by Kim Baldwin
“That will be all. I have urgent matters of state awaiting me, professor.” With that, he disconnected, then immediately dialed Azizi’s number.
Recovery of the Setarehe Abi Rang would have to be delayed. The troublesome professor had to be silenced at once.
*
“Hi. I got my stay permit and am done for the day.” Allegro rested her gun on her lap as she spoke on her cell phone. “Can I come pick you up?”
“There’s no reason for you to drive all the way here,” Kris replied. “Besides, I’ll have to leave my car behind if you pick me up.”
“It’s really no trouble at all. I can take you back to your car later.” Allegro perched the phone on her shoulder and screwed the silencer onto the Walther. Her target had stubbed out his cigarette. He was talking on his phone. “I got myself a new rental, the fun kind, and wouldn’t mind driving it some. It’s really not that far.”
“Well if you don’t mind the drive.” Kris gave directions to the building Allegro was looking at. “How long do you think it will take you to get here?”
“Ten minutes at the most. I’m headed your way and traffic is light.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon, then. Do you mind running by my uncle’s? I promised to stop in.”
“Sure, no problem. See you in a few.”
Allegro slid the gun into her coat pocket and checked her surroundings. She couldn’t waste any more time, but this was far from an ideal place to take care of Azizi. The shooting could be witnessed. Her car could be identified. The EOO didn’t appreciate loose ends. But they also expected their operatives to take initiative. She’d spent too long on this assignment already and it sounded like the terrorist threat was real and imminent. She could not allow a loose-cannon fanatic to derail the operation at this critical stage. And if she thought about it, something she preferred to avoid, she was afraid that he might act unpredictably and simply shoot Kris. She didn’t know what his instructions were. She was only assuming they were the same as her own. What if he was part of a cell and knew nothing about the diamond? He could have been ordered to kill Kris while some other cell member went after the stone. How could she be sure of anything?
One thing she could depend on was her observation skills. Azizi had straightened up and his face became more intent when he took the call on his cell phone. She recognized his body language. He’d just received new orders. She got out of the car, put her duffel in the trunk, and started walking uneasily toward the Peugeot. To her surprise, Azizi got into the car in a hurry and started the engine. She deliberated, the gun in her hand. As he backed out, she started to lift the weapon free of her coat and was about to raise it for a clean shot through the driver’s window, when she heard her name being called.
Kris waved from the sidewalk. “Perfect timing,” she said as she approached.
“I told you I wasn’t far away. Like the new wheels?” Allegro pointed toward the Audi. “I have a thing for fast cars.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched Azizi speed away from the institution. His departure could mean one of several things. Either his assignment had been cancelled or his instructions altered. Or he had the diamond, although she was certain he didn’t. Or he’d just been tipped off that she was coming after him, in which case where was the EOO leak?
“Why am I not surprised?” Kris said. “So did my father. Do you get as many speeding tickets as he did?”
Allegro smiled. “You mean you’ve never seen me on America’s Most Wanted?”
Kris looked at her with a serious expression. “Maybe we should take my car, or let me drive.”
“I was kidding. All I mean is that many is such a relative term.” She opened the passenger door. “Trust me, you’re in very capable hands.”
As they buckled up, the enclosed space seemed to fill with the subtle lavender of Kris’s perfume, the same scent she’d worn in Venice. Allegro stole an appreciative glance at Kris’s sexy ensemble. Her low cut silk blouse was beige and she’d paired it with an aubergine-colored skirt and matching pumps. At one point, she shifted, and the hem of her skirt rose to expose a bit of her smooth ivory thigh. It was all Allegro could do not to reach over and caress it.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city center, the sun had come out, and locals and tourists alike were taking to the streets to enjoy the wintry warmth. Bicycles filled every lane, far outnumbering the cars. In front of the Rembrandt museum, a horde of Japanese tourists milled around two buses, all of them with cameras around their necks or in their hands. Allegro drove evasively just in case anyone was tailing them. A tram was nearing from her right as the traffic light turned yellow. She darted across the intersection just ahead of the tram, and zigzagged through the narrow streets until she was sure they were not being followed.
“What are you doing?” Kris asked.
“Scenic route.”
“You seem to know your way around the city pretty well.”
“I have a good sense of direction and I was here for a few weeks before I headed into the countryside. Got around quite a lot.” Allegro parked on a side street, around the corner from Hans Hofman’s place on the Prinsengracht. Just in case they were being watched, she didn’t want their stalker to know which building they’d gone into if he cruised the area looking for the Audi.
Hofman seemed pleased to see her, and after exchanging a warm embrace and requisite Dutch three-kiss hello with Kris, he did the same with her. “I am happy you could join us, Angie. Come in. I picked up some wonderful scones from the baker down the block this morning.”
“Sounds perfect,” Kris said. “And the coffee smells wonderful.”
He led them upstairs to his apartment, a two-bedroom flat with a living room that overlooked the canal. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, transforming what would have been a dark, almost cavelike bachelor’s residence into a cheery, welcoming nest. The paneled walls were a medium brown, and the antique furniture was dark, almost black, oak. The leather sofa and matching wing chairs he steered them toward were dark brown as well, and so were the blinds. And the light pine floor had been almost entirely concealed beneath a deep burgundy and navy Persian carpet. Hofman was obviously not a man who believed bright colors belonged in the home.
Nor did he care for disarray or clutter. As she passed the matching glass-fronted bookcases lining one wall, Allegro noticed that all the books were carefully sorted by language, topic, and author. Three small oil paintings—ducks—were perfectly equidistant and squared. There were no frilly knickknacks, just a handful of sentimental touches, a few framed photographs, and a highly polished soccer trophy. But whoever did the dusting had missed a spot here and there, and the morning sunlight accentuated that oversight.
Allegro realized the extent of Hofman’s devotion to comfort when she and Kris sank into the deep cushions of the couch, and leaned back against fluffy charcoal pillows that looked like gray marshmallows. The couch was positioned near enough to the large picture windows that they had a marvelous view of the Prinsengracht neighborhood and the brave boaters passing by, clad in several layers and huddled low to minimize the wind.
Hofman laid out the coffee and scones on a low, narrow table in front of them and took a seat in one of the plush wing chairs, next to Kris. “Before I forget.” He reached into his pocket. “I had another key made for you. Please feel free to use it, anytime you need to stay over in town again.”
Kris took the key from him and put it in her purse. “That’s very kind of you, Uncle. I’ll try not to lose this one.”
She and Hofman exchanged pleasantries for a while, speaking mostly in English, no doubt for her benefit. Kris described her visit with her mother, who’d spoken little and seemed almost unaware that she was there. Discussion then moved onto the renovations at Haarlem and the big news item of the day, the murdered German.
“There was a swastika painted on his car, wasn’t there, Angie?” Kris sounded dismayed.
Allegro mumbled something
vague.
“This tourist was definitely a German?” Hofman asked.
Allegro wasn’t surprised by the strain that tightened his face. He had the diary and knew the story of the diamond’s past. In his shoes, Allegro would be uneasy to hear about a German neo-Nazi in Haarlem doing something that had led to his murder. She didn’t want him to spook Kris by panicking suddenly and handing over the diary. She was about to change the subject when she felt her cell phone vibrate. Taking a glance at the caller ID, she excused herself and went into the next room. At the sound of Domino’s voice, she felt her shoulders relax.
“I’m in Rome,” Domino said. “I took a private plane to get here so I could bypass airport security and bring what I need. Best if I drive the rest of the way, which means I’ll arrive very late tonight or early tomorrow. Have the others been informed?” she asked in a cryptic reference to Monty Pierce.
“Negative. Text me when you get here, and I’ll brief you.”
Allegro disconnected and started back to rejoin Kris and Hofman. They were speaking Dutch, and she caught the word diamant, so she paused in the hallway. Even though they were unaware that she understood the language, she thought they might be more open to discussing the gem without her present. But they were apparently through with whatever they’d been saying about the Blue Star, because now they were on to talking about her, still in Dutch, and loudly enough for her to make out every word.
“I never said I didn’t like Angie,” Kris said.
“I believe the first words you used to describe her after you yelled at me for hiring her were arrogant and smug.”
“Because she is, and I’ve told her as much.”
Hofman laughed. “I’m sure that went down well.”
“Not really.” Kris paused. There was a note of remorse in her voice. “I told her I was sorry, but…I don’t know what to make of her. Every time I ask her anything personal she gets evasive and shuts me out. It seems like she’s running from something.”
“We all have our reasons, Kris,” Hofman said gently. “And we all react differently to them. Look at yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You stopped living a long time ago. While you were fighting for the acceptance of your parents or lovers, you were at least fighting for something. These past years, it’s as though you’ve given up.”
“At least I’m not running from my responsibilities.”
“Even worse,” Hofman said in that same fatherly tone, “you’re running from life.”
Allegro wanted to stand there and listen to more but figured a longer absence would seem suspicious. “Please don’t mind me,” she told them as she entered the room. “I can imagine you have some catching up to do. I’ll check out your collection of books, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Angie. Go right ahead.” Hofman pointed toward the nearest bookcase. “All the English ones are over there.”
Allegro inspected the bookcase with her back to them. She plucked a rare first edition of Crime and Punishment off the shelf and carefully turned the pages.
“She may have her issues,” Hofman continued to Kris in Dutch, “but I think she’s adorable and very beautiful. I dare say she’s exactly what you need.”
“Uncle!”
Allegro had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at the chagrined response.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. She’s certainly a much better catch than all the others you’ve associated with,” Hofman continued. “Damn deadbeats.”
“I’ll give you that,” Kris agreed. “But it was my fault for letting them use me.”
Hofman loudly sipped his coffee, then set down the cup. “Too bad you don’t find our friend here attractive.”
“I didn’t say that.” There was a shyness to her quiet admission that Allegro found endearing.
Hofman’s response was the animated Dutch equivalent of Eureka! “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off her behind.” Allegro kept her head averted so they wouldn’t see the grin spreading over her face. She was really beginning to like Hofman. Kris was lucky to have him in her life, considering the relative absence of her parents.
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to talk about this with you?” Kris’s exasperation was evident.
“It would be more embarrassing and…frustrating, if the appreciation wasn’t mutual,” Hofman offered, chuckling, “But you don’t have to worry about that. Trust this old man, he knows what he’s talking about. She looks at you the same way.”
“Uncle, please stop. Besides, she’s leaving in a few weeks.”
“Which gives you two options. Either enjoy this short time with her or you make her stay.”
Allegro waited for Kris’s response.
“The first I can definitely do. In fact, we’re going out for dinner and dancing later.”
“And the second?”
“I can’t make her do anything,” Kris said. “All I can do is give her reasons to want to stay.”
Chapter Seventeen
Azizi sat patiently in his rental car outside the Allard Pierson Museum at the University of Amsterdam. Allah had granted him a new opportunity to prove himself, and he had no doubt that his new mission would go exactly as planned. Since leaving the mental institution, he’d spent hours in preparation. He’d acquired all the tools he needed, then drove around the northern outskirts of the city, in the sparsely populated shipyard district, until he found a perfect spot to execute his plan. Two hours before nightfall, he circled the museum building until a parking spot opened up near the door leading to the administrative offices. He then went briefly inside the complex to get a good look at his target. Allah was with him, for he didn’t need to come face-to-face with the professor. The man’s picture was on the museum brochure at the entrance.
Azizi checked his office hours. If the professor kept to his schedule, it would be dark by the time he left. But it also meant he had to be vigilant, because he needed to catch Bayat before he caught a tram or got into a car. Azizi acquired his objective, and for that he was grateful.
When the professor exited the complex twenty minutes later than expected, Azizi recognized him easily as he passed beneath the bright lights illuminating the exterior of the building. He started the Peugeot and pulled up beside Bayat as the professor fumbled with the locks on his bicycle at a rack beside the street.
He rolled down the passenger window. “Professor Bayat?”
“Yes?” Bayat abandoned his bicycle and came over to lean into the window.
“I’ve been sent by Minister Qadir,” Azizi said in Farsi, smiling genially when he saw a flicker of concern cross Bayat’s face. “I’m here to help you authenticate this duplicate diamond. Will you get in, please?”
“The minister did not inform me he was sending anyone, and I’m not at liberty to discuss this subject,” Bayat answered, making no move to get in the car.
“You can talk to him yourself, if you like.” Azizi took out his cell phone, dialed the number, and passed the phone to the professor.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Bayat said into the phone. “There is a man here who…” He listened for a few seconds. “Yes, sir, of course. I understand.” He seemed more relaxed as he got into the passenger seat and returned the phone. “I apologize for my hesitation. These are highly sensitive matters, as I am sure you know, so it’s prudent to be cautious.”
“I take no offense, Professor.” Azizi pulled away from the curb and headed toward the remote spot he’d selected.
“Where are we going?” Bayat asked.
“To a place where we will not be overheard. As you said, these are highly sensitive matters.”
In an effort to keep the professor at ease, Azizi asked about his family as they drove through the congested streets toward the shipyards. The ploy worked quite well, until they pulled into the parkin
g lot of an abandoned brick building, and he parked the Peugeot not far from the water’s edge. There were no other vehicles about, and they’d long passed the last pedestrian or cyclist. Bayat’s body language changed abruptly. He sat rigid in his seat, glancing about.
“Get out of the car, Professor,” Azizi ordered.
“Get out? Why?” Bayat shrank away, pressing up against the passenger door.
Azizi took the keys from the ignition, and as he rounded the back of the car, he pulled the knife from his coat. He opened the passenger door, dragged the professor out of the car, and before Bayat could say another word, slit his throat, careful to keep himself clear of the sudden spurt of blood.
Bayat made a gurgled, strangled sound as he dropped to the ground, and then lay lifeless. Azizi retrieved a coil of rope and two large cement blocks from the trunk of the Peugeot and set them at the water’s edge. He dragged the professor’s body to the spot, bound and weighted it, and let it sink into the dark water. On the way back to town, he dialed the minister’s number to confirm the deed was done, then he resumed his search for the diamond.
By now, the countess was probably back in Haarlem, he reasoned, but it was risky to chance breaking into the house tonight, not knowing who might be with her. So he decided to eliminate the only other place the diamond could possibly be if the countess did not have it in her possession. With the woman she called “Mom.”
He arrived at the Saint Francis Institution at nine thirty p.m. and parked on the street. He approached on foot, keeping to the periphery of the grounds to avoid the bright lights that illuminated the front façade of the building. A van was parked outside the delivery entrance while a man came back and forth with a hand truck full of laundry bins. Azizi hurried to the door and glanced inside the building. The deliveryman was nowhere in sight, so he slipped in and hid behind a column until the worker had completed his task and the van had pulled away.
Moving cautiously down the hallway, Azizi passed several unoccupied offices. He could hear two women talking in a nearby hallway, then footsteps receding, then silence, so he risked stepping into one of the offices and hunting on the computer and the desk until he found a list of names and room numbers. Wilhelmina van der Jagt was in 209. The emergency fire stairwell was clearly marked, a bit farther along the hallway he was in. He made it inside just as he heard the footsteps coming back.
