Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) (25 page)

While he’d waited for her to arrive for dinner, he’d borrowed a book from the concierge on the history of the building. He’d been aware that the building had been erected for the Burgerziekenhuis and had been designed by the same architect as the famous Concertgebouw, but the book had been informative.
 

Last time Chang had been in Amsterdam, the graceful Burgerziekenhuis building had become an office for the City Council, which always struck Chang as a disgrace for a historical building, where Queen Wilhelmina and her daughter Princess Juliana had stayed, when Juliana’s husband Bernhard was recuperating from a serious accident in 1937, and soccer genius Johan Cruyff was born ten years later.

When the Burgerziekenhuis opened in 1891, the hospital had been a technical as well as an esthetic marvel, with a huge main building and a spacious garden with separate pavilions, electric illumination, central heating and water-powered elevators. Economic recession and the Second World War depleted the budget and the Burgerziekenhuis hovered on the brink of closing in the post-war years, but in the 1960s the building was renovated and regained its position as a modern hospital until it became once again superfluous when the Academic Medical Center and the VU Medical Center were built in the 1980s. One month before its Centennial, the Burgerziekenhuis closed its doors.

The hospital pavilions, situated behind the main building, were converted into offices and housing, but the beautiful main building needed to be rescued. With minor renovations that left most of the old building intact, the decentralised City Council used the building in 1992 to house Stadsdeel Oost, the local council for the East borough. When the East borough merged with Watergraafsmeer, the need for more office space caused the Stadsdeel to move out again in 2008. For almost four years the former Burgerziekenhuis temporarily housed a police station, until it came into the hands of the Eden hotel chain, who turned it into their four star hotel, the Manor.
 

When Chang became aware of the chance to book a room in the famous building, he didn’t hesitate at all. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over Rolling Stone fans camping out on the steps, like he had the last time he stayed at the Amstel Hotel.

Jacqueline was climaxing in the bath and slipped down under the soapy surface. She reappeared a moment later, her blond hair plastered around her face and her eyes shining. Chang smiled as she pranced wet and naked into the room.

“Would you like to chase the dragon?” he asked and showed her the heroin. Her eyes twinkled and she kneeled by the bed, resting her head on his thigh and blowing kisses at his penis while he warmed the heroin with the butane lighter and handed her the silver pipe.

Chang drifted behind black-dressed Ah Sung, making his way through the dusky forest near Utrecht. In preparation for the task ahead, he’d taken half a dose of Halcion with a few grams of the first-grade heroin. The triazolam enhanced the warm cloak of the heroin without extra fuzziness, settling his nerves and helping him control his heart rate. Plus it helped against the pain in his joints, making the track through the forest a pleasant stroll, instead of an arduous journey. Ah Sung held a tree branch away from the path, to prevent it from sweeping into Chang’s face. He smiled at the thoughtfulness of his assistant. Too bad his affliction stood in the way of more exalted positions—a deaf-mute Incense Master or Vanguard would never be taken seriously. Dusk descended on the Utrechtse Heuvelrug as they entered a clearing just beyond the woods. Chang pointed at the ground and they settled in, Ah Sung placing the Pelican case with the PGM rifle flat in the grass.
 

Chang snapped open the case and purposely slowed down his hands as he put the PGM together. Ah Sung watched the assemblage of the sniper rifle with unabashed attention. In storage position, the stock was already folded, the cheekpiece removed, and the safety engaged, so all Chang had to do was introduce the bolt into the receiver, close the bolt, release the trigger, and open the bolt in the rear position. He unfolded the stock, fixed the cheek piece, and inserted the five-round magazine.

Ah Sung motioned something, his hand moving away so fast it almost left a vapour trail.
 

Chang shook his head. “That’s not quick.”

With practiced ease he quickly dissembled the sniper rifle again and put it in the case, cracked his fingers and showed Ah Sung how to assemble the PGM in under thirty seconds. The young man was suitably impressed, but Chang smiled. “Breaking down the rifle speedily to get away from a kill zone is much more important than speed assembly.”

He took out the 5mm hexagonal spanner and adjusted the height and length of the stock.
 

“Normally, with a new barrel, I’d have to break it in. Clean the barrel with a cleaning wick, fire a round, clean the barrel with a bronze bore brush and a cleaning wick. Repeat ten times, at the minimum, then fire ten series of three rounds, cleaning the barrel with the bronze bore brush and the cleaning wick between each series. Let it cool off in between, then fire ten series of five rounds, same procedure.”

Ah Sung tapped his watch.

“Yes,” Chang replied. “I left that to the gunsmith. Most snipers will not trust someone else to break in their barrels, but my time is too precious and I don’t have the right location to do a proper breaking in anyway.”

Chang opened his briefcase. The black foam held six scopes in a neat row, in order of range. The short range were all Schmidt & Bender, but the long range had recently been replaced with Zeiss Tactical scopes. In the extreme right corner was a Zeiss rangefinder and a small box with his business cards. Ah Sung checked the business card, marking Chang as a representative of Tactical Silence Products.

“TSP thinks I’m a ‘former’ sniper.” Ah Sung smiled and Chang smiled back. “It’s a good deal. I get to deduct most of my expenses as I travel around the world praising their products, while I get their best scopes and rangefinders for free. Except that in most demonstrations, the client provides the rifle.”

Ah Sung tapped his PDA. ‘14K paid for this rifle.’

“As well they should,” Chang replied. “I’m doing them a favour.”

The PGM with regular barrel was accurate up to eight hundred meters, but up to a mere two hundred meters in the current suppressed barrel conversion, so Chang attached the Schmidt & Bender 3-12x50 Precision Hunter scope to the Picatinny rail. With his face against the cheek piece he adjusted windage and took a shot at a tree two hundred meters away and twelve point five meters lower than their vantage point.

He noted the shot in his notebook and adjusted the windage, then racked the bolt, noted where the spent cartridge landed as it flipped from the ejection port, took another shot, and adjusted the elevation with two more rounds. Four shots for a hundred percent accuracy. The shots hardly made any noise in the open air, but if he had to shoot from inside a room, as expected, there’d still be some noise to attract attention.

Ah Sung watched every move and collected the four spent cartridges.

“Would you like to take the last shot?”

His dark eyes widened and he nodded.

Chang got up carefully and motioned for Ah Sung to lie down behind the rifle. When the young man was lying prone behind the rifle, Chang bent his arms and legs into the sniper’s position and positioned his head against the cheek piece of the stock. Chang lay down next to the rifle, facing Ah Sung, and spoke slowly, “Slow down your breath and your heart rate. This rifle has a light trigger, it won’t need much pressure. Take your time. When ready to fire, exhale and hold your breath, and shoot between two heartbeats.”

For more than a minute, Ah Sung gazed through the scope, his finger next to the trigger. He slowly put his finger around the trigger and exhaled long and slow, then fired. Chang checked the muzzle flash, but it was minimal. Ah Sung slowly took his head away from the cheekpiece, his luminous smile expressing more joy than anyone could verbalise.

“Let’s gather our stuff,” Chang said, and broke down the rifle.

-o-

As they drove back, Ah Sung reached in his inside pocket and checked the screen of his PDA, then handed the PDA to Chang. On the screen was a list of three telephone numbers, two with names behind them, one with a question mark.

“These your uncle’s last calls?”

Ah Sung nodded.

“Is there a way to backtrack the unknown number?”

Ah Sung shook his head, extended his index and little finger and held it to his ear, to indicate that Chang could call the number.

“Do you have a phone I can use?”

Ah Sung took the PDA from his hand, pressed a few buttons and handed it back. Chang held it to his ear.
 

“
Ja
?” a male voice answered in Dutch.

“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Tsui Pak Yun.”

“And who might you be?”

“I’m looking into his death,” Chang replied and heard an intake of breath.
 

The voice on the other end was slightly shaky. “He’s dead?”

“Yes, he was assaulted and he died from his wounds. Your number is one of the last numbers he called.”

“You’re not with the police. Who are you?”

“I’m asked to look into his death, mister …?”

“I cannot help you,” the man replied. “Good luck.”

“I think…” Chang said, but the line went dead. He handed the PDA back to Ah Sung and settled deeper into the seat, closing his eyes.

-o-

Zhang looked at Kouwenoord with bemusement. “The car was stolen, detective. What happened on the motorway was in no way connected to my firm.”

“Really? We think the deceased, Bernard Wong, is one of your relatives. According to the Hong Kong police, Wong is your nephew.”

“Bernard?” Zhang widened his eyes. “That is terrible.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know Wong was in the car?”

Zhang closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. They had spoken with the Hong Kong police. That was bad.

“Was my nephew behind the wheel?”

“He was in the passenger seat.” Kouwenoord tilted his head. “Last time we spoke, I inquired if your firm received any threats, do you remember?”

“Yes, but we didn’t. And we still don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I knew Bernard was in the Netherlands, but I had no idea he was involved in anything criminal.”

“Why do you think he was involved in anything criminal, Mr. Zhang?”

“Well, I mean, he was in a stolen car.”

“Yes, stolen from you.”

“Stolen from my firm,” Zhang corrected. “We have several Lexus vehicles. One of our drivers left his keys in the ignition, and five minutes later the car was gone. I had no idea Bernard was involved in a car stealing ring.”

“The driver,” Kouwenoord said. “The one who left his keys. Did he look like this?”

He pushed glossy photographs across the desk, clearly enlarged stills from a traffic camera. The Lexus with one door open, smoke billowing out. A dark figure vaulting the divider, back to the camera. None of the stills captured Nicky’s face.

“You expect me to identify someone from this?” Zhang looked up at Kouwenoord. “I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

“Maybe this one is better,” Kouwenoord said and showed him a still from a security camera. Nicky leaving the hospital, collar of his black leather jacket turned up, cap down low over his face. Just a fraction of his goatee was showing, hardly enough to identify him as Chinese. “We believe this is the same person.”

“If you say so,” Zhang said. “They’re both pretty average-looking.”

“This person left the hospital, about twenty minutes before your nephew was found dead in his hospital bed.”

Zhang studied Kouwenoord. “And you think this person is somehow involved in my nephew’s death?”

“Mr. Wong’s injuries were not life-threatening. And we found spittle on the reverse side of the pillow he was resting on.”

“Spittle?”

“Your nephew was smothered with the pillow, Mr. Zhang. He was murdered.”

Zhang rubbed his eyes. “This is quite a lot to process, detective.”

Kouwenoord threw another camera still on the desk. “Here’s your nephew again, in another hospital. Here he enters, looking fine and dandy. On the second photo he’s leaving. He doesn’t look too well, does he? Pale, arms up to his chest? What does this look like to you?”

Zhang managed to keep the placid mask on his face, but he was seething inside. Fucking cameras everywhere. He studied the picture where Bernie entered the stairwell of the OLVG garage. In the background he thought he saw something, but the picture was too grainy.

“He looks like he’s hurt.”

“Yes, he does.” Kouwenoord put down another still picture. “And here he is walking down the Zeedijk. Isn’t your restaurant in this neighbourhood?”

“I have several restaurants,” Zhang replied. “And two of them are on the Zeedijk. Did you see where he went?”

“We think he went to your restaurant, Mr. Zhang.”

“You think or you know?”

Kouwenoord tossed two more still pictures on the desk, showing Bernie entering his restaurant, and leaving with Nicky, who knew about the cameras and always kept his face averted. The detective tapped the second picture. “That seems to be the driver of the Lexus. And the person leaving the hospital where your nephew was murdered.”

“It could be,” Zhang said. “They seem to have the same average build.”

“And the same clothes and facial hair.”

“Yes, jeans and a leather jacket.” Zhang shook his head. “I don’t consider that distinctive, detective.”

“He’s coming out of your restaurant.”

“You are starting to annoy me, detective Kouwenoord. Just because someone visits one of my restaurants does not qualify them as acquaintances. I hope you have something more substantial than your photos and allusions.”

Kouwenoord leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. “Yes, I do. Your brother Julian.”

“The Bad Apple,” Zhang said. “What about him?”

“Julian Zhang leads a criminal organisation in Hong Kong.”

Zhang rolled his eyes. “That’s why I said, ‘the Bad Apple’, detective.”