"It's impossible," Jeff declared flatly. "Tracy--"
But Tracy was not listening. She was busily figuring out how it could be done.
Amsterdam's police headquarters, at the corner of Marnix Straat and Elandsgracht, is a gracious old five-story, brown-brick building with a long white-stucco corridor on the ground floor and a marble staircase leading to the upper floors. In a meeting room upstairs, the Gemeentepolitie were in conference. There were six Dutch detectives in the room. The lone foreigner was Daniel Cooper.
Inspector Joop van Duren was a giant of a man, larger than life, with a beefy face adorned by a flowing mustache, and a roaring basso voice. He was addressing Toon Willems, the neat, crisp, efficient chief commissioner, head of the city's police force.
"Tracy Whitney arrived in Amsterdam this morning, Chief Commissioner. Interpol is certain she was responsible for the De Beers hijacking. Mr. Cooper, here, feels she has come to Holland to commit another felony."
Chief Commissioner Willems turned to Cooper. "Do you have any proof of this, Mr. Cooper?"
Daniel Cooper did not need proof. He knew Tracy Whitney, body and soul. Of course she was here to carry out a crime, something outrageous, something beyond the scope of their tiny imaginations. He forced himself to remain calm.
"No proof. That's why she must be caught red-handed."
"And just how do you propose that we do that?"
"By not letting the woman out of our sight."
The use of the pronoun our disturbed the chief commissioner. He had spoken with Inspector Trignant in Paris about Cooper. He's obnoxious, but he knows what he's about. If we had listened to him, we would have caught the Whitney woman red-handed. It was the same phrase Cooper had just used.
Toon Willems made his decision, and it was based partly on the well-publicized failure of the French police to apprehend the hijackers of the De Beers diamonds. Where the French police had failed, the Dutch police would succeed.
"Very well," the chief commissioner said. "If the lady has come to Holland to test the efficiency of our police force, we shall accommodate her." He turned to Inspector van Duren. "Take whatever measures you think necessary."
The city of Amsterdam is divided into six police districts, with each district responsible for its own territory. On orders from Inspector Joop van Duren, the boundaries were ignored, and detectives from different districts were assigned to surveillance teams. "I want her watched twenty-four hours a day. Don't let her out of your sight."
Inspector van Duren turned to Daniel Cooper. "Well, Mr. Cooper, are you satisfied?"
"Not until we have her."
"We will," the inspector assured him. "You see, Mr. Cooper, we pride ourselves on having the best police force in the world."
Amsterdam is a tourist's paradise, a city of windmills and dams and row upon row of gabled houses leaning crazily against one another along a network of tree-lined canals filled with houseboats decorated by boxes of geraniums and plants, and laundry flying in the breeze. The Dutch were the friendliest people Tracy had ever met.
"They all seem so happy," Tracy said.
"Remember, they're the original flower people. Tulips."
Tracy laughed and took Jeff's arm. She felt such joy in being with him. He's so wonderful. And Jeff was looking at her and thinking, I'm the luckiest fellow in the world.
Tracy and Jeff did all the usual sightseeing things tourists do. They strolled along Albert Cuyp Straat, the open-air market that stretches block after block and is filled with stands of antiques, fruits and vegetables, flowers, and clothing, and wandered through Dam Square, where young people gathered to listen to itinerant singers and punk bands. They visited Volendam, the old picturesque fishing village on the Zuider Zee, and Madurodam, Holland in miniature. As they drove past the bustling Schiphol Airport, Jeff said, "Not long ago, all that land the airport stands on was the North Sea. Schiphol means 'cemetery of ships.' "
Tracy nestled closer to him. "I'm impressed. It's nice to be in love with such a smart fellow."
"You ain't heard nothin' yet. Twenty-five percent of the Netherlands is reclaimed land. The whole country is sixteen feet below sea level."
"Sounds scary."
"Not to worry. We're perfectly safe as long as that little kid keeps his finger in the dyke."
Everywhere Tracy and Jeff went, they were followed by the Gemeetepolitie, and each evening Daniel Cooper studied the written reports submitted to Inspector van Duren. There was nothing unusual in them, but Cooper's suspicions were not allayed. She's up to something, he told himself, something big. I wonder if she knows she's being followed? I wonder if she knows I'm going to destroy her?
As far as the detectives could see, Tracy Whitney and Jeff Stevens were merely tourists.
Inspector van Duren said to Cooper, "Isn't it possible you're wrong? They could be in Holland just to have a good time."
"No," Cooper said stubbornly. "I'm not wrong. Stay with her." He had an ominous feeling that time was running out, that if Tracy Whitney did not make a move soon, the police surveillance would be called off again. That could not be allowed to happen. He joined the detectives who were keeping Tracy under observation.
Tracy and Jeff had connecting rooms at the Amstel. "For the sake of respectability," Jeff had told Tracy, "but I won't let you get far from me."
"Promise?"
Each night Jeff stayed with her until early dawn, and they made love far into the night. He was a protean lover, by turns tender and considerate, wild and feral.
"It's the first time," Tracy whispered, "that I've really known what my body was for. Thank you, my love."
"The pleasure's all mine."
"Only half."
They roamed the city in an apparently aimless manner. They had lunch at the Excelsior in the Hotel de I'Europe and dinner at the Bowedery, and ate all twenty-two courses served at the Indonesian Bali. They had rwtensoep, Holland's famous pea soup; sampled hutspot, potatoes, carrots, and onions; and boerenkool met worst, made from thirteen vegetables and smoked sausage. They walked through the walletjes, the red-light district of Amsterdam, where fat, kimono-clad whores sat on the street windows displaying their ample wares; each evening the written report submitted to Inspector Joop van Duren ended with the same note: Nothing suspicious.
Patience, Daniel Cooper told himself. Patience.
At the urging of Cooper, Inspector van Duren went to Chief Commissioner Willems to ask permission to place electronic eavesdropping devices in the hotel rooms of the two suspects. Permission was denied.
"When you have more substantial grounds for your suspicions," the chief commissioner said, "come back to me. Until then, I cannot permit you to eavesdrop on people who are so far guilty only of touring Holland."
That conversation had taken place on Friday. On Monday morning Tracy and Jeff went to Paulus Potter Straat in Coster, the diamond center of Amsterdam, to visit the Neder-lands Diamond-Cutting Factory. Daniel Cooper was a part of the surveillance team. The factory was crowded with tourists. An English-speaking guide conducted them around the factory, explaining each operation in the cutting process, and at the end of the tour led the group to a large display room, where showcases filled with a variety of diamonds for sale lined the walls. This of course was the ultimate reason visitors were given a tour of the factory. In the center of the room stood a glass case dramatically mounted on a tall, black pedestal, and inside the case was the most exquisite diamond Tracy had ever seen.
The guide announced proudly, "And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the famous Lucullan diamond you have all read about. It was once purchased by a stage actor for his moviestar wife and is valued at ten million dollars. It is a perfect stone, one of the finest diamonds in the world."
"That must be quite a target for jewel thieves," Jeff said aloud.
Daniel Cooper moved forward so he could hear better.
The guide smiled indulgently. "Nee, mijnheer." He nodded toward the armed guard standing near the exhibit. "Thi
s stone is more closely guarded than the jewels in the Tower of London. There is no danger. If anyone touches that glass case, an alarm rings--en onmiddellijk!--and every window and door in this room is instantly sealed off. At night electronic beams are on, and if someone enters the room, an alarm sounds at police headquarters."
Jeff looked at Tracy and said, "I guess no one's ever going to steal that diamond."
Cooper exchanged a look with one of the detectives. That afternoon Inspector van Duren was given a report of the conversation.
The following day Tracy and Jeff visited the Rijksmuseum. At the entrance, Jeff purchased a directory plan of the museum, and he and Tracy passed through the main hall to the Gallery of Honor, filled with Fra Angelicos, Murillos, Ru-benses, Van Dycks, and Tiepolos. They moved slowly, pausing in front of each painting, and then walked into the Night Watch Room, where Rembrandt's most famous painting hung. There they stayed. And the attractive Constable First-Class Fien Hauer, who was following them, thought to herself, Oh, my God!
The official title of the painting is The Company of Captain Frans Banning Cocq and Lieutenant Willem van Ruyten-burch, and it portrays, with extraordinary clarity and composition, a group of soldiers preparing to go on their watch, under the command of their colorfully uniformed captain. The area around the portrait was roped off with velvet cords, and a guard stood nearby.
"It's hard to believe," Jeff told Tracy, "but Rembrandt caught hell for this painting."
"But why? It's fantastic."
"His patron--the captain in the painting--didn't like the attention Rembrandt paid to the other figures." Jeff turned to the guard. "I hope this is well protected."
"Ja, mijnheer. Anyone who tries to steal anything from this museum would have to get by electronic beams, security cameras, and, at night, two guards with patrol dogs."
Jeff smiled easily. "I guess this painting is going to stay here forever."
Late that afternoon the exchange was reported to Van Duren. "The Night Watch!" he exclaimed. "Alstublieft, impossible!"
Daniel Cooper merely blinked at him with his wild, myopic eyes.
At the Amsterdam Convention Center, there was a meeting of philatelists, and Tracy and Jeff were among the first to arrive. The hall was heavily guarded, for many of the stamps were priceless. Cooper and a Dutch detective watched as the two visitors wandered through the rare-stamp collection. Tracy and Jeff paused in front of the British Guiana, an unattractive magenta, six-sided stamp.
"What an ugly stamp," Tracy observed.
"Don't knock it, darling. It's the only stamp of its kind in the world."
"What's it worth?"
"One million dollars."
The attendant nodded. "That is correct, sir. Most people would have no idea, just looking at it. But I see that you, sir, love these stamps, as I do. The history of the world is in them."
Tracy and Jeff moved on to the next case and looked at an Inverted Jenny stamp that portrayed an airplane flying upside down.
"That's an interesting one," Tracy said.
The attendant guarding the stamp case said, "It's worth--"
"Seventy-five thousand dollars," Jeff remarked.
"Yes, sir. Exactly."
They moved on to a Hawaiian Missionary two-cent blue.
"That's worth a quarter of a million dollars," Jeff told Tracy.
Cooper was following closely behind them now, mingling with the crowd.
Jeff pointed to another stamp. "Here's a rare one. The one-pence Mauritius post office. Instead of 'postpaid,' some daydreaming engraver printed 'post office.' It's worth a lot of pence today."
"They all seem so small and vulnerable," Tracy said, "and so easy to walk away with."
The guard at the counter smiled. "A thief wouldn't get very far, miss. The cases are all electronically wired, and armed guards patrol the convention center day and night."
"That's a great relief," Jeff said earnestly. "One can't be too careful these days, can one?"
That afternoon Daniel Cooper and Inspector Joop van Duren called on Chief Commissioner Willems together. Van Duren placed the surveillance reports on the commissioner's desk and waited.
"There's nothing definite here," the chief commissioner finally said, "but I'll admit that your suspects seem to be sniffing around some very lucrative targets. All right, Inspector. Go ahead. You have official permission to place listening devices in their hotel rooms."
Daniel Cooper was elated. There would be no more privacy for Tracy Whitney. From this point on, he would know everything she was thinking, saying, and doing. He thought about Tracy and Jeff together in bed, and remembered the feel of Tracy's underwear against his cheek. So soft, so sweet-smelling.
That afternoon he went to church.
When Tracy and Jeff left the hotel for dinner that evening, a team of police technicians went to work, planting tiny wireless transmitters in Tracy's and Jeff's suites, concealing them behind pictures, in lamps, and under bedside tables.
Inspector Joop van Duren had commandeered the suite on the floor directly above, and there a technician installed a radio receiver with an antenna and plugged in a recorder.
"It's voice activated," the technician explained. "No one has to be here to monitor it. When someone speaks, it will automatically begin to record."
But Daniel Cooper wanted to be there. He had to be there. It was God's will.
33
Early the following morning Daniel Cooper, Inspector Joop van Duren, and his young assistant, Detective Constable Witkamp, were in the upstairs suite listening to the conversation below.
"More coffee?" Jeff's voice.
"No, thank you, darling." Tracy's voice. "Try this cheese that room service sent up. It's really wonderful."
A short silence. "Mmmm. Delicious. What would you like to do today, Tracy? We could take a drive to Rotterdam."
"Why don't we just stay in and relax?"
"Sounds good."
Daniel Cooper knew what they meant by "relax," and his mouth tightened.
"The queen is dedicating a new home for orphans."
"Nice. I think the Dutch are the most hospitable, generous people in the world. They're iconoclasts. They hate rules and regulations."
A laugh. "Of course. That's why we both like them so much."
Ordinary morning conversation between lovers. They're so free and easy with each other, Cooper thought. But how she would pay!
"Speaking of generous"--Jeff's voice--"guess who's staying at this hotel? The elusive Maximilian Pierpont. I missed him on the QE Two."
"And I missed him on the Orient Express."
"He's probably here to rape another company. Now that we've found him again, Tracy, we really should do something about him. I mean, as long as he's in the neighborhood..."
Tracy's laughter. "I couldn't agree more, darling."
"I understand our friend is in the habit of carrying priceless artifacts with him. I have an idea that--"
Another voice, female. "Dag, mijnheer, dag, mevrouw. Would you care for your room to be made up now?"
Van Duren turned to Detective Constable Witkamp. "I want a surveillance team on Maximilian Pierpont. The moment Whitney or Stevens makes any kind of contact with him, I want to know it."
Inspector van Duren was reporting to Chief Commissioner Toon Willems.
"They could be after any number of targets, Chief Commissioner. They're showing a great deal of interest in a wealthy American here named Maximilian Pierpont, they attended the philatelist convention, they visited the Lucullan diamond at the Nederlands Diamond-Cutting Factory, and spent two hours at The Night Watch--"
"Een diefstal van de Nachtwacht? Nee! Impossible!"
The chief commissioner sat back in his chair and wondered whether he was recklessly wasting valuable time and manpower. There was too much speculation and not enough facts. "So at the moment you have no idea what their target is."
"No, Chief Commissioner. I'm not certain they themselves have decided. But th
e moment they do, they will inform us."
Willems frowned. 'Inform you?"
"The bugs," Van Duren explained. "They have no idea they are being bugged."
The breakthrough for the police came at 9:00 A.M. the following morning. Tracy and Jeff were finishing breakfast in Tracy's suite. At the listening post upstairs were Daniel Cooper, Inspector Joop van Duren, and Detective Constable Witkamp. They heard the sound of coffee being poured.
"Here's an interesting item, Tracy. Our friend was right. Listen to this: 'Amro Bank is shipping five million dollars in gold bullion to the Dutch West Indies.' "
In the suite on the floor above, Detective Constable Witkamp said, "There's no way--"
"Shh!"
They listened.
"I wonder how much five million dollars in gold would weigh?" Tracy's voice.
"I can tell you exactly, my darling. One thousand six hundred seventy-two pounds, about sixty-seven gold bars. The wonderful thing about gold is that it's so beautifully anonymous. You melt it down and it could belong to anybody. Of course, it wouldn't be easy to get those bars out of Holland."
"Even if we could, how would we get hold of them in the first place? Just walk into the bank and pick them up?"
"Something like that."
"You're joking."
"I never joke about that kind of money. Why don't we just stroll by the Amro Bank, Tracy, and have a little look?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"I'll tell you all about it on the way."
There was the sound of a door closing, and the voices ended.
Inspector van Duren was fiercely twisting his mustache. "Nee! There is no way they could get their hands on that gold. I, myself, approved those security arrangements."
Daniel Cooper announced flatly, "If there's a flaw in the bank's security system, Tracy Whitney will find it."
It was all Inspector van Duren could do to control his hair-trigger temper. The odd-looking American had been an abomination ever since his arrival. It was his God-given sense of superiority that was so difficult to tolerate. But Inspector van Duren was a policeman first and last; and he had been ordered to cooperate with the weird little man.