A World Without Secrets (27 page)

I was halfway through my dinner when I spotted a shadow on the wall that I assumed was from one of the perps. I swung the image around and saw someone climbing down a rope from an open skylight. I was pretty sure it wasn't a museum security person.

Rather than let my dinner get cold, I stopped playing with the monitor and finished my meal. After I had cleaned up and sealed the food containers tightly in a plastic garbage bag, I was ready to finish my viewing. I grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat down at the table to work.

I had just reset the time and moved the image outside the museum to see where the perp had come from and how he or she had gotten onto the roof when the phone rang. It was Kathy.

"Colt, where are you?"

"I'm home, sweetheart. You just called me here."

"Well, you're supposed to be here."

"Where?"

"The awards dinner. Did you forget?"

"I thought that was next week."

"It's tonight. Now. Or at least soon."

"Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm with Didi from work and her boyfriend Michael."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll get there as quickly as I can. Hold my seat."

"Funny."

"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"Just get here."

"I'm practically on my way. I love you."

I heard a click, then silence. I knew she was angry, and I didn't look forward to spending the evening with an upset, pouting girlfriend, but not going would be the worst thing I could do, so I folded the monitor and stuffed it into the matchbox, then ran for the shower. I was out of my apartment in just twenty minutes, glad my hair was short or I would have been dripping all the way to the awards dinner.

I didn't have a chance to get back to the robbery until the next afternoon because I spent the night with Kathy. She knew she had behaved badly by hanging up on me, and once she cooled down she was anxious to make up for it. Did I say she cooled down? I should have said that her anger cooled. But her ardor had reached record highs by the time I got her home. It was a night I would never forget— not that I wanted to.

As I resumed my investigation of the robbery, I was mesmerized by the efficiency of the five art thieves. These were no amateurs like the women in Philadelphia or thugs like the smash-and-grab brutes who pulled the job in Boston. They were in and out in less than ten minutes after just three minutes spent disabling the alarm. And I didn't miss the sixth member of the group. He stood in the shadows near the getaway van, holding what looked like a Mini Uzi. I had had range practice with one during my training at Quantico and knew they usually held a twenty-five-round clip. These were definitely the most dangerous people of all those I'd come up against so far. Each case seemed to drag me deeper and deeper into the danger zone. Was this the reason the email sender had told me that 'death was near?' I wondered if perhaps I should sit this one out. But the world was a dangerous place all over, and the recovery fee would substantially inflate the housing fund.

I viewed the robbery over and over again, looking for something I could use to explain my ability to solve the case, but I came up empty. And I was still without an explanation for how I could have solved the case when I went to bed that night.

* * *

I procrastinated telling Kathy about the offer from Amsterdam. Winter was terrible in the Northeast and most people were in foul moods to begin with once the holidays were over. Between the miserable weather, colds and flu, and having to pay all those holiday charge card bills, many people wore sour expressions until April. So I asked Kathy if she could get a week off from work and join me on a little vacation to the Caribbean. She didn't hesitate for even a second, practically screaming her desire to recline in the sun on a beach in the tropics.

Kathy left the destination decision up to me and I selected Nassau in the Bahamas. We flew down on Saturday morning and spent eight wonderful days either sightseeing or just soaking up the sun on a pristine beach. Nassau was beautiful, and I think it would take several more vacations there before we could see everything. Kathy's favorite part of the vacation was that I left my service weapon at home. FBI Special Agents weren't allowed to take their weapons out of the U.S. unless they had special orders or permission. At first I felt a bit naked without the heft of the Glock under my arm, but I adapted quickly.

The week in Nassau was so wonderful that I would have extended it another week if I could, but Kathy had to get back to the museum, and I had plans to head for Amsterdam. Surprisingly, Kathy didn't get too upset when I told her I planned to take the case. I think she felt people were more cultured and refined in Europe so I'd be in far less danger there than in the U.S. I was just happy we hadn't had an argument that spoiled even one moment of an incredible week.

* * *

The red-eye flight landed in Amsterdam on Monday morning, right on schedule. I tiredly trundled off the plane with my carry-on like the rest of the passengers who had probably tried as unsuccessfully as I to sleep through the severe turbulence we'd encountered over the ocean.

"De heer James?" a customs official holding the sign with my name asked when I stopped in front of him. When I nodded, he said, "Follow me please."

I fell in behind him as two more uniforms fell in behind me. The man in front led me past the customs counter and through a door that led to a corridor. A short walk brought us to an interview room where four more men, these in suits, waited. The room was large enough to hold all eight of us comfortably and I stood there staring at the suits for several seconds while they stared back. They appeared to be sizing me up.

"De heer James, welcome to the Netherlands," one finally said as he extended his hand. "I'm Gunter Wilhelm Schoenberg. I'm the General Director of the Amstelveen Museum."

As I took his hand, I was surprised by the strength of his grip. I had originally guessed his age to be about 60, so he either worked out or just appeared older than his years. I supposed he could be prematurely grey.

Gunter Schoenberg then introduced the other suits, pointing to them in turn. "This is Chief Inspector Schaake of the Korps Lndelijke Politiediensten, or KLDP, our national police force. He's part of the Dienst Nationale Recherche, or DNR, division.

"On his left is Floyd Ambrose from Interpol, and to his left is Kurt Locher, who heads up the investigations unit of the insurance company."

I nodded as I shook hands with each man in turn, then said, "I'm pleased to meet you, gentlemen. I wasn't expecting such a distinguished welcoming party."

"I suppose we were all a little anxious to meet the famous art recovery expert Colton James," Locher said. "Your career has been short but remarkable."

"And apparently profitable," Ambrose said. "We tried to secure your services through the FBI, but they said your arrangement with them wouldn't allow it. How can you work for the FBI and not be assigned to an Interpol operation as would any other Special Agent?"

"Simple. I only work cold cases, not active investigations, and my arrangement with the Bureau allows me to accept a certain number of cases each year where the recovery fee would exceed the scale they pay me. They gave their blessing for me to follow up on this case."

"That's a pretty sweet deal," Schaake said, in a tone I judged to be contemptuous.

"It was the only way I would agree to help clean up their cold case file. I can make a nice living on my own without working at the Bureau. I work for them mainly out a sense of patriotism rather than monetary compensation, but I couldn't allow that job to keep me from occasionally pursuing private cases."

Schoenberg must have detected an edge to my voice, because he quickly said, "I'm sure the Chief Inspector didn't mean to imply that there was anything untoward in your— career arrangements."

"Of course not," Schaake said, in an unconvincing tone. "Are you armed, James?"

"The Bureau requires field personnel to be armed at all times, except in bed or the shower, but only while in the U.S.," I said with a smile. "However, I received special permission to carry my service weapon and backup on this occasion, and Director Schoenberg informed me that he would arrange for me to carry my weapons while I was here."

"That means that you are?"

"Yes, Chief Inspector." I wondered if the guy was dense, there was a language problem, or if he was just trying to give me a tough time. I decided it was the latter.

"May I see your FBI service weapon please?"

I pulled out the Glock 23 and handed it over. "Careful, Chief Inspector. It's loaded."

He shot me a look I reserved for cab drivers in NYC who try to take longer routes to pump up the distance charges, then entered the serial number into a smart phone. After a second he nodded as the serial number was confirmed.

"Is that your only weapon?"

I reached down and pulled the Glock 27 from my ankle holster and handed it over. I had purchased it after I'd seen that one of the gang had an Uzi. I wanted a backup weapon, preferably one that used the same ammo as my issued weapon. "That's my personal weapon, but the serial number has been entered into the Bureau's database."

Schaake entered the number into his phone and then grimaced. "Is that all?"

"That's all the firearms I brought with me. Should I have brought more?"

Schaake grimaced at me. "I think these will be adequate," he said as he handed them back. "This isn't New York City or Chicago, after all."

"The Chief Inspector will issue a license for you to legally carry your two weapons in the Netherlands," Ambrose said, "and see that the local law enforcement people know of your presence here. Additionally, he'll see that you receive an EFP or European Firearms Pass so you'll be able to legally carry your weapons into any other member state should the need to travel arise."

"I thought the EFP was only for hunters, sporting event participants, and collectors."

"Normally, that's true. But the member states make certain allowances for law enforcement and security personnel who have a demonstrable need to carry their weapons, as long as the weapons are listed on the EFP. And you must have an EFP to board public transportation such as the EuroStar with weapons unless you are part of a member state's law enforcement services."

"Now, if you'd care to follow me," Schoenberg said, "I have a car waiting."

"I have to retrieve my bags first," I said.

"By now they should be in the car," Schaake said. "I left orders to retrieve them from the luggage area and take them outside."

"Thank you. That was very considerate of you." I figured they had probably examined everything in them as well. I wondered if they had bugged any of my clothes or personal possessions so they could track my movements. I had learned at Quantico just how incredibly small some tracking devices were these days.

I was relieved when Schoenberg was the only one to follow me out of the room.

When we reached the car, the driver held the door and I climbed in ahead of Schoenberg.

"Would you like to go to the museum or your hotel?" Schoenberg asked as he dropped heavily into the seat across from me.

"I didn't get much sleep on the plane," I said. "I'd like to take a stab at getting my internal clock synched with this time zone and then get a fresh start tomorrow morning."

"Fine. I do the same when I travel. I can never sleep on airplanes. If it's not constantly vibrating or even violently shaking, flight attendants or passengers are walking up and down the aisle and babies are crying." Schoenberg picked up the phone and gave instructions to the driver. When he was done, he asked, "Is this your first time in Amsterdam?"

"Yes. I'm not very well traveled outside the States. In fact I've never been outside of North America. I've spent some vacation time in Canada, Mexico, and the Caribbean, but that's all."

As we pulled out of the airport, Schoenberg began acting like a tour guide, pointing out famous landmarks and good restaurants. I found him to be interesting and informative.

Schoenberg had booked me into the Hotel Pulitzer. Located along the Prinsengracht canal, the five-story building was probably the nicest hotel I had ever stayed in. It made some of the motels along the highways in the U.S. look like flophouses. I'd been told the insurance company would pay for my traveling expenses, and I wasn't sure if that extended to hotel accommodations, but I didn't care. My suite had a beamed cathedral ceiling and was larger than my flat in New York. I had an enormous bed, a table, and a desk.
Yeah
, I said quietly to myself once I was alone in the suite,
I could live here
. Before Schoenberg left, he gave me an expandable file folder filled to its full measure with everything they knew about the robbery.

I headed downstairs to the bar before settling in and walked to the bathroom. Once inside a stall, I took out the monitor and viewed the situation at the airport. I watched as the uniformed customs people and a suit looked through my two suitcases as if expecting to find drugs or something. The suit placed something tiny inside the breast pocket of each of my three suit coats and behind the manufacturer's label at the neck of the leather jacket I'd brought.
So,
I said silently,
they want to see where I go. Okay, I can play that game.

I had watched Schaake carefully in the interview room, and he hadn't messed with either of my weapons, so I didn't bother reviewing that meeting, but I did scan the hotel room from the time the previous guests had checked out and saw no indication that they had placed mikes there. That was of little importance though, because the telephone line could be tapped, and it was even possible to overhear conversations in a room when the receiver was on the hook. It was also incredibly easy for anybody to record all conversations made with a cell phone.

I enjoyed a drink in the bar to show that I hadn't come down here just to use the restroom, then grabbed a meal in one of the dining rooms. I was yawning as I rode the elevator back to my suite, and once I hit the pillow I was in slumber land in minutes.