Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

Van Duren turned to Detective Constable Witkamp. “I want a surveillance team on Maximilian Pierpont. The moment Whitney or Stevens makes any kind of contact with him, I want to know it.”

Inspector van Duren was reporting to Chief Commissioner Toon Willems.

“They could be after any number of targets, Chief Commissioner. They're showing a great deal of interest in a wealthy American here named Maximilian Pierpont, they attended the philatelist convention, they visited the Lucullan diamond at the Nederlands Diamond-Cutting Factory, and spent two hours at The Night Watch —”

“Een diefstal van de Nachtwacht? Nee! Impossible!”

The chief commissioner sat back in his chair and wondered whether he was recklessly wasting valuable time and manpower. There was too much speculation and not enough facts. “So at the moment you have no idea what their target is.”

“No, Chief Commissioner. I'm not certain they themselves have decided. But the moment they do, they will inform us.”

Willems frowned. “Inform you?”

“The bugs,” Van Duren explained. “They have no idea they are being bugged.”

The breakthrough for the police came at 9:00 A.M. the following morning. Tracy and Jeff were finishing breakfast in Tracy's suite. At the listening post upstairs were Daniel Cooper, Inspector Joop van Duren, and Detective Constable Witkamp. They heard the sound of coffee being poured.

“Here's an interesting item, Tracy. Our friend was right. Listen to this: 'Amro Bank is shipping five million dollars in gold bullion to the Dutch West Indies.' ”

In the suite on the floor above, Detective Constable Witkamp said, “There's no way —”

“Shh!”

They listened.

“I wonder how much five million dollars in gold would weigh?” Tracy's voice.

“I can tell you exactly, my darling. One thousand six hundred seventy-two pounds, about sixty-seven gold bars. The wonderful thing about gold is that it's so beautifully anonymous. You melt it down and it could belong to anybody. Of course, it wouldn't be easy to get those bars out of Holland.”

“Even if we could, how would we get hold of them in the first place? Just walk into the bank and pick them up?”

“Something like that.”

“You're joking.”

“I never joke about that kind of money. Why don't we just stroll by the Amro Bank, Tracy, and have a little look?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I'll tell you all about it on the way.”

There was the sound of a door closing, and the voices ended.

Inspector van Duren was fiercely twisting his mustache. “Nee! There is no way they could get their hands on that gold. I, myself, approved those security arrangements.”

Daniel Cooper announced flatly, “If there's a flaw in the bank's security system, Tracy Whitney will find it.”

It was all Inspector van Duren could do to control his hair-trigger temper. The odd-looking American had been an abomination ever since his arrival. It was his God-given sense of superiority that was so difficult to tolerate. But Inspector van Duren was a policeman first and last; and he had been ordered to cooperate with the weird little man.

The inspector turned to Witkamp. “I want you to increase the surveillance unit. Immediately. I want every contact photographed and questioned. Clear?”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“And very discreetly, mind you. They must not know they are being watched.”

“Yes, Inspector.”

Van Duren looked at Cooper. “There. Does that make you feel better?”

Cooper did not bother to reply.

During the next five days Tracy and Jeff kept Inspector van Duren's men busy, and Daniel Cooper carefully examined all the daily reports. At night, when the other detectives left the listening post, Cooper lingered. He listened for the sounds of lovemaking that he knew was going on below. He could hear nothing, but in his mind Tracy was moaning, “Oh, yes, darling, yes, yes. Oh, God, I can't stand it… it's so wonderful…. Now, oh, now..”

Then the long, shuddering sigh and the soft, velvety silence. And it was all for him.

Soon you'll belong to me, Cooper thought. No one else will have you.

During the day, Tracy and Jeff went their separate ways, and wherever they went they were followed. Jeff visited a printing shop near Leidseplein, and two detectives watched from the street as he held an earnest conversation with the printer. When Jeff left, one of the detectives followed him. The other went into the shop and showed the printer his plastic-coated police identity card with the official stamp, photograph, and the diagonal red, white, and blue stripes.

“The man who just left here. What did he want?”

“He's run out of business cards. He wants me to print some more for him.”

“Let me see.”

The printer showed him a handwritten form:

Amsterdam Security Services

Cornelius Wilson, Chief Investigator

The following day Constable First-Class Fien Hauer waited outside a pet shop on Leidseplein as Tracy went in. When she emerged fifteen minutes later, Fien Hauer entered the shop and showed her identification.

“That lady who just left, what did she want?”

“She purchased a bowl of goldfish, two lovebirds, a canary, and a pigeon.”

A strange combination. “A pigeon, you said? You mean an ordinary pigeon?”

“Yes, but no pet store stocks them. I told her we would have to locate one for her.”

“Where are you sending these pets?”

“To her hotel, the Amstel.”

On the other side of town, Jeff was speaking to the vice-president of the Amro Bank. They were closeted together for thirty minutes, and when Jeff left the bank, a detective went into the manager's office.

“The man who just walked out. Please tell me why he was here.”

“Mr. Wilson? He's chief investigator for the security company our bank uses. They're revising the security system.”

“Did he ask you to discuss the present security arrangements with him?”

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he did.”

“And you told him?”

“Of course. But naturally I first took the precaution of telephoning to make sure his credentials were in order.”

“Whom did you telephone?”

“The security service — the number was printed on his identification card.”

At 3:00 that afternoon an armored truck pulled up outside the Amro Bank. From across the street, Jeff snapped a picture of the truck, while in a doorway a few yards away a detective photographed Jeff.

At police headquarters at Elandsgracht Inspector van Duren was spreading out the rapidly accumulating evidence on the desk of Chief Commissioner Toon Willems.

“What does all this signify?” the chief commissioner asked in his dry, thin voice.

Daniel Cooper spoke. “I'll tell you what she's planning.” His voice was heavy with conviction. “She's planning to hijack the gold shipment.”

They were all staring at him.

Commissioner Willems said, “And I suppose you know how she intends to accomplish this miracle?”

“Yes.” He knew something they did not know. He knew Tracy Whitney's heart and soul and mind. He had put himself inside her, so that he could think like her, plan like her… and anticipate her every move.

“By using a fake security truck and getting to the bank before the real truck, and driving off with the bullion.”

“That sounds rather farfetched, Mr. Cooper.”

Inspector van Duren broke in. “I don't know what their scheme is, but they are planning something, Chief Commissioner. We have their voices on tape.”

Daniel Cooper remembered the other sounds he had imagined: the night whispers, the cries and moans. She was behaving like a bitch in heat. Well, where he would put her, no man would ever touch her again.