The door, which resembled more of a blocked up portal than a door, was no more than a square meter in size, and locked from the inside. Karl Webber sat in the darkened space listening to the sound of movement on the opposite side of the partition that separated him from them. Made of old thick wooden planks, it had been there since the opening of the building in 1888. Some had tried to open it, but the extra sheet of steel he added on the inside when he found the hideout, made it impossible for anyone to enter except him. His hideaway, the only place in Amsterdam where he felt completely safe, and for the first time since he left the hospital, relaxed. On the other side of the partition he recognized the movements, and sometimes the voices, and knew exactly what was going on.
Karl could hear two people walk over the large expanse of wooden floor on the other side. They talked, but it was not audible enough to understand what exactly was being said. Then he heard the sound of something being wound up, this was definitely familiar, and he knew exactly what was happening. On the other side of the partition, they rolled up microphone cables attached to reels that held up to fifty meters of cable.
The cables went through small openings in the floor of the attic right down to two or three meters above the stage directly below. After rolling up the suspended cables and putting away the twenty plus reels, they would roll up loose microphone cables used to connect the reels to two small stage boxes on the floor. These looked like elongated shoeboxes with ten XLR connections on each side for twenty microphone inputs.
From there the sound traveled through a thick multi-core cable to the sound engineer in the mobile recording truck stationed outside the building on the right. Karl had observed them carrying out this work through the cracks in the old joints at least once or twice a week, usually on Sundays before the afternoon concert or the Friday evening concert. Karl always made sure he kept out of sight and could never be seen.
He leaned back and waited for them to finish tidying up and leave the attic of the Concertgebouw. When the lights in the loft finally went out, he could hear them walk down the spiral metal staircase to the corridor on the first floor at the back of the stage; he was alone once again. Karl switched on the dim light and checked to see if he had the four small plastic containers in his pouch. These would be used for tonight's experiments.
The last of the trams raced down the Overtoom before they retreated to the depot in the Havenstraat for the night. Although it had stopped raining twenty minutes earlier the air was warm and humid. Karl looked down from the rooftop at the wet covered streets and car roofs that glistened from the streetlights. Feeling relaxed and confident he checked the pouch strapped to his waist, then took out a small ampoule and held it up to the light. He had no idea what it would do. The only instruction she gave him was how to administer it. He replaced the container and treaded carefully over the dark wet roof. He got his weekly shot early that afternoon and now felt revived and fit enough to carry on deep into the night.
Not more than twenty minutes later Karl made his way over the roofs of the buildings on the Overtoom, then stopped to lean over and scanned for open windows. Unfortunately, there was not much chance in gaining entry here. He then went to the rear and saw possibilities. He knew what he was looking for. Some of the experiments on people were random, but others were known and had been tagged from the day they were born. Stealthily he dropped down onto a small balcony where a door was held slightly open on the latch.
The darkened bedroom was neat and clean, some clothes laid out on the bed. Upmarket jeans, a red rugby sweater, a woman's blouse, and an Apple PowerBook on the bedside table. Young professionals Webber thought. He removed his crampons then carried on through to the back of the apartment. In the small but modern kitchen, he opened all the cupboards and studied the contents. Expensive pastas, spaghetti, penne, ravioli etc., each in its own glass container. In another cupboard he found various coffees and teas in neatly labeled deep blue glazed ceramic jars. He was always amused about how people lived and what they spent their money on. The compact refrigerator under the worktop contained drinks, fruits, vegetables, Dr. Atkins diet milkshakes, and a small carton of organic milk. No meat, probably vegetarian and worried about putting on weight.
Webber took a container from his pouch and emptied a few drops of the contents into the milk, then carefully replaced it. In the tiny bathroom, he twisted off the toothpaste cap and gently squeezed the sides which caused the toothpaste to retract into the tube. He searched for another container, checked the instructions and carefully squeezed droplets into the top of the tube then screwed the cap back on.
Shortly after he was back on the roof, and walked carefully along the gable walls. He heard voices, then stopped. Suddenly, he peered over the roof edge just below and watched a woman in her early seventies preparing coffee. She put two measured spoonfuls of coffee granules into a paper filter.
She shouted to her husband in the next room. "I'm going to make some coffee Johnny, do you want some?"
"It's much too late for coffee, you will never get any sleep. I'll stick to what I've got."
"All that alcohol is no good for you. Remember what the doctor said?"
"Doctor? He didn't look a day over twelve."
"He only looked young, because he was a lot healthier than you," she replied.
Karl watched her pour water into the coffee machine, switch it on and leave the kitchen. He reached in through the small window and lifted the latch on the larger window below. Once inside, he quickly opened the pouch, took out an ampoule and emptied it into the coffee pot. Within seconds, he was back outside.
In a small, uncluttered kitchen, a couple of hundred meters further up the Overtoom from where he first started that evening, Webber opened and closed some food cupboards. His eyes landed on the small table sized refrigerator tucked away in the corner. He opened it gently and removed a carton of milk. Carefully he took a little container out of the pouch fastened to his waist and emptied the contents into the milk. He replaced the pack and left the same way he came in.
Only one more to go and he was finished for the night.?
Chapter Twenty
The Amsterdam Chronicles: Def-Con City Trilogy Part 1 Page 25
