The Killing Rule. Don Pendleton

the River Ij that Amsterdam had some of its most modern city developments, and freed from the constraints of historical preservation, the developers had explored their artistic sides. The neighborhood was famed for its unusual and experimental architecture. They stepped onto shore, and Lord William paused by a stand of willows. “Lunk?”

      Lunk reached into the canvas bag and passed Lord William a Hi-Power pistol, and the Englishman made it disappear into his jacket. The Welshman pulled out a stainless steel .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 66 and grinned at Bolan. “Traded one of your Navy SEAL lads for it, back in the day.”

      Lord William suddenly shot Bolan an embarrassed look. “Not to be insulting, old boy, but I gather you are armed?”

      “I am, your lordship.”

      “Good. Jolly good. They won’t do us much good, but at least we can lull them into a false sense of security. Oh, and for God’s sake, drop that ‘your lordship’ rubbish. Call me Bill. My friends do.”

      “Bill.” Bolan nodded. “I gather we won’t get any weapons past security?”

      “No, but we have Lunk in our back pockets, don’t we?”

      Bolan let the cryptic remark pass as they stepped out of the little stand of trees and walked a block up the canal and came to a two-story building of glass brick and pink stucco right out of an episode of Miami Vice. Lunk kept on walking as Bolan and Lord William pushed through the smoked-glass double doors into a teak-paneled lobby. A beautiful Dutch woman with platinum-blond hair sat behind a desk.

      Lord William whispered in appreciation. “Well, she’s new.”

      A twin of the life-size Aegis shield and thunderbolt logo in Lord William’s Guernsey manor took up almost the entire wall behind her. Bolan noted the security cameras above it. The receptionist turned a blazing white smile and greeted them in Dutch. “Goede ochtend!”

      “And good morning to you, too, my dear,” Lord William replied. “Is Mr. Jennings in today?”

      The receptionist switched to thick English. “Yes, but he is very busy. Do you have an appointment?”

      “Tell Mr. Jennings that Lord William Glen-Patrick and associate are here to pay him a call.”

      “Lord William!” The woman’s jaw dropped charmingly. “I will inform Mr. Jennings immediately! You may wait—”

      “What is your name, again?”

      The woman flushed. “Grietje.”

      “We’ll wait in the courtyard, Grietje, thank you.”

      Bolan followed Lord William’s lead as he walked past the desk to the hallway beyond. A chime peeped as they crossed the threshold. Grietje shot the English lord a look that was both amused and accusing. “You should know policy, Lord William.”

      “Sorry about that.” Lord William took out his Hi-Power. There were metal detectors in the door frame. “Old habits, you know. Feel naked without it.”

      Grietje pushed a panel on the wall behind her that slid back to reveal a wall safe. She pressed in a combination code as Bolan took out his Beretta and the snub-nosed Smith. Grietje locked the weapons away. “Lord William, if you—”

      “Would you be a dear and bring us some coffee?” Lord William continued on his way. Bolan followed. Grietje made a small noise of consternation. She had their weapons, but protocol was not being observed. However, William Glen-Patrick was a noted eccentric and the founder of the company.

      “I will bring you coffee.”

      Lord William grinned like a schoolboy getting away with something as they stepped out into a tiny courtyard with a fountain, two small stone benches and a flowering lemon tree. “Big brass balls, then?”

      Bolan smiled. “I can hear them clanking while you walk, Bill.”

      Lord William flushed with pleasure. He pulled out his cell phone and punched a button. “Hello, Lunk! In position, then? Right. I’m facing the north wall of the courtyard. Jolly good. Heave away, then!”

      Bolan looked up into the sky to see Lord William’s canvas pouch hurtling over the roof. The man clicked his phone shut and shook his head in wonder. “I swear that man could hurl a grappling iron over the Eiffel Tower. Be a good lad and catch that, would you?”

      Bolan caught the package and handed it to Lord William. The little canvas bag was a handgun horn of plenty. Lord William produced a pair of Walther PPK pistols and handed one to Bolan. It was underpowered by Bolan’s standards, but the pistol was reliable, a classic, and best of all, the enemy had no idea they had them. He checked the loads in the little .32 and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. Lord William gave him a spare 7-round magazine and tossed the empty pouch behind the lemon tree just as Grietje came out with a tray of coffee, brandy and cigars.

      Lord William gave his coffee a healthy watering of brandy and let Bolan light his cigar. The two men drank coffee and Glen-Patrick blew smoke up toward the sky as they waited for their host.

      “Bill!” Clive Jennings threw open the door and came out grinning. “Good to see you!”

      Bolan sized up Jennings. He was just a shade under six feet, and his French-cut suit was tailored to accentuate his trim physique. His blond hair had enough product keeping it in place that it would take a gale-force wind to move it. His personality was hyperintense. He practically bounced across the courtyard. Jennings shook Lord William’s hand hard enough to make the older man wince. “How’ve you been, man! Came out of your self-imposed exile on the island, then, did you?”

      “Something like that.” Lord William retrieved his hand and put it in the same pocket as his PPK. “This my associate, Mr. Cooper.”

      Jennings slapped his hand into Bolan’s. He grinned as he gave Bolan the bone crusher. “Nice to meet you, Coop!”

      He’d had his suspicions, but now, shaking the man’s hand and looking into his green eyes, Bolan was certain.

      Clive Jennings was a sociopath.

      Bolan squeezed back just enough to prevent his hand from being broken. He noted the golden Oxford University signet ring as they let go. “Heard a lot about you, Clive.”

      “All lies?”

      “No, worse,” Bolan replied. “The truth.”

      Jennings threw back his head and laughed a bit too heartily. He clearly dismissed Bolan as a spear-carrier. He returned his attention to Lord William. “Well, I’m surprised to see you, Bill.”

      “Well, I wanted to have a word, Clive, and I wanted to look you in the eye rather than talk over the phone.”

      “Sounds mysterious, Bill.” Jennings smiled good-naturedly, his eyes unreadable. “What’s this all about?”

      “Well…” Lord William looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. “To tell you the truth, Clive, I’m rather between fortunes at the moment.”

      Jennings cocked his head. “You’ve been at the baccarat tables again, haven’t you?”

      “Nothing quite so romantic. The fact is I’ve never had much of a head for business. Some investments haven’t panned out. Indeed, they’ve cost me rather dearly.”

      “Don’t sell yourself short, old man. You’ve done quite well.” The words were solicitous, but Jennings’s body language told an entirely different story. He loved Lord William coming to the business he’d stolen from him with his hat in his hand. “You’ll land on your feet and be flush again in no time. You always do.”

      Lord William squared his shoulders, seeming to summon what dignity he had left. “Clive, I’m not a young man anymore. The truth is, I need your help.”

      “Well, I suppose I could arrange a loan for you.” Jennings shrugged. “I’d be willing to accept your shares in the company as collateral.”