The Man Who Didn’t Die

Diemerpark, Ijburg, the Netherlands

November

De Jogt made for the ice, weaving among the black stone, aluminum and glass apartment buildings, pulling his collar tight against the wind. An early cold snap had frozen the bay end to end. Only the Dutch would build a city in the middle of an inland sea. But now that frigid landscape offered an insane, inviting escape route.

The goons weren’t far behind. De Jogt was a scientist, not an action hero—the fact that he’d thought of jumping from a second-story window into a trash bin and darting away through the shadows was as amazing as the fact that he’d pulled it off. The idea of capture, of imprisonment, roused the animal in any creature that understood it—whatever skills he possessed, De Jogt was rallying to the cause.

The company had a ‘red alert’ phone number—just call and Security would arrive in minutes. But his cell signal had disappeared at the same moment as the lights in the house. That had been the tipoff, the shivery indicator that had him at the back window when the scratching began at the front door. The good die young—the paranoid survive, De Jogt thought, ducking between thorn bushes and the few ancient elms this modern city hadn’t disrupted.

He was puffing already. He wouldn’t outrun any serious opponent. It was possible this was just a burglar. A burglar might want his watch, credit cards, laptop—nothing shattering. And if he really was pursued, the ice would even the odds—neither of them would be quick.

He skirted a toolshed and stepped onto the slippery surface. His shoes scraped against the ice as he pushed as hard as he could for the far bank. The lights were ten or fifteen minutes away, if he didn’t fall. There would be a pay phone there, a police station, a bar with witnesses, something.

A moment later, another benefit of the river became apparent—he and his pursuers would all be out in the open. But what he saw in the open gave him no comfort at all.

His pursuer was no burglar, that was certain on first glimpse. No burglar, no mugger, no amateur. Very fit, encased in a dark jumpsuit (Black? Blue? It was too dark to tell), a pair of very sophisticated night-vision goggles and what looked like a serious pistol (with silencer?) at his hip. But why was it still tucked away? Continued... ...