacher they’ve got in custody. It said—’
    ‘I was thinking about Sinterklaas,’ Vos admitted. ‘Not terrorists.’
    ‘Yes. Well . . .’ De Groot was rarely hesitant by nature.
    ‘What do you want me to do, Frank?’
    ‘AIVD have got a couple of their senior people in Leidseplein.’
    ‘So they knew this might happen?’ Vos asked again.
    ‘One step at a time,’ De Groot answered testily. ‘The boss woman’s called Mirjam Fransen. If . . .’
    ‘What do you want me to do?’
    A long pause. Then De Groot said, ‘Whatever they ask. You really think we got lucky? No one’s hurt?’
    Vos looked round. The place was calming down. No more screaming. Just people trying to find their bearings. And their loved ones.
    ‘Seems that way. We need to clear this entire area.’ He remembered stories about past bomb blasts. Sometimes there was a false start to lure people somewhere more dangerous. ‘Who knows what else there could be around?’
    That long delay on the line again.
    ‘I said that,’ De Groot told him. ‘The AIVD woman overruled me. They don’t want a stampede. Everyone’s to leave steadily. Then they can get their people in there.’
    Vos nodded and found himself saying, almost to himself, ‘Does that feel right to you?’
    ‘Stay where you are. Do what you can. Wait to hear from me,’ De Groot told him and was gone.
    A tall man was walking towards them. Renata Kuyper stared at him, both grateful and wary. The two stood and looked at each other. He was thin in an expensive-looking winter coat. Business garb. Odd for Sunday. Early thirties, dark-rimmed glasses, dark hair, expressionless face.
    Vos went over. Bakker was trying to help.
    ‘Mr Kuyper?’ she asked.
    He nodded.
    ‘We’ll find your daughter,’ she added.
    He glanced sharply at his wife.
    ‘You’d better.’
    Van der Berg phoned from the far side of the square and said, ‘I thought I had him, Pieter.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘We’ve got AIVD here.’ There was an edge to his voice. No one much liked these people getting in the way. ‘They seem to think this is theirs.’
    Vos asked where exactly he was. Then got Bakker, told the Kuypers to stay with the uniform people. After that he thought for a second and called Van der Berg back.
    ‘Don’t start an argument without me,’ he said. ‘One minute and I’m there.’
    Down the back lane Hanna Bublik came to, head hurting, and found herself scrambling in the dirt. Her arm brushed her forehead. Pain there but no blood.
    She looked round anxiously. Nobody else in the little alley. No pink jacket. No quiet, worried young voice.
    As she stumbled to her feet the winter light from the street vanished and a shadow fell on her. Shiny green and a face blacked up, large wig, red lips, no smile. She remembered going down as Natalya started screaming . . .
    Got ready to fight.
    But then his hands were up and she realized: this Black Pete seemed different somehow. Deferential. There was something in his fingers. A police ID card and a name on it: Koeman.
    ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘I’m a police officer.’ Then he stepped back, let the light fall on her. ‘What happened?’
    ‘Natalya . . .’
    She strode past him, walked into the square. Packed with people, more orderly than she remembered. The loudspeaker system Sinterklaas had used was urging everyone to leave the area slowly by whichever route looked easiest.
    ‘Someone hit me. Someone took my girl.’
    ‘Where are you from?’ he asked.
    It seemed a stupid, pointless question.
    ‘Does that matter? Can you understand me?’
    ‘Are . . . you . . . OK?’
    ‘Yes!’ she yelled, and added a few curses he’d never understand. ‘Where’s my daughter? Someone took her!’
    ‘We’ve