It was early Sunday afternoon in the Alfred hotel when Harry Wall decided to go see the famous Anne Frank house. Checking Google maps on his iPhone, he realized it was not too far from where he caught the second thief, only a couple of hundred meters down from the church called the Westerkerk. The Anne Frank house was just around the corner. He could walk from the hotel, but the weather was not looking too great. It was threatening to rain. Were all Dutch summers like this? He could get a taxi, but the public transport in the city seemed second to none. He checked the Amsterdam public transport map on his iPhone and worked out which tram to take.
He would get the number five to the Leidseplein, then switch to the number ten that would take him to the Rozengracht. The Westerkerk and the Anne Frank house was less than ten-minute walk from the tram stop.
The lobby of the hotel was empty except for the cheery receptionist who apologized for the cold weather. He walked down the Lairessestraat to the front of the Concertgebouw and took the number five tram towards the Leidseplein. Since he arrived, he had built up a routine with this tram line and always enjoyed the experience. There was always a good mixture of tourists and locals heading for the city center or Amsterdam Central Station at the end of the line.
On Sunday he expected the tram to be nearly empty, but unfortunately there was standing room only. He bought his tram card and scanned it on the small gray scanner next to the conductor, who sat in an enclosed cabin in the middle of the tram. The machine beeped, and a green light lit up. His card was now valid for an hour, which meant he could ride around in the city for an hour at no extra charge.
He moved past the main entry door to the right and into the middle of the tram where there was more space. There were young and old throughout the tram, and as usual a strong contingent of tourists. He could hear Italian, Spanish, something that sounded like German and a few English accents but so far no Americans.
Usually it would not take long before he heard something familiar like East Coast - New York, New Jersey, Connecticut and the odd Mississippi or Alabama accents, but they were rare.
He had thought about connecting up with the local American community, but quickly decided against it. He wanted to immerse himself in this new world and see how things progressed. There was no language barrier like he had come across in France, which made communication a lot easier.
The tram doors shut and it cruised up to the traffic lights a couple of hundred meters further up, then turned to the right and stopped outside the Stedelijk Museum. A new hoard of tourists boarded the tram. Wall noticed three Oriental women, probably Korean he thought, late forties or early fifties, getting onto the tram, looking nervous and stressed. Instead of wearing their handbags as most women did over their shoulder, they clutched them with both hands close to their chests. None of the other passengers getting on looked as tense or worried as these three ladies. Wall had seen notices of pickpockets in the trams, and once or twice he heard the conductor warning people about them over the intercom in three different languages, so maybe they were just overly cautious.
The three women came up next to him but could not move further since the next section after Wall was packed full. Just before the doors closed four youths got on the tram. The three women, chatting in their own language, looked more nervous than ever.
Wall immediately knew that these four were the source of their discomfort. They were all about seventeen or eighteen years of age and had a slightly darker tinted skin than the average Dutch kid. He knew there was a lot of Turkish and Moroccan's in Holland, these four were probably from one of those countries.
He watched them chat with each other and glance over at the women. They were out to snatch the bags and the women knew it. Since chief Ribb had deprived him of his gun, the only thing he had were a few tie-wraps in his inside jacket pocket. He could take them all on at once, which would not be too difficult, but it would not be a smart move in a tram this packed. They could be carrying weapons and the whole situation could get out of hand.
The four youths wormed their way past a few passengers in front of them, and got closer to the women. Wall decided to act. If these guys were stupid enough to pull off a snatch in a packed tram, they were definitely amateurs. It was then he remembered what Ribb had told him, "you start work Monday'.
The tram rounded another corner to the left and was now at the front entrance to the Vondelpark. Only a hundred meters further up it would turn right and then it was only a short distance to the Leidseplein. He guessed that was where they would make their move. If he did not act now, all hell would break loose within the next couple of minutes. Wall began to move past the women, smiling and excusing himself as he did, then came to a halt between the women and the youths.
The first youth, closest to Wall, realized their path to the handbags was now blocked by a tall black guy.
Looking frustrated he glanced up at Wall, who looked down at him and gave him the briefest smile and shook his head.
Wall turned a quarter, with his back to the women, he faced the boys head on. He moved his legs slightly apart and grabbed the safety bar next to him with his left hand to hold his balance.
The youth suddenly looked worried when he realized his stance. Wall subtly shook his head once again. The teenager turned to his friends and whispered something. The others looked up at Wall and quickly understood the situation.
The tram came up to the stop on the Leidseplein and the doors opened. The four youths speedily moved towards the door and got off. Wall watched them argue outside as a new group of tourists and Dutch boarded the tram. The doors finally closed, and the tram took off, leaving them looking puzzled and still arguing in the distance.
He was planning on having a quiet Sunday, and with any luck, it would still turn out like that. Wall checked this transport map on the iPhone. He should have got off at the Leidseplein. Now he could get off at Dam Palace without having to double back, then get the number thirteen, fourteen, or seventeen tram directly to the Westerkerk, saving him that ten-minute walk. Nice.
Arriving at the Anne Frank house was a surprise of sorts; not exactly what he expected. He had seen many buildings and styles of old houses in Amsterdam. But the entrance to probably the most famous house in the world resembled more of an armored office block than anything else. Was this the actual Anne Frank house? Or the houses next to it? He was confused.
Somber gray vertical steel beams lined the front wall and entrance to the museum. This was the first depressing building he had seen in Amsterdam - but then again he realized it was not exactly a cheerful story. Next to it, to the right and on the corner was a restaurant built into the second floor, and on the ground floor a gift shop. The biggest disappointment was outside the building - a queue at least one hundred and fifty meters in length, mostly made up of students. Okay, another time, he thought. Maybe Monday or mid-week when it might be less crowded. He decided to carry on past the Anne Frank house and stroll along the canal.
The streets were not covered in concrete or tarmac as he was used to back in the states, but paved with brick. Strangely enough the type and color that covered the colonial house he grew up in back in New York. Somehow, for some reason he couldn't understand, he felt right at home here. It had a warm and friendly feeling to it, a small village feeling, but yet it was a major city.
There were areas in New York that also had this village feel to it, but the metropolis was always somewhere in site - steel, glass and high-rise skyscrapers. In Amsterdam he had yet to see a skyscraper. Wall had traveled to Mexico, Puerto Rico, London, and Paris, but nowhere had he felt as relaxed and at home as he did now. New York had its passions, but streets in an unfamiliar area were never so laid-back as this.
Passing a cafe he could hear the sound of jazz. This was no CD, he could tell by the sound of the saxophone which overpowered the rest of the instruments. Live jazz on a Sunday afternoon, it did not get much better than that, he thought. He decided to go in, he was sure Anne Frank w
ouldn't mind.
The cafe, unlike most he had seen outside of the tourist areas, was painted dark gray. The bar, immediately to the right, carried on to the back in the sort of L-shaped form. A four piece combo at the front of the cafe next to the window made the mellow sounds. The audience, roughly twenty-five to thirty people, sat at various tables drinking beer, tea, eating nachos and other snacks.
Amsterdam had some surprising aspects to it, and this was one of them. Time to get a table, coffee and relax. Tomorrow he had to report to his new boss Chief Harry Ribb for duty, and that would kick-off the start of a six-month holiday; with full pay and benefits. The boys back home are going to crack up when they hear about this.
Chapter Nineteen
The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1 Page 24
