Columbus by Derek Haas Read Free Book Online

second.
    Brussels is a cold city in the middle of Europe. It is a mixture of old and new, of modern skyscrapers and shopping pavilions and art-deco houses standing shoulder to shoulder with Gothic cathedrals and pristine fifteenth-century town halls. Currently the seat of the European Union’s Council and Commission, the city and its people are aloof, taciturn. The entire place feels like a museum that allows you to enter, but asks you to speak softly and not touch anything. It is somewhat telling that Brussels’s most popular attraction is a statue of a little boy pissing into a basin.
    Doriot lives here. I met him once, in a secure building near the river, about two years ago, before my first assignment for him. Like I said, acquiring fences like to kick the tires, and Doriot wanted to kick mine.
    I remember it was cold that day, and I entered the address from a secluded street near the Zenne river. The front door opened and locked behind me, leaving me in a ten-foot-by-ten-foot “holding” room. An intercom in the wall barked at me. The killing business flourishes all over the world, but, conveniently, its agreed-upon universal language is English.
    “May I help you?” A baritone voice with a slightly German accent that sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well filled the room.
    “I’m Columbus. I have an appointment with Doriot.”
    “Step back from the door, empty your chambers, and place your clips on the floor in front of you. Then clasp your fingers behind your head.”
    Most acquiring fences surround themselves with a small army of protection, at least the prominent ones do if they want to stay prominent. I was used to this. I didn’t get defensive, I didn’t protest, I just did as commanded without revealing an ounce of emotion on my face.
    After a moment, a giant of a man entered through the opaque door in front of me, holding a leather bag. Quietly, he collected the three clips I had placed on the floor, along with the two bullets I had ejected from the chambers of my Glocks. Finished, he turned and faced me.
    “Hello, Columbus.”
    “Hello.” I kept my fingers interlocked behind my head.
    “I will have to frisk you now. Yes?”
    I nodded and he ran his hands over my body, patting me down. I kicked off my shoes and he checked my ankles, then the seams of my pants. His hands were massive, the size of melons. He gave me a thorough examination, then, satisfied, stepped back.
    “My name is Brueggemann. I work for Monsieur Doriot. You have heard of me?”
    I shook my head and he watched my eyes, checking to see if I was withholding anything. Then he made a “tsk” sound, sucking air between his teeth. “I used to do what you do. Yes? For many years. Over twenty. Yet I am still here.”
    “Not many can say that.” I thought this was what he wanted to hear. Challenging strangers at this stage of the game is foolish, a good way to get yourself in a bad way.
    He nodded. “No, not many. Now I work safety for the boss. And the boss is always safe, you understand?”
    I shrugged, keeping my expression a well-practiced neutral. “I’m just here to pick up my assignment. I have no interest in tearing down fences.”
    He smiled, revealing a gap in his front teeth I could’ve driven a rig through. His eyes didn’t smile, though; they stayed chained to mine. “You may see Monsieur Doriot now. Make sure you do not approach him. Yes?”
    I lowered my arms and straightened out my jacket. “Not a problem.”
    I was ushered in to see the boss, a small man with awkward frame-less glasses perched on his nose. He was sitting behind an oversized desk. Brueggemann never left my side. I answered the usual questions impassively, while Doriot studied me the way a rancher examines a prize bull. He had heard about the jobs I’d pulled in the States, had heard about my reputation, and a few pointed answers to his questions let him know I had done the work Ryan claimed. I had the feeling he wanted to ask