The restaurant itself was a select establishment in the Grachtengordel, tucked away among the network of olive-green canals and antique bridges that spanned the waterways between high, seventeenth-century houses. Maarten would never have considered eating in such a place before he met Karla, considering its menu an exorbitant extravagance, but Karla always chose this kind of location. To be fair, she had always paid and when Maarten thought about it he was surprised at how well her writing enabled her to live such a lifestyle.
When he announced his name to the waiter, he was taken into a small, private room at the rear and told that Ms Pietersen had not yet arrived. That irritated him for a moment, though he was glad to have a few moments alone to calm himself. Recently, as their plans had unfolded, they had increasingly met in such rooms: part of him wished that he would have the nerve to press her to let him bring her back to his home, but then he was too embarrassed to invite her to his small, rather ramshackle apartment, and Karla seemed quite content with their present arrangements.
He was clutching his briefcase to his chest, his knees drawn up to protect it and his fingers drumming nervously on the black exterior when she entered the room. Intending to make some caustic remark about her lateness, such thoughts deserted him when he saw her—as they always did.
She was dressed in a smart, grey, two-piece suit with a white blouse and high heels that Maarten both liked (they gave such a curve to her dainty calves that he lost his breath whenever he saw them) and detested (in that they made her an inch taller than him, adding to his sense of inferiority). Her hair was shining and a little tousled by the wind, though the breezes were mild for this time of year, and her face was glowing with a fresh, rosy hue. Her green eyes, so piercing and large, seemed to glitter and when her red lips smiled at him he forgave her any indiscretions. His heart swelled at the thought that her smile was for him and him alone.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, bending to kiss him on the head and moving to the other side of the table, sitting down across from him. He could smell the cloud of her perfume, stronger than usual, and longed to reach up before she took her place, to pull her closer to him and press his mouth hard against her lips—but he never dared. One day, though. One day soon.
She made no attempt to explain where she had been or why she was late and Maarten made no attempt to question her, watching her intently as she lifted up the menu.
“Have you ordered yet? No? Well, in that case, shall I order for us both?”
He nodded dumbly and waited for an opportunity to tell her about what was in the case. Then he noticed her hand holding the menu, and the ring on it.
He had seen her pendant before, a particularly fine piece if a little old-fashioned, a well-cut marquis diamond with very few inclusions and none that would have been visible to an untrained eye. This, however, was different: expensive enough, but not really fitting with the rest of her elegant style.
She did not catch his eyes as the waiter came across to take their order until, letting the menu be taken from her, she turned her face towards him and gave him a warm smile. Maarten felt uncomfortable: he was anxious in any case, but that ring disturbed him for some reason.
“I understand you have something to show me,” she said, her eyes widening a little as though in anticipation of some exotic secret about to be revealed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. Nothing came out except a rattling gasp and he reached forward to grab a glass of water, almost dropping his briefcase in the process which made him spill some of the water onto his lap. Karla frowned at this and reached her hand across the table towards him.
“Maarten—what’s wrong?”
He managed to swallow a mouthful of water and placed it back on the table. As he did so, she brushed her hand along his, holding it there which caused him to blush. No woman had ever been intimate, even in such a small way, with him before Karla and the touch of this beautiful goddess still made him tremble.
“Your ring,” he said. “It’s new.”
“Oh, do you like it?” she asked innocently, lifting it up to her face and admiring how the light sparkled across its facets. “It was my aunt’s.”
“May I see?”
With another smile she held out her hand, a demure gesture with her graceful fingers bent slightly, allowing him to hold the tips as he stared at the diamond.
“Your aunt’s?”
“Yes. It was an heirloom left to me. That was why I was late today. I was collecting it.”
“It doesn’t look very old.”
A more experienced man, watching Karla rather than scrutinizing her ring, would have perhaps seen a slight blush appear on her neck and cheeks, how she blinked once, twice.
“It’s not,” she answered firmly. “It was bought for her just before she died, and she left it to me. That was sweet of her, don’t you think?”
Maarten dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, feeling awkward and mistaking the slight redness in her face for his own embarrassment. “I didn’t realise your aunt had died.”
“Yes, Aunt Elsie.” Karla reached into her purse to retrieve a handkerchief with which she dabbed one eye. “It was very sudden and very sad.”
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, unable to look her in the face now, ashamed of himself. He frowned, still staring down at the space before him as they waited to be served. “Won’t there need to be a funeral?”
“Oh, it all happened so quickly that the funeral’s already taken place. She was cremated, just outside Copenhagen.” He could see her arm moving as she dabbed away more tears.
“I’m sure Aunt Elsie would want me to live my life to the full,” Karla said after a while. “It’s sad, of course, but we only have one, as she used to say. Though whether she was referring to life or her recipe for veal and pork meatballs was never entirely clear.” Maarten lifted his head at this in confusion and saw that she was smiling softly at him. “I was teasing,” she told him in a low voice, then her smile dropped. “I’m sorry, that was very bad of me.” Now it was her turn to look at the table rather than meet his gaze.
“No, no, not at all!” In his discomfiture, Maarten had completely forgotten about the ring, and instead he tentatively reached across the table to comfort her with a slightly awkward touch. At this, Karla immediately lifted her head and stared at him, a pained expression in her eyes as she lifted her own hand and grasped his tightly as he held her arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small woman, and as she pinned him there Maarten realised that he wouldn’t have been able to move if he’d wanted to—which he most definitely did not.
“You’re such a good man,” she told him quietly. “I’m so lucky to have met you.”
He was lost for a few moments, swimming in the green pools of her eyes, and it took him a few seconds to realise what she had said. He shrugged, feeling even more awkward now, and when she finally released his hand he pulled it away and looked down at his briefcase once more, though his heart sang with happiness.
She too was looking at his case. “And do you have something for me?” she asked.
Looking up, a sly smile across his face now, he nodded. He was about to speak when the waiter returned with their first course. Thanking him sweetly, Karla began to tuck in, displaying her usual hearty appetite which never seemed to interfere with her trim and perfect figure.
For his part, Maarten fumbled with the case until the waiter left and then pushed his plate aside. He was never as keen on this fancy food as his companion anyway, and today he was too nervous to eat. Looking around conspiratorially to ensure they were alone, only the faint hum of other clients eating in the front of the restaurant to disturb them, he placed the case and flicked open its latches.
When she saw what he drew out of his black case, it was Karla’s turn to lose her appetite. Her fork slowly lowered to the table and she stared in astonishment at his hand, her eyes glittering with a fierce fire as he unfolded a black, velvet cloth in h
is hands.
It would have been the largest diamond she had ever seen, of that he was sure. Indeed, it was only the second time he had seen a gemstone of this size, and that was because he was responsible for the cut of both of them. It lay in its cloth, sparkling as vividly as the pendant around her neck and the ring on her finger, but of a purer colour than both, crystalline and bright. A square-cut stone, with a diameter almost three centimetres across, its multifaceted surface caught and scattered the light in a way that entranced even Maarten, for all that he knew the provenance of this particular stone.
“Beautiful,” he heard Karla whisper.
He nodded, saying nothing.
“Can I hold it?”
This made him snap his eyes up. She was staring at the rock in his hand, her mouth open slightly and her eyes agog at the sight of it. God! He so wanted to fuck her—there and then, on the table!
The sudden eruption of that thought, and the swelling in his trousers, made Maarten embarrassed once more. “Best not,” he replied, closing up the velvet wrap around it. “The last thing I want is fingerprints on this.”
“What is it?” she asked. “It’s perfect.”
That made him smile. “It is. You won’t find a better replica of the Wallenstein—and I know, because I cut both of them.” Sensing movement behind them, he hurriedly replaced the stone in his case, patting it down carefully and snapping the clasps shut. As the waiter came for their plates, on an impulse he ordered a bottle of wine.
“Time to celebrate, don’t you think?”
Karla nodded, smiling archly at him now. He could see her pride in him shining through her eyes and his heart swelled up once more. After their wine had been brought to the table, he poured a liberal glass for each of them.
“To answer your question, silicon carbide,” he told her, lifting his glass in a salute and knocking back a mouthful of the dry, redolent wine.
She joined him in the gesture. “Moissanite,” she said with a smile. “How clever.”
“Well, not exactly.” He wanted to show off now, for her to know exactly how clever he really was. “Moissanite’s even rarer than diamond. This was created in a laboratory and then I cut it to precisely the right dimensions.” He smiled, his slightly yellowing teeth exposed in a big grin.
“You are so smart!” she yelped, placing her glass on the table and reaching across the table, dragging him forward so that some of his wine spilled before she landed a big kiss on his lips. “I can’t believe that we’re going to do this!”
That made Maarten’s heart quail for a second and he gulped another mouthful of wine.
“No,” he squeaked. “Me neither.”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. No one will be able to tell the difference.”
“Not unless they test it, and there’s no reason for anyone to do that. Not now. The Wallenstein is ready, and soon it will be set for this Papa Bo-Diddly, or whatever his name is.” His lips curled in disdain as he said the name.
“Papa Dee,” Karla absent-mindedly corrected him as she leaned back in her chair, cradling her wine in her fine fingers. Her eyes flicked across to Maarten’s face. “When is it to be set?”
“Tomorrow,” he replied.
“Then you have to make the exchange today.”
That made him spit out a mouthful of wine across the table and he shamefacedly picked up a napkin to mop it up.
“Today?”
“Of course. Unless you want to try and fashion a necklace to match the one that’s being made for it.”
Maarten began to sweat again, while his heart beat more rapidly. Crafting a perfect replica of the Wallenstein diamond had been a challenge, but now the reality of what he would have to do to complete this pact filled him with terror.
Seeing the expression on his face, Karla leaned across the table and, after prising the glass from his fingers to place it beside her own wine, gently took his hands in hers.
“You can do this, Maarten. For me. For us. Just think, when we have it, we can be together forever.”
He nodded, barely hearing her now. A rushing sound filled his ears and the room seemed to have suddenly become unbearably hot.
“Just think, the timing’s perfect. You have holidays arranged—everyone knows how hard you’ve been working, how much you deserve a rest. You go away, as we planned, and I’ll follow you.”
That was part of the plan that had always confused him. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “Why can’t we go together?”
For a second, a look of annoyance flashed across Karla’s face. “We’ve discussed this. You go to Heathrow and I’ll meet you there—with the diamond. Look at you, Maarten, you’ll fall apart before you cross through customs. Trust me on this. I can get the diamond through and then we can go wherever you want.”
“South America,” he said. They had discussed it. He had always wanted to visit Argentina, Brazil.
She smiled. “Yes, South America. Think about it, Maarten. They’ve never appreciated you at Boeckman’s, never valued your talents. But now you’re never going to need them ever again. Trust me. Do this, and we’ll be together forever.”
He pulled one of his hands from hers and picked up his glass, draining the remains of his wine before nodding. “Yes, together forever,” he gasped.
Chapter Three: Hayden
Hayden stood up from the panel where he was working and gave a brief, apologetic smile to the strange, pasty-faced man who was scurrying from Boeckman’s clutching a suitcase to his chest. Hayden tried to hunch himself up a little, not drawing himself to his full height, but even so he was a good six inches taller than the other man who he recognised as one of the employees he’d seen from time to time.
The man scowled in irritation, eager to make his way to the street outside and not looking directly at Hayden, who dipped his head so that the cap he wore would obscure his features. The fact that the man didn’t want to make conversation suited Hayden just fine. As well as the immediate task in hand he was trying hard to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
One good point about dressing in overalls and carrying a toolbox was that people rarely paid you much attention. It was a trick that Hayden had tried out before and one that he was sure he would employ again. Had anyone really looked at him, they might have been a little surprised at just how meticulously clean and tidy he was as he replaced a number of wires into the panel on the inside of the doorway. No stray hairs poked from beneath his cap and he worked with gloves that left no marks on the metal panel.
When Boeckman’s had been updating its security systems, one employee had suddenly and mysteriously been taken ill with a rather severe case of food poisoning. That had taken some wiles on Hayden’s part to arrange, but he’d not been entirely surprised at how he’d been able to take up the missing engineer’s position. After all, he’d been planning this job for some time and, in this age of casualisation and consultancy, he’d planted enough seeds to make him a very convenient choice for such a specialised task. He’d also passed any security checks the contractor required—which was somewhat ironic considering Hayden’s background. But then, he’d always been meticulous in covering over his tracks.
As he clicked the panel shut and inserted the final screws, everything was falling into place. There was only one more task to complete but that would have to wait until tonight: though the chances were very small, he didn’t want to risk anyone finding that little toy before he had chance to complete his real work.
Time was crucial now. Tomorrow—the next day at the very latest—the company he’d conned his way into would send one of its regular engineers and before long one of them would find the modifications he’d made. That meant the job had to be completed tonight.
He looked across to the security guard who was sitting by the doorway, plainly bored. That was good as well. You could employ all the guards you wanted in the world, but by screwing down their pay and treating the job as a dead end it guaranteed they were always less ale
rt than Hayden.
Not that Boeckman’s was stupid. The company had installed state of the art technology to protect their property. Unfortunately for them, it was now completely compromised. It would take days to unravel what Hayden had done—and by that time he intended to be long gone.
“It’s done,” he called out in slightly stiff Dutch. The guard looked at him and nodded, not listening. Now, according to procedure he was meant to go through aspects of the security system with this guard, but he could see that the man was too bored to care. That suited Hayden just fine. “If you have a problem, you know who to call.”
Without waiting for a reply, he exited through the door and made his way along the street that led towards the old part of Amsterdam. He’d been in that building every day for the past week, working assiduously and ensuring that he had visited as many rooms as possible, every nook and cranny. He’d not actually seen inside the safe where the Wallenstein was held, but he’d seen enough on the cameras to know that it was the diamond he wanted.
Now he had a few hours to kill. Even when he wasn’t working inside Boeckman’s he had staked out the building at night. After the first night he didn’t need to be there physically: he could hack into the camera feeds anytime he wanted, and was very pleased to see that the security staff Boeckman’s employed were hardly of the highest calibre. It wasn’t that they were especially bad or not conscientious—more that they followed a routine, and that was disastrous if they wanted to keep out a crook like Hayden Carter.
He should have gone back to the safe house he’d set up and tried to sleep, but the fatigue that had affected him only a few hours before had now been replaced by a vibrant buzz throughout his body. He was always this way just before an important job. He needed a bed, but not one to sleep in.
He’d even foreseen this contingency, and so instead of heading to his hideout followed the streets to the address of the hotel he’d also arranged, not far from the historic Walloon church. While he’d been busy with Boeckman’s, that hadn’t stopped him from seeing an opportunity that was too good to pass up. The woman was American, on holiday with her husband, and she’d be heading back to Tennessee tomorrow. The Wallenstein wasn’t going anywhere, and Hayden knew he’d kick himself if he didn’t at least meet her once.
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