Carrying a laptop.
揑抦 going after whoever that is,?he told the cop in English.
揟his is a police matter,?the man said in English, too. Thank goodness. Foreign languages were tough for him.
He found his UN credentials and flashed them. 揑 can handle this.?
The cop studied them, nodded, then displayed a radio. 揑 will alert others and have help come your way.?
Good idea.
Nick raced off.
Ghent was familiar to him, as he抎 visited twice before. It sat at the confluence of the Scheldt and Leie Rivers. Still a university city, once the largest town outside of Paris, it had been one of the richest places in northern Europe. It remained a city of merchants. Markets lay scattered everywhere, places where you could find anything from a quart of fresh strawberries to the collected works of Dickens. All that among pedestrian-only cobbled streets, a thousand-year-old fortress, churches, a cathedral, several medieval towers, and a constant string of spacious squares and tall spires. Once a year in July it celebrated itself with a huge nine-day festival of music, art, and fun, which he抎 attended a couple of years back.
He stepped up his pace and began to close the gap on his target. Thankfully, he stayed in excellent shape. Exercise had always been a release for him. He liked to push himself with a little pain and a lot of sweat.
The black-clad figure turned a corner ahead.
He followed, now surrounded by two lines of multistory, polychrome fa鏰des. No billboards, neon, or high-rises in sight. Just an Old World charm from an unpretentious simplicity, the aging hand of time dominating. Most of the rows of stepped-gable houses were full of hotels, banks, souvenir shops, retailers, bars, and caf閟， everything put to good use as though it were not a priceless relic from another epoch. These were residences. The ground-floor doors dim, lights burning only here and there in the upper windows. A few cars sat parked, which he sidestepped, keeping pace with the woman ahead. He only knew she was a woman because of Kelsey.
Go after her.
A part of him wanted to do whatever she wanted. Some things never changed. But what was so important about that laptop? He had no idea but added that inquiry to his growing list of unanswered questions.
For the past five years he抎 traveled the globe trying to preserve, or sometimes save, history. You抎 think that the locals would appreciate their heritage far more than he did. But sadly, that was not the case in most places. In fact, the greatest threats to historical preservation came from those most familiar with the place or thing. Why was that? Familiarity bred contempt? Maybe. But most likely it was just indifference. Here, though, arson, criminal damage to property, and theft had occurred. Not to mention the assault on Kelsey. All intentional. He hoped the fire had been contained but, from what he抎 seen, it appeared that another work of art had been lost. One precious thing after another gone. His job was to prevent that from happening. And he was good at it, the only field officer on CLIO抯 payroll.
A loner.
Which he liked.
His personal life had evolved into much of the same.
Since Kelsey there抎 been relationships here and there, but none lasting more than a few months. Everyone had been measured against her, and none had met the grade. Frustratingly, Kelsey stayed etched into his mind. Her pale, almost translucent complexion. High cheekbones, green eyes, and hair that once hung long and perfectly straight, the color of cinnamon. A beautiful woman in every way. He knew it was stupid. Time to move on and all that bullshit. But he抎 found that hard to do. So he抎 done nothing. Just worked hard. Traveled the world.
And hoped the next best thing would come along.
His quarry turned another corner and he kept racing ahead, the gap between them closing. They passed through a piazza with an eager, active night crowd. The woman stayed to its edges and disappeared down a side street. He could not lose her. With some polite phrases he eased his way through and followed. Another corner turned and they were now riverside, paralleling a waist-high stone wall. He had the impression she wasn抰 just running away. She was headed to a specific place. Luckily, few people were around here to either get in the way or be placed in danger. Was she aware he was following? Hard to know.
Sirens suddenly pierced the air.
Three cars, blue and red lights flashing, emerged from one of the side streets. They turned and headed for a small cobbled square that spread out from the quay wall, their headlights cutting huge swaths of light in the darkness. It was like they抎 sensed her, the black-clad figure now being boxed in with nowhere to go.
The locals worked fast.
He stopped about a hundred feet away, shifting his weight forward, ready to sprint or weave, depending on what was about to happen. His breath expelled in sharp whooshes, drying his mouth. The woman backed to the stone wall and glanced over the side, as if assessing the situation. The headlights angled toward her and, in the instant before she was fully illuminated, she tossed the laptop over the side. Into the river?