Their quarry paused, silhouetted against a brightly lit restaurant off Amsterdam's Leidseplein, and Phil Morgan ducked back into the alley's entrance. Beside him, his partner gave a small hiss of triumph.

"It's Fremantle, no question," Ryan Buchanan murmured, voice little more than a breath in his ear. "We've got him. But we're not the only ones."

"What?" Phil peered around, straining to see into night-shadows. Movement down the street caught his eye. Half a dozen men came out of a nearby club and split up. They drifted to cover the street, while one of their number approached Fremantle. "They're not cops."

"The one with Fremantle is Janos Belushi. Shit, he's making the pickup ahead of schedule."

"Well, fuck," Phil muttered.

Beside him, Ryan was calling it in to their team leader. "Five-Gamma to Five-Alpha." He stuck strictly to their code-names. "Primary target acquired, secondaries closing."

"We need to be closer." Phil nudged his elbow into Ryan's ribs. "Come on, Bucky."

"Wait! Fuck's sake, you hot-headed-"

Phil ignored his partner. He pulled off his dark cap, ruffled his short hair into trendy spikes, and strolled casually across the square with a swagger to his shoulders, confident as always that Ryan would follow his lead. He walked through the cordon of Belushi's men, ignoring the suspicious glares directed his way, and stopped to read the illuminated menu and programme outside the Paradiso Club. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fremantle hand over a package the size and shape of a book. He could even see the dark print at each end and didn't need to read it to know the cardboard bore the Amazon labelling. No book sat inside it; according to their i...