Reprobate - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 1)

  CONTENTS

  Reprobate copyright page

  Pitch

  About the Amsterdam Assassin Series

  Dedication

  rep·ro·bate

  GALLERY

  NEW YORK CITY

  ROUSTABOUT

  EMBASSY

  LUNCHEONETTE

  SPEEDBALL

  SCALDING

  TJALK

  MACAW

  LOKI

  SILHOUETTE

  KATAGI

  SKUNKS

  ASCENSEUR

  MENENDEZ

  ENTREPOTDOK

  DUNCE

  SHARK

  PERMIT

  TOOLS

  HOTHOUSE

  HOTEL

  SIMON

  SLAUGHTERHOUSE

  COEN

  AUTOPSY

  GUEST

  ZEPH

  ZELLWEGER

  KITCHEN

  APARTMENT

  BASEMENT

  PARK

  CARTEL

  TRIX

  SUPPRESSOR

  TRACKING

  STRATEGIES

  INCOMPETENCE

  WEILAND

  PARIS

  CEMETERY

  BOGUS

  PAINLESS

  PREVARICATION

  PAUL

  DJELLABA

  TAPPED

  SNAKE

  FLUSHED

  EPILOGUE

  Note to the Reader

  Glossary

  The Amsterdam Assassin Series

  About the Author

  Contact Martyn

  Reviews

  Special Thanks to

  About the locations...

  Disclaimer

  AMSTERDAM ASSASSIN SERIES

  Reprobate

  [A Katla Novel]

  By

  Martyn V. Halm

  Pushdagger Publishing Limited

  Reprobate - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series)

  ISBN: 978-94-91623-01-1 (ePub)

  ASIN: B0094VD7JW (.mobi)

  Copyright: Martyn V. Halm

  Published: September 1st, 2012

  Publisher: Pushdagger Publishing Limited

  Cover design: Farah Evers

  The right to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by Martyn V. Halm in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher.

  Please do not circulate this book in any format without express consent.

  Assassin Katla breaks her own rules when confronted with an unusual witness...

  Blessed with an almost non-existent conscience, Katla Sieltjes, expert in disguising homicide, views assassination as an intricate and rewarding occupation. Hidden behind her male alter ego Loki, Katla receives anonymous assignments, negotiates the terms with clients through electronic means, all to protect her identity. Her solitary existence satisfies her until she meets a blind musician whose failure to notice a ‘closed’ sign causes him to wander in on Katla’s crime scene. And Katla breaks one of her most important rules—never leave a living witness.

  Reprobate is the first novel in the Amsterdam Assassin Series.

  With authentic details and brisk action against the backdrop of the notorious Dutch capital, featuring a devious heroine and a supporting cast of singular characters, Reprobate gives a rare glimpse into local Dutch culture, the narcotics trade, computer hacking, motorcycle gangs, mehndi bridal tattoos, martial arts, the psychology of social engineering, and the brutal efficacy of disciplined violence.

  This e-book features a glossary.

  The Amsterdam Assassin Series by Martyn V. Halm

  The Amsterdam Assassin Series revolves around freelance assassin and corporate troubleshooter Katla Sieltjes. Under the name Loki Enterprises, Katla specialises in disguising homicide and providing permanent solutions for both individuals and corporations.

  The Novels

  The first novel in the Amsterdam Assassin Series, Reprobate, marks the first time Katla breaks one of her own rules, and how this affects both her personal and business life.

  The second novel, Peccadillo, shows what happens when you attempt a hostile takeover of an assassin's legitimate business cover.

  The third novel, Rogue, has Katla taking a contract she shouldn't have taken, which brings her to the attention of international intelligence communities.

  A fourth novel, working title Ghosting, is in development and slated for release in 2015.

  While the novels are stand-alone and can be read out of order, reading them in chronological order might be more enjoyable.

  The KillFiles

  Between the publications of the novels, the Amsterdam Assassin Series will also feature stand-alone short stories, the Katla KillFiles. The Katla KillFiles chronologically precede the novels in the Amsterdam Assassin Series. Each KillFile features Katla executing one of her contracts before the events in Reprobate, and, while not mandatory reading, each KillFile provides insight both in Katla’s work methods and skill, and additional background information in her character and personal history. The KillFiles can be read out of order, as the contracts are random samples from her past.

  For Maaike, the love and light of my life.

  And to Tycho Thelonious and Nica Hilke, thankfully still too young to read my work.

  rep·ro·bate

  n.

  A morally unprincipled person.

  One who is predestined to damnation.

  adj.

  Morally unprincipled; shameless.

  Rejected by God and without hope of salvation.

  GALLERY

  The bells of the Westertoren struck nine times as Katla Sieltjes puttered past the ancient tower and steered her dented silver Vespa south along the Prinsengracht. Still an hour to go before the arrival of her target, but she could use the time to steady her nerves.

  Katla parked her motor scooter in the Konijnenstraat and strolled around the block before she sat across the canal on the shaded bench that provided a clear view of the target’s gallery, Asian Arts & Artefacts.

  If the contract had been just about the end result, Katla could've taken Klaas Dolfijn at home, but the client had been adamant about acquiring the target's ledger as well. And the most likely place for Dolfijn to keep his ledger was at his gallery in the Jordaan quarter, one of the busiest areas of Amsterdam.

  She did deep breathing exercises, willing herself to be calm and confident. Not an easy task when the Yakuza deferred a job they couldn't handle themselves. Although that had to do with ethnicity rather than skill.

  The Westertoren struck the half hour. Half past nine. Dolfijn would be eating a hearty breakfast at the luncheonette at the corner of the Berenstraat. Her own belly rumbled, but she hadn’t been able to eat more than a banana, and even that sat uneasily in her stomach. Her current anxiety had more to do with the client than the target. She couldn't risk screwing up, not with possible future jobs for the Yakuza on the line.

  The humdrum of mundane reality often lulls people into complacency, but Katla wondered why her target appeared so unaware of impending danger. His dealings with the Yakuza placed Dolfijn in a precarious position, but the gallery proprietor seemed oblivious of the predictability of his movements. She’d observed him for five days now and Dolfijn unfailingly took the same train to Amsterdam to cycle down the same street
s to the same luncheonette to eat the same breakfast before heading to his gallery. A routine that left him wide open for ambush. Maybe Dolfijn adhered to his routine to keep up appearances, desperate to pretend nothing was wrong.

  No matter how deep his self-deception, the Yakuza wouldn't have hired her if everything was fine.

  With her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses that obscured most of her face, Katla observed the gallery on the other side of the Lauriergracht. While the quay in front of Asian Arts & Artefacts baked in the morning sun, her side of the canal was cool and shady. She relaxed, stretching her bare arms over the cool metal of the backrest. To allay any fears that might spark Dolfijn's wariness, she wore a sleeveless summer dress, barely more than a silk camisole. A smile played around her lips. Nothing up her sleeves.

  She felt naked without the spike dagger sleeping snug and secure against the right forearm, but bare skin was associated with vulnerability and sex, rarely with violence and danger. Any sign of danger and Dolfijn might not let her come close enough to do what she had to do.

  She patted the paisley messenger bag that completed her innocuous outfit. Leaving enough room for the ledger her client wanted her to recover, the bag held a leather pouch with her lock picks and a change of clothes, as well as a Parker Urban ballpoint pen that doubled as a tactical pen, a ruler that could be broken into a brittle serrated edge, and a sharp-tipped nail file. None within easy reach, but at least she wasn’t totally unarmed.

  Katla leaned her head back. The speck of an airplane, its drone rendered inaudible by the distance, drew a white vapour trail across an otherwise unmarred electric blue summer sky. After spending a month in New York City, seeing Amsterdam’s bright blue expanse over the tiny houses was a great comfort. She followed the airplane’s progress until the speck disappeared behind the rooftops.

  The contract would’ve been easier if the Yakuza had called her in before Dolfijn had reason to become wary of anyone remotely Japanese. On the other hand, Dolfijn’s wariness was their reason for granting her the contract, so she shouldn’t complain.

  A Volkswagen convertible with a blaring radio halted behind her as a delivery van blocked the narrow cobblestone road. Katla listened with half an ear to the newscaster reporting on the fourth week of the ‘heat wave’. Hospitals still flooded with sunstroke victims, despite the warnings to stay out of the sun during the hottest hours of the day.

  Halfway through the news bulletin, the clock of the Westertoren chimed ten times—late as usual. Two minutes late according to the dive computer on her wrist.

  Dolfijn was also late. Asian Arts & Artefacts was supposed to open at ten. Katla didn’t mind his lack of punctuality. Patience was a hunter’s virtue. He might waste another few minutes of her time, but she was about to wreck his life, which evened out things considerably.

  Leaving a cloud of diesel exhaust, the delivery van started up and trundled around the corner. The Volkswagen pulled away as well, the noise of the blaring radio receding in the distance.

  From her position on the bench, Katla could see straight into the Ziekentroostersgang, a dead-end alley perpendicular to the block, leading to the yards behind the houses. A green metal gate blocked the entrance of the alley. Three nights ago she had opened the gate with her lock picks and walked down the narrow path between the houses, edging past bicycles and trashcans. Halfway down the alley was another path that went parallel to the Lauriergracht, just wide enough for two pedestrians to pass. Near the end of the narrow path, a sturdy wooden door guarded the entrance to a paved yard behind the gallery. Dolfijn habitually parked his bicycle under an awning that not only sheltered him from bad weather, but also from the prying eyes. At the top of the wall, wicked shards of glass stabbed up at the sky from their bed of cement. Primitive protection against amateur burglars.

  The plan was to follow Dolfijn through the gate once the gallery owner had turned into the path. She’d have ample time to close the distance, wait for him to enter his yard and unlock the wooden door while he parked his bicycle. Cross the paved yard and brace him under the awning before he could enter his gallery through the rear entrance. Subdue him, take him inside the dark gallery and interview him at leisure.

  She sat up straight as Dolfijn wheeled around the corner on a tiny collapsible Dahon bicycle. The Dahon’s diminutive size exaggerated Dolfijn’s corpulence. The daily exercise didn’t do much for his girth. Or his stamina, judging by his red face.

  Taking deep breaths, Katla got up from the bench and crossed the bridge spanning the canal. Behind the oversized sunglasses, her cold gaze measured distance and velocity, to make sure she wouldn’t reach the alley before the target had passed well beyond the gate.

  Dolfijn halted at the gate, glanced into the alley and turned away, walking his bicycle towards the front door of the gallery.

  Too exposed for contact.

  She strolled past him and checked the alley to see what spooked him. At the far end, two teenage boys loitered in the shade. They didn’t look like a threat, but apparently Dolfijn didn’t share her opinion.

  Katla waited until Dolfijn disappeared inside before she sauntered back to the gallery and used the reflection in the window to study her surroundings.

  A dove paraded up and down the bench she vacated. A pack of tourists on red MacBikes pedalled along the cobblestone road on the other side of the canal. A swan struggled through algae-choked water coated by dusty rainbow patches of oil. An old man strolled down the sun-baked quay with a poodle on a leash. A slovenly man wrestled a carrier tricycle over the hump of the bridge. Even the ducks floating in the shade of the colourful houseboats lining the quay seemed overcome by the morning heat.

  Abort or improvise?

  Stretching her spine, Katla drew a breath deep down into her abdomen. Dark frost spread through her bones and replaced her apprehension with the cool detachment of an observer.

  Moving closer to the window, she peered through her shadow into the gallery. Artificial light shone through the horizontal blinds of the cubicle in the rear. The blinds hindered a view of the interior of the office. The rest of the gallery was mostly in shadows, which suited her purpose.

  In the middle of the window display stood an ornate wooden rack with a set of Japanese swords with garish mountings. A brass plaque urged interested parties to inquire inside for information.

  A soft bell jangled overhead as Katla entered the gallery and she glanced up, straight into the lens of a security camera pointed at the entrance. She turned to the door closing behind her. The door needed a key to be locked from the inside. She cursed under her breath.

  Perhaps flipping the sign would be enough to customers from wandering in…

  Dolfijn stepped from his cubicle and approached her with the fluid grace of someone long used to his own obesity. His prissy mouth turned into a smile that revealed expensive bridgework, but failed to reach his pale grey eyes.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” Katla pointed over her shoulder. “You have more swords than the ones on display?”

  “Looking for anything special?”

  “A wakizashi.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a connoisseur?”

  “No. I like samurai films.”

  Dolfijn pursed his lips as if contemplating whether a fondness for Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai could be an acceptable justification to buy a sword. He turned his back and waved her along. Katla flipped the sign on the door to ‘CLOSED’, before she followed his bobbing shape deeper into the gallery. She halted next to Dolfijn as he unlocked a cabinet and touched a switch on the wall. A spotlight overhead illuminated a velvet-covered shelf folded down from the inside of the door. He took a pair of cotton gloves from a box and slipped them on before he arranged three short swords on the shelf.

  “Gloves prevent acid residue from tainting the blade.” Dolfijn fussed until the swords lay at an exact distance from each other. “You’ll have to don a pair if you want to handle the swords.”


  That was more accommodating than she’d expected. With a smile, Katla slipped on a pair of gloves and reached for the short sword in the middle of the velvet-covered shelf.

  Dolfijn stayed her hand. “Allow me. The scabbards are easily damaged.”

  Instead of drawing the sword from the scabbard, Dolfijn held the hilt firmly and slipped the saya from the blade, before he presented the wakizashi to her. “The hamon on this sword is exquisite.”

  Pretending to examine the temper line along the steel edge, Katla held the sword near the spotlight while she reached for the light switch with her other hand.

  The spotlight went dark. She turned swiftly and held the blade against his throat.

  Dolfijn gasped at the touch of cold steel, the whites of his eyes visible in the gloom.

  “This is not your lucky day,” Katla whispered. The pungent odour of a fart mingled with the cloying scent of his after-shave lotion. She withdrew the blade. “Let’s go to your office.”

  With trembling fingers, Dolfijn touched his throat. Droplets of blood stuck to his fingertips. “You cut—”

  “I merely nicked the skin. Move.”

  All former grace and confidence gone, Dolfijn hobbled to the other side of the gallery, pushed open the door and stepped into the cubicle. Before he could turn around, Katla rested the sword on his shoulder with the edge against his neck. “Don’t move.”

  Except for an unlit cigar in a crystal ashtray and an ebony cigar box on the desk, nothing in the tiny office could be used as a weapon.

  She lifted the blade from his shoulder. “Turn around.”

  Dolfijn glanced over his shoulder and turned around. He removed his gloves and tossed them on the desk, then pointed at a safe half-hidden behind the couch.

  “Want me to open it?”