“Beginning when?”
“Friday. It’s a beautiful vacation, mijnheer. If you and your wife would be interested in—”
The detective was gone.
The pigeon Tracy had ordered from the pet shop was delivered to her hotel in a birdcage. Daniel Cooper returned to the pet shop and questioned the owner.
“What kind of pigeon did you send her?”
“Oh, you know, an ordinary pigeon.”
“Are you sure it’s not a homing pigeon?”
“No.” The man giggled. “The reason I know it’s not a homing pigeon is because I caught it last night in Vondel-park.”
A thousand pounds of gold and an ordinary pigeon? Why? Daniel Cooper wondered.
Five days before the transfer of bullion from the Amro Bank was to take place, a large pile of photographs had accumulated on Inspector Joop van Duren’s desk.
Each picture is a link in the chain that is going to trap her, Daniel Cooper thought. The Amsterdam police had no imagination, but Cooper had to give them credit for being thorough. Every step leading to the forthcoming crime was photographed and documented. There was no way Tracy Whitney could escape justice.
Her punishment will be my redemption.
On the day Jeff picked up the newly painted truck he drove it to a small garage he had rented near the Oude Zijds Kolk, the oldest part of Amsterdam. Six empty wooden boxes stamped MACHINERY were also delivered to the garage.
A photograph of the boxes lay on Inspector van Duren’s desk as he listened to the latest tape.
Jeff’s voice: “When you drive the truck from the bank to the barge, stay within the speed limit. I want to know exactly how long the trip takes. Here’s a stopwatch.”
“Aren’t you coming with me, darling?”
“No. I’m going to be busy.”
“What about Monty?”
“He’ll arrive Thursday night.”
“Who is this Monty?” Inspector van Duren asked.
“He’s probably the man who’s going to pose as the second security guard,” Cooper said. “They’re going to need uniforms.”
The costume store was on Pieter Cornelisz Hooft Straat, in a shopping center.
“I need two uniforms for a costume party,” Jeff explained to the clerk. “Similar to the one you have in the window.”
One hour later Inspector van Duren was looking at a photograph of a guard’s uniform.
“He ordered two of these. He told the clerk he would pick them up Thursday.”
The size of the second uniform indicated that it was for a man much larger than Jeff Stevens. The inspector said, “Our friend Monty would be about six-three and weigh around two hundred twenty pounds. We’ll have Interpol put that through their computers,” he assured Daniel Cooper, “and we’ll get an identification on him.”
In the private garage Jeff had rented, he was perched on top of the truck, and Tracy was in the driver’s seat.
“Are you ready?” Jeff called. “Now.”
Tracy pressed a button on the dashboard. A large piece of canvas rolled down each side of the truck, spelling out HEINEKEN HOLLAND BEER.
“It works!” Jeff cheered.
‘Heineken beer? Alstublieft!” Inspector van Duren looked around at the detectives gathered in his office. A series of blown-up photographs and memos were tacked all around the walls.
Daniel Cooper sat in the back of the room, silent. As far as Cooper was concerned, this meeting was a waste of time. He had long since anticipated every move Tracy Whitney and her lover would make. They had walked into a trap, and the trap was closing in on them. While the detectives in the office were filled with a growing excitement, Cooper felt an odd sense of anticlimax.
“All the pieces have fallen into place,” Inspector van Duren was saying. “The suspects know what time the real armored truck is due at the bank. They plan to arrive about half an hour earlier, posing as security guards. By the time the real truck arrives, they’ll be gone.” Van Duren pointed to the photograph of an armored car. “They will drive away from the bank looking like this, but a block away, on some side street”—he indicated the Heineken beer truck photograph—”the truck will suddenly look like this.”
A detective from the back of the room spoke up. “Do you know how they plan to get the gold out of the country, Inspector?”