A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson

Author:Mark Hobson [Hobson, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harcourt Publishers
Published: 2021-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

They were in position by midday.

Pieter raised the binoculars to his eyes for what must have been the ninth or tenth time in the last five minutes.

He was lying on top of the sea dyke, and he was bitterly cold even with the thick fleece he wore and the woolly hood pulled up. The ground beneath him was frozen solid and as hard as concrete, and at his back was the huge expanse of the Markermeer lake, which was really part of the North Sea but for the 30km long dam separating the two huge bodies of water. A cold wind blew over the white-crested waves straight towards where Pieter had taken up position, and he wondered again why he had chosen this spot, but knew that for all of its discomforts, this really was the best place from which to watch the house.

Overhead a seagull hovered in the stiff wind, and he hoped it didn’t give away his location. There was a strong salty smell in the air.

Running along the top of the embankment was a footpath which was popular with dog walkers, and just below and running parallel with it was a narrow road. On the far side ran a shallow ditch, solid with ice, and with small footbridges crossing over every hundred yards or so. Beyond this was the bungalow.

It was a ramshackle place Pieter thought, giving it another scan. The old pebble-dash walls and doors looked on the verge of falling down, and there were clumps of weeds growing out of the guttering. One window had a taped-over crack in the corner. The kind of dwelling hurriedly constructed after World War 2 by the thousands all over Holland, and allowed to run into disrepair by their owners.

High hedges surrounded the yard out front but through their twiggy branches he could see a propane tank and a green-painted corrugated iron shed, and an empty field beyond.

It was the kind of non-descript run-down home out in the middle of nowhere that most people wouldn’t have glanced twice at. The perfect location you could say. Parked in the yard was a black van.

Just then a movement caught his eye and Pieter spun the binoculars a little to the left, and he saw coming towards him a man walking a dog, crossing over the narrow footbridge next to the bungalow’s driveway. Hurriedly, Pieter rolled over onto his side, ducking down out of sight below the level of the dyke, and he felt his nerves jangle.

Footsteps were coming up the other side of the grassy slope, someone muttering to themselves, and a dog’s panting breath.

Then someone was slipping into position beside him, and the dog was licking his cold fingers which felt good, and a familiar face peered at him from beneath a red woolly hat.

One of Dyatlov’s men, a member of the assault team.

“Well?” Pieter asked him.

“Quiet as a graveyard. Nobody stirring at all, not even a little mouse with fucking clogs on. Looks like he’s having a Sunday morning lie in.

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