FIFTY-FOUR
Dick’s muffled voice asked Damian to leave a message after the tone.
“Hi, Dick, this is Damian. Could you call me back as soon as possible? I think we’re on to something. Please call as soon as you can, it’s important.”
As soon as he hung up, his telephone rang. He recognized the number. “Dick, listen, I—”
“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m calling from the hospital. I saw that you had just phoned Mr. Beerens. Are you a relative?”
“What? No, a friend. What’s wrong? Is he in the hospital?”
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but unfortunately, there’s been an accident. Mr. Beerens died about fifteen minutes ago.”
“What do you mean, died? That’s impossible. I just spoke to him earlier today.”
“He was brought into the emergency room an hour ago, after being hit by a subway car. They think he may have dropped his bag onto the rails and gone after it, but he didn’t make it back to the platform in time. It’s also possible he tripped and fell. There were no witnesses. He was unconscious when they found him.”
As Damian hung up, he broke into a sweat. So the murderer’s not far away, he thought. In that case, he probably knows who we are, and where we are.
He ran down the hallway and into the living room.
“We have to get out of here. Now. Dick is dead.”
Tara and Alec stared in disbelief. Emma let out a cry and stifled it with her hand.
“That was the hospital. Apparently he was run over by a subway. They think he fell off the platform by accident, but obviously that’s not what really happened. Look, we’re not safe here anymore. We have to get out of town, and we’d better take the Semper Augustus with us.”
“Out of town?” Tara repeated. “Where to?”
“To the island.”
FIFTY-FIVE
For the third time that evening, Dawn opened Simon Versteegen’s file. She couldn’t concentrate. Her hotel room was filled with a booming noise from somewhere nearby, which never seemed to stop. The low bass tones were sometimes accompanied by something like music. She began to look forward to those snatches of melody, which somehow made the monotonous thrumming more bearable.
She pushed up the window and looked outside. Standing on tiptoe, she could see a thin sliver of canal in the distance. Below, clutches of people were talking in loud, slurred voices. A teenage boy staggered away from his friends to empty the contents of his stomach into a doorway across from her hotel. Dawn pictured the person who lived there heading off to work the next morning and stepping right into the mess. She closed the window. Just as she was about to draw the curtains, she noticed the door opening across the street. Two arms flung a pail of water over the spot where the boy had vomited.
Flopping down on the bed, she grabbed the file. Versteegen had been seventy-three years old. He’d come from a large family, had studied law, and risen to become director of a large pharmaceutical company. On top of that, he’d served on all sorts of boards and committees. He’d retired at the age of sixty— he could have afforded to earlier, since there was plenty of money in the family, but until then he had always enjoyed his work. He’d been married twice but never had children. After the death of his second wife, he’d adopted her daughter from an earlier marriage. Now she was his sole heir.
Dawn spread out the photographs of the crime scene on the bedspread in front of her.
“There has to be something, there has to be,” she said aloud.
One by one, she picked up the photos, studied them, and put them down again. When she came to the photo that Ben had described, the one with the streaks of blood on the wall behind Versteegen’s bed, Dawn straightened up. She held the photo at arm’s length and squinted. That investigator was right, she thought, it did look like a tulip. She pulled the close-up out of the stack, examined it, and frowned. Something about it seemed so familiar. Where had she seen it before? She shook her head and closed the file. Maybe the whole idea of a connection between Schoeller and Versteegen was just a red herring. What if the two murders were unrelated?
She put the file down on the floor beside her and turned on the television. When she had found the BBC, she got up and went to the minibar. As she kneeled in front of the refrigerator, it came to her in a flash. She rushed over to her bag, pulled out Schoeller’s file, and began rifling through the photos.
“Where are you? Come on, you must be here somewhere,” she muttered as she flipped through the stack. “Aha!”
Schoeller’s body lay on the steel table. It had been washed, but the autopsy had not yet begun.
“I knew it, I knew it.”
With the blood washed away, it was glaringly obvious. The knife wounds to his upper body matched the pattern on the wall in Versteegen’s bedroom. The two topmost incisions joined to form a U. Between them was a deep gash leading downward, like the stem of a flower. On each side of this vertical line was a small diagonal stab wound.
“A tulip?” Dawn whispered.
Her cell phone rang and she reached out for it, her eyes still glued to the photo.
FIFTY-SIX
The bumpy, unpaved track cut through the pastures of Friesland, leading them straight to the dock for the river island. The rain had transformed the broad path into a long, muddy ditch, and Damian slowly edged the car forward, skirting the deep puddles and the swampy shoulders. After a mile or so, he pulled up onto a small patch of asphalt that served as a parking lot.
The cold wind howled across the open fields. As soon as they stepped out of the car, they felt the full blast of the storm. Raindrops pricked their faces. They unloaded the car and filed down the narrow path to the landing. In the distance, a light was swinging wildly back and forth.
“Damian! Have you got enough light?”
The voice was almost carried away by the fierce wind.
“No problem,” Damian shouted. “You can stay where you are.”
They stepped onto the landing, where a small white boat was docked. A large, burly man stood next to it. His blond hair clung to his forehead, and his waterlogged woolen sweater sagged from his sturdy shoulders.
“I’m glad you could make it out here, Sytse.”
“Sure thing, Damian. Come on board, quick, the ladies are getting soaked.”
He reached out to steady the boat, which was rocking treacherously on the waves of the canal. They stepped in, and Damian went to join Sytse, who turned his key in the ignition and brought the diesel engine roaring to life.
“The house is fully stocked,” he shouted over the engine noise and the beating rain. “There’s food in the fridge, and you know where to find everything else. If you need anything, let me know and I’ll bring it over.”
They set off across the water and ten minutes later were pulling into the dock.
The island covered more than two hundred acres. Many years earlier, Damian had snapped it up at a bargain price. He had torn down the dilapidated barn he found there and then neglected the site for years before making up his mind to build a large house. The local authorities had balked at his modernist design, but in the end he had won them over.
After dropping them off on the platform, Sytse tied up the boat. He stepped into his own smaller craft and roared off into the stormy night. They watched him disappear into the darkness.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Agonizing pain shot through his head and down his spine, forcing him to his knees. He tried to stay upright but toppled over, landing hard on his side. The driving rain filled his ears and stung his eyes, making him squint. Someone grabbed his wrist and started tugging at his fingers. No, he thought, not the key. He balled his hand into a fist and felt the metal teeth digging into his palm. Opening his eyes as wide as he could manage, he saw a man whose face was concealed by a hood, hovering over him like a vague shadow. His hand was abruptly released. Then he felt a sharp tug on the black cord attached to the key, which protruded between two of his fingers.
The tugging stopped, and he felt his muscles relax. He tried to focus, but the ache in his head was too distracting. Concentrate, Sytse, concentrate. Then a sudden burning in his hand, unbearable. He screamed in pain. A second blow to the head, and he was silenced. As he sank into the shallow mud, his fingers uncurled.
Each gust of wind pushed the small motorboat farther to the left. Coetzer was slowly drifting away from the narrow channel that led to the dock at the island. He could scarcely see a foot ahead of him. The rain was pelting down with the force of a tropical storm. He swung the tiller and managed to bring the boat back on course. If he could steer it straight ahead the rest of the way, he knew he would end up right where he wanted to be.
Suddenly, something towered up in front of him. He swung the tiller as far as it would go. The boat swung sharply to the right, but he was too late to avoid the buoy. He ran into it with a dull thud. His body shot forward and his chin hit the edge of the small cabin. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet, wiping away the blood.
Squinting against the rain, he realized that he was entering the channel. To the left, the faint outline of the house was just visible. As he pushed down the lever, the roar of the engine faded to a soft chugging. A few minutes later, he was steering the boat carefully toward the dock.
FIFTY-EIGHT
“All right,” Damian said, once they were all sitting in the living room. “Now that we’ve made it here safe and sound, I can tell you what I learned from Dick. Then we’d better decide what to do with the bulb.”
After Damian had told them, Alec replied, “I know what we should do. That thing is cursed. Three people have been killed for it already. Do we really want the same thing to happen to anyone else? And what if it ends up in the wrong hands? Besides, would it really be so terrible if no one ever saw it again? If the Semper Augustus remained a legend forever? Who would miss it? No one at all.” Alec’s eyes pleaded with them. “We have to destroy the bulb.”
“How can you even suggest such a thing?” Tara was furious. “You’re utterly missing the point. Don’t you get it? The work of the Fund is crucial. We can’t just abandon it. If you destroy that bulb, you’re betraying all three of them: Frank, Simon, and Dick. All of them will have died for nothing.”
“Spare me the bullshit. There are lots of ways to make money. Now that Frank’s not around, they’ll find other benefactors. No, I know exactly what we should do with the Semper.”
Alec opened the buckle, shook the pouch out of it, and went over to the fireplace. The flames were rising high, licking the blackened walls and bathing the silver in an orange glow.
“No, stop,” Tara shrieked, diving forward and tugging at Alec’s arm with all her might.
Damian stepped toward her and grabbed her arms. “Let him do what he needs to do,” he said, pulling her away with difficulty. “He’s right. Enough is enough.”
She panted, trying to squirm free of Damian’s grip. “Wait, Alec, listen to me. Don’t do it. You can’t just destroy the Semper. How could you do that to Frank? He would have wanted you to continue his work. I knew him, and he felt a lot more strongly about this than you people seem to think. You have no idea how important this was to him. It was his sole purpose in life.”
Alec showed no sign of turning away from the fire.
“Anyway, it’s mine.” Her voice broke. “I decide what happens to it. The Semper belongs to me, and it always will.”
Damian shook her roughly, shouting, “Wake up, for goodness’ sake. That goddamn tulip will bring us nothing but misery. Do you want more people to die? Don’t you understand that if they do, it’ll be your fault?”
Tara suddenly fell to her knees, and her teeth sank deep into Damian’s hand. With a cry of pain, he let go of her, and just at that moment the door of the living room burst open.
They stared in horror at the man in the doorway. The gun in his hand was pointed right at them. He was tall and muscular, his face tanned a deep brown. His smirk revealed a row of perfect white teeth. With his free hand, he wiped a spot of blood off his chin. The look in his bright blue eyes was reserved as he sized them up, one by one. Then his gaze settled on Alec, and the corners of his mouth curled upward.
“So, you must be Alec. I’ve come here for you— or rather, what you’ve got there in your hand.”
Alec’s eyes shot toward the fireplace.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Or are you looking for a bloodbath? It’s your choice. You saw what happened to your uncle, and to Versteegen. Beerens didn’t get off any lighter, I can assure you. The same thing could happen to your friends. Do you want that on your conscience? I’ll tell you what. Just put it down on the mantelpiece. Slowly. Go on, that’s right. Now back away. Just sit down, all of you. Go on, sit down.”
He motioned with his gun, and they obeyed.
“It’s too bad you weren’t around when I worked over your uncle,” he said, when they were all seated. “You should have seen it. I must say, I almost respected the man. He’s the first person I’ve ever worked with who managed not to give away anything.”
Alec leaped up, but Damian pulled him back down.
“And this must be Damian Vanlint. I know all about you too. So, Alec, have you and your friends enjoyed your little adventure?” Coetzer ran his hand over his face to wipe away the raindrops trickling from his hair, and took another step into the room.
“Who are you?” Damian snapped.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“How did you get here?”
“I borrowed a boat. Your friend won’t be needing it anymore.”
“What did you do to him, you bastard?” Now Damian was shouting.
“I can hardly imagine a less important topic.” Coetzer smiled. “You see, I have other priorities. You all know what this is about. I’m here for the Semper Augustus.”
Alec laughed scornfully. “Then we’re all in the same boat. I guess you fell for the same story we did, about the million-dollar tulip bulb.” Alec pointed to the mantelpiece. “You know what? Take it, it’s yours. Just get that thing as far away from me as possible.”
Tara’s eyes shot toward Alec.
“He’s right,” she said, “it’s no good to us in this state. I should know. I’m the person Frank selected to clone it.”
“You don’t have to tell me who you are. Anyway, I can tell you’re lying.”
Tara shook her head. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. This is the first time I’ve actually seen it, and I took a good look. It’s completely dehydrated. There’s absolutely nothing anyone can do with it.”
“Wait, I’ll show you,” Alec stood up and started toward the fireplace.
Coetzer swung his gun toward him. “Cut the shit. I heard your whole conversation just now, and I saw her trying to take the bulb away from you. Why would she do that if it were worthless?”
Alec cursed. “Who are you? Who are you working for?”
The man’s sardonic laugh echoed through the room. “That’s no business of yours, you pathetic little turd. I’ll give you one last chance. Sit down. No, wait, I have a better idea.”
In two quick steps, he was standing next to Emma. Grabbing her by the hair, he yanked her head back and pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple.
FIFTY-NINE
Dawn climbed out of the car. Within a few seconds, she was soaking wet. The wind buffeted her toward the water. A raincoat was pressed into her hands, and she squirmed into it, struggling to keep her footing. Pulling up the hood, she hurried after the detectives, who were racing toward the landing. Her shoes squelched through the mud, seeming heavier with each step.
The small landing did not jut out into the water but ran parallel to the bank. Before they reached the platform, the detectives came to a stop. Dawn saw Ben pointing off to the left, and then the two men rushed away in that direction. She ran after them as fast as she could.
“What’s going on?” she asked, panting, as she came to a halt behind them. They were kneeling down an
d peering at a man, lying on his side, his face half submerged in a muddy pool. Ben rolled him onto his back, pulled down the collar of his sweater, and held two fingers against his neck.
He looked up. “This is the bargeman that Vanlint had asked to take us across. He’s out cold. We have to call an ambulance.”
He turned to his partner and jerked his thumb at the water crashing hard against the landing. “I’ll cross to the other side with her. You stay here so you can signal to the paramedics. They’ll never find him otherwise.”
Dawn couldn’t understand a word, but the meaning of his gesture was clear enough. She looked out over the turbulent water to the faint glimmer on the far side.
“How will we get there? We don’t have a boat.”
Ben rose, and they walked to the landing together. He leaned forward, scanning the water’s edge.
“Follow me. There’s something lying over there,” he shouted.
They pushed their way through the reeds, Dawn dodging the sharp blades of grass that snapped back into her face. By the time she’d caught up with Ben, he was already stepping into a metal rowboat. She took his outstretched hand and hopped into the boat, which began to wobble precariously.
“Careful!” Ben shouted, gripping the boat on both sides to steady it. “Never jump into a boat. You have to step inside. Sit over there, and I’ll shove off. You take one oar, and I’ll take the other.”
“Sounds like you do this all the time,” she shouted. “Bear with me, I’ll do my best!”
The Tulip Virus Page 22
