Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) Read online

  Katla pressed the button on the cloned key fob. The Cayenne’s indicators flashed and with a whirring click the doors unlocked. She climbed into the back seat and checked the trunk space. Carpeted and empty, except for an umbrella, a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit, strapped securely to the upholstery. Katla removed the tortoiseshell glasses and climbed into the trunk, did a last check of her gear and pressed the key fob, arming the alarm.

  She settled down to wait, breathing slow and shallow to avoid changing the stifled air in the car. Although she had waited in less comfortable spaces, she hoped Heiboer would arrive soon. The longer she waited in the car, the more she’d warm up the air with her body heat and the more obvious it could be for Heiboer to notice he wasn’t alone.

  Six minutes after she crept into the trunk, footsteps approached the car and the doors unlocked with a beep. Heiboer didn’t unlock the trunk, Katla noted with approval—always nice to have a target who doesn’t stray from his habits.

  -o-

  Ronald Heiboer woke with a splitting headache and knew something was terribly wrong. His eyes seemed to be covered with sticky stuff and there were tubes in his nose and mouth. He tried to lift his hand to feel his face, but his arms and legs were spread out and immobile, as if he was stuck in deep mud from the neck down. He tried to move his head, but it was also stuck and covered by the same substance as his arms and legs. The tube in his mouth was hard and unyielding, forcing it open into an O-shape. In comparison the two tubes in his nose were soft and flexible, but they irritated the nasal mucosa in his nostrils and he felt like sneezing. He listened, but his ears were covered too and the noisy rushing of blood in his ears drowned out any sound of his surroundings.

  The last thing he remembered was getting into his car at the underground parking of the World Trade Center Amsterdam. Before that he’d had a couple of single malts at Nooon with David as was their custom before David took the train home to his family. The few drinks he had couldn’t account for the headache, though. Single malt whisky rarely—

  A hand suddenly touched his chest and Ronald flinched, but couldn’t pull away. With a feeling of weightlessness while being compressed all over his body at the same time, he felt his body change position from being horizontal to almost upright. When the motion ended he felt like he was lying on a slope under an avalanche of snow.

  The voice came through his covered ears like through a thin wall. Warm and soothing, but he couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

  “I know you’re awake, Ronald. You have to co-operate. I know you can’t speak, but grunt twice if you understand.”

  He made two grunting noises through the mouth tube, aching to speak properly, to ask questions, to understand what was going on.

  “Good,” the voice spoke. “I’m going to insert a tube down your throat to your stomach and I want you to relax your throat muscles.”

  Ronald wondered if he’d had an accident. Even hampered by the tubes in his nose, the air he breathed smelled stilted and industrial—with traces of metallic dust and exhaust fumes—not the sanitized antiseptic air of a hospital. And latex. Like in a fetish boutique in the Red Light District.

  Something slipped through the tube in his mouth and touched the back of his throat. The urge to gag was involuntary and Ronald was afraid he would vomit and suffocate. Panic was rising within him, but then the tube was retracted and the soothing voice spoke, “We’ll try it again. Try to breathe through your nose, Ronald. Easy does it.”

  He breathed through his nose. The tube came through his mouth again and angled down into his gullet. He swallowed and the tube felt like a lump in his throat as it traveled down into his stomach.

  “Keep breathing through your nose, Ronald.”

  Cold liquid gurgled down through the tube into his stomach and blazed like molten lava. He struggled, but he couldn’t move. The liquid kept gurgling down the tube, but the molten lava turned into a warm glow—a glow he recognized. Alcohol. He could smell it now, rising up from the bottle near his mouth.

  “You’re already inebriated,” the voice spoke. “Too bad this single malt by-passes your palate, but I’m sure you can imagine what Glenlivet tastes like, seeing how you already had a few.”

  Oh God. This was premeditated. Some twisted fuck was getting him drunk.

  Ronald tried to struggle again, but it was no use. Whatever held him down was too strong and he grew weaker as the warm glow in his stomach spread to his limbs. Tears squeezed past his covered eyelids. Despite the soothing voice, he couldn’t imagine any positive scenario following being force-fed whisky while rendered immobile. The gurgling of the whisky trickled down to a stop.

  And everything grew silent.

  Drowsily he struggled to stay awake. He had to stay awake. More tears struggled past his eyelids and he wondered why this was happening to him.

  There had to be a way out. There had to be.

  VANGUARD

  An angry voice yelled outside and Gene Zhang, Vanguard of the Kau Hong, took his gaze from the television and glanced out of his second story office window down at the busy street below.

  One of the oldest and most infamous streets in Amsterdam, the Zeedijk—situated between the Red Light District and the Geldersekade—was the heart of Chinatown, always bustling with merchants, tourists and shoppers. Although it never ceased to amuse Gene to have an office on a street that was dubbed by the Chinese Sin Tak Kai—‘the place where charity and virtue meet’—the never abating noise was sometimes hard to bear.

  Gene closed the window against the ruckus and turned his gaze back on the television, which showed Xia Yi Zhan, Xing Fu with the sound down low. Although Next Stop, Happiness was an acclaimed Taiwanese television drama, Gene didn’t dare turn up the volume to drown out the gabble of conversation and tinkling of cutlery on porcelain drifting up from the restaurant below.

  A red light over the door flashed briefly.

  Someone on the stairs. Probably Lau, but one never knew. He switched the television to a Chinese news channel and waited with his hand near the buzzer.

  A staccato rap on the door.

  Gene buzzed the door and rose from his chair to welcome his senior Red Pole. Although Vanguard, or operations officer, was a higher rank than commander of the enforcers, being cordial never hurt anyone. Lau bowed and closed the door behind him. Gene turned to the window that looked out into the Stormsteeg and motioned for Lau to stand beside him.

  “The accountant,” he spoke, his voice barely over a whisper. “He’s on board?”

  The Red Pole took his cigarette case from his pocket. “Fear and greed.”

  Lau offered Gene a cigarette and they lit up.

  “Sieltjes is confirmed?”

  “Not yet.” Lau rolled the glowing tip of his cigarette in the ashtray. “Vermeer will make the arrangements, don’t worry. I’ll collect him around eight.”

  From where he stood, Gene could look across the Geldersekade, to the Binnen Bantammerstraat or Bat Tah Ngoi Kai, ‘reaching to all cardinal points of the compass’, where Chinatown had originated in 1910, the second oldest in Europe, after London Chinatown.

  “Sphinx is the only likely candidate, the only independent company.” Gene blew a plume of smoke against the glass. “We have to stay below the radar. I don’t want to lose more shipments to the 14K. Or the police.”

  “I don’t foresee any obstacles. I’m sure Sieltjes won’t put up resistance.”

  “Don’t underestimate Sieltjes because she’s a woman.” Gene extinguished his cigarette and turned away from the window. “The shipping world is male dominated—for a woman to get into an uncontested position of power is an accomplishment worthy of respect.”

  Lau nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Who will you take?”

  “Five Lanterns to guard the perimeter. Nicky will keep an eye on them and handle the outside. Chen and Wu will come with me. And Jian to drive the fork lift truck.”

  Chen and Nicky were both Red Poles
, but Nicky was Lau’s second in command and Chen’s senior. Chen was recently promoted, still on probation. Lau was wise to keep him close. The Blue Lanterns were all prospects, eager to be initiated and promoted to ’49’ or soldiers, like Jian and Wu.

  “Good men.” Gene gazed out of the window again. “I’m sure everything will go well.”

  Lau knew a dismissal when he heard one. He squashed his own cigarette in the ashtray and left the office. Gene waited until the light flashed over the door to show that Lau had descended the stairs and switched the television back to Next Stop, Happiness again.

  -o-

  Nicky Wang missed riding the hills around Kowloon, but the Galaxy enduro motorcycle he’d left behind in China was no comparison to his current ride. He raced down the Herengracht to the Brouwersgracht, and noticed at a glance that the pedestrian bridge across the canal was empty, so he pulled the KTM 690 in a controlled skid and rode up the steps. The bridge itself was wide enough, but the posts on the steps were little wider than his handlebars. Nicky popped a wheelie and braked slowly at the end of the Melkmeisjesbrug, keeping his front wheel aloft as he rode between the posts down the steps back to the road. The front wheel hit the road and he went full on the front brake, lifting the rear and tilting the KTM sideways. Compared to the Galaxy, the KTM was a heavy brute, but the motorcycle handled exquisitely. His rear wheel landed on the bricks again and he balanced for a moment, then rode off down the Brouwersgracht in the direction of the Haarlemmerdijk.

  Nicky slowed down as he spotted a couple of motorcycle cops on BMW F motorcycles. Not that he was afraid that he couldn’t outrun them, but he couldn’t outrun their radios, so Nicky limited his urban enduro escapades to avoid attracting too much attention.

  His dashboard clock told him he had ten minutes before he had to meet Lau at the restaurant. He rode the KTM in the direction of Centraal Station, unable to suppress his inner hooligan as he took the bicycle path across the Singel, turned left and sidled past the waiting cars, hooked a right onto the Prins Hendrikkade and raced between cars to get to the front of the queues at the traffic lights. A few minutes later Nicky parked his KTM in front of Prins Heerlijk Snacks, next to the Ducati Monster from the blonde behind the counter. He waved at the counter girl as he strode onto the Zeedijk, knowing she’d keep an eye on his prized possession until he returned. To make sure the police cameras didn’t get a straight shot of his face, Nicky pulled a ball cap down low over his eyes and moved like a shadow down the Zeedijk. He entered the restaurant and walked all the way to the back where a table was reserved for the Red Poles. As he sat down, a waitress asked him if he wanted tea. Nicky told her to bring tea when Lau joined him. From where he sat with his back against the wall next to the stairwell that led up to Zhang’s office, Nicky could survey the whole restaurant in a single glance.

  Nicky disliked having to report in, running the risk of being filmed by the police cameras, when most of the times the orders he received could just as well be relayed through burner phones. Lau didn’t like to use cell phones, though, and being the senior Red Pole, he could pretty much do as he wanted.

  Lau appeared in the stairwell, and Nicky rose from his seat to give his senior the corner seat. Before he sat back down the waitress came running and placed a pot of tea on the table. Nicky served Lau first before he poured himself a cup.

  Lau was the first to break the silence. “You checked out the crane, Sai-Lo?”

  In Triad hierarchy, even among equals in rank, there is always the Dai-Lo, Elder Brother, and Sai-Lo, Younger Brother, relationship.

  “Yes, Elder Brother. The controls are in a different order, but that’s not a problem.”

  “You will be responsible for the perimeter, Nicky. I’ll take Chen and Wu into the office with the accountant.”

  “Can Chen help me arrange the funnel?”

  Lau lit a cigarette, drawing some irritated glances from customers nearby, but they didn’t dare meet his gaze. “Chen has to be on quay when Sieltjes arrives. I want him to escort her inside. Until then you can do as you see fit.”

  Nicky rose from the table. “See you later, Elder Brother.”

  He pulled his ball cap down low over his eyes and left the restaurant.

  ACCIDENT

  Katla checked to make sure Heiboer was unconscious, withdrew the tube from his throat and unzipped the side of the latex vacuum bed. Air rushed audibly between the latex sheets and she could smell urine. Nothing unusual—drunks often lose control over their bladder as they pass out. Katla removed the jaw clamp from his mouth, plucked the tubes from his nostrils and drew the latex sheet away from his face. The skin of his face was blotchy, probably from crying.

  She dragged his slack body from the latex sheets onto a stretcher parked next to the circle bed and dressed him again—Heiboer hadn’t been undressed all the way, she had only removed his belt and shoes and put soft mittens around his hands so his nails couldn’t damage the latex vacuum bed. She looked at the circle bed and smiled to herself—one person’s dream, another person’s nightmare.

  Latex vacuum beds are considered the pinnacle of restraints with the bondage and discipline crowd. No matter how harshly applied, normal restrains like chains, handcuffs, ty-raps, rope, and leather harnesses always allow the bound person some room to wriggle, but the vacuum bed restricts all movement. And they were easy to use. A person is placed between two latex sheets, the top sheet featuring a tube in the facial area for breathing, and the sheets are zipped together. Then the air between the sheets is sucked out, often with an ordinary vacuum cleaner, until the latex sheets mould themselves against the body of the subject like a second skin. With the sheets attached to a sturdy frame the subject will find it impossible to move. Ideal for restraining without leaving marks on the body.

  The frame of Katla’s latex vacuum bed was attached to a hospital circle bed formerly used in paraplegic wards to turn recuperating patients without touching them. Normally, the two vertical circles featured two mattresses in a V-shape, but now there was just the single frame with the latex vacuum bed, allowing her rotate the vacuum bed from horizontal to vertical and every position in between. Technology had moved on. Paraplegic care no longer used circle beds, so the bed had cost her next to nothing.

  After she wheeled the stretcher to the Porsche Cayenne, Katla strapped Heiboer into the passenger seat. She opened the large sliding doors of her garage, backed the Cayenne into the muddy snow-covered track of the desolate industrial area, closed and locked the sliding doors carefully and climbed into the driver seat. Heiboer was slightly taller than she was, but the added room would be most welcome later. Besides, she didn’t have to drive that far.

  -o-

  Katla halted the Porsche Cayenne next to her primer-spotted Citroën van, still parked unmolested under the A2 motorway viaduct. Heiboer was unconscious, but she took the keys anyway as she went to her van to fetch her gear. She undressed, down to her long thermal underwear, and slipped on her dry-suit. After she put in her ear filters Katla pulled the hood of the dry suit over her head, donned a full-face rally helmet, grabbed her closed-circuit re-breather and cave-diving mask, and got back into the Cayenne. Heiboer was still out, as expected. He was in for a rude awakening. She put her gear behind the passenger seat within easy reach and started the car.

  Her faint smile hidden behind the chin bar of the rally helmet, Katla crossed the bridge to the other side and drove the Cayenne faster along the slippery embankment road until she came to the sharp bend just beyond the bridge. Her speed was too high to take the bend under ordinary conditions, but with the snow on the road the bend would be impossible to take. Katla stomped on the gas and felt the Cayenne’s powerful four point eight liter engine roar as the wheels lost all contact with the road. The SUV ploughed through the soggy snow-covered marsh and crashed into the frozen river.

  -o-

  A loud bang woke Ronald Heiboer as a tremendous shock threw him forward against his seat belt and shook him out of his stupor. With ring
ing ears he tried to take stock, his bleary eyes seeing nothing but bright whiteness. It took him almost a minute to realise he was enveloped by an exploded airbag. Then the cold hit his ankles and Ronald looked down. Freezing water covered his shoes and lapped against his ankles, rising quickly. He pushed himself back and noticed he was pushing against the dashboard, not against the steering wheel. The door was to his right. The view through the window was odd. A diagonal white jagged stripe ran from the top left corner to the lower right corner. The view through the windshield in front of him was dark green and murky in the lights of the head lamps.

  Ronald looked to his left. The person in the driver seat had an oddly shaped head. No, not a head, a helmet. The person removed the helmet. A woman with a tight balaclava-like hood around her head, smiling at him, wearing a matte-grey overall. She calmly unbuckled her seat belt and turned in her seat. The cold water reached his knees and started flooding his seat, soaking his crotch. He gasped and felt for the release button to undo his seat belt, but his fingers, numbed by the freezing water, scrabbled around without finding what he was looking for. Then he realised he was in the passenger seat and the seat belt release would be on his left hand side. As he reached for the release with his left hand the woman grabbed his elbow and pushed his arm across his body. He struggled, tried to put his weight behind it, but her hand seemed immovable. She reached behind his seat with her right hand. A moment later, she wore a diving mask and a blinding light shone in his eyes. The cold water rose to his chest. His left arm was numb with the cold, but the woman kept it firmly against his body.