Wolf Angel, Mark Hobson [best free ebook reader for pc .txt] 📗

vantage point, he fished out his mobile and dialled a number. Pieter answered on the first ring.

“I think we might have him Boss”

He quickly told Pieter everything that had happened, the journey across the city, and where Kohnstaam had ended up.

“Schreierstoren?” Pieter asked in confirmation.

“Yes. He’s still inside now.”

“Are you sure he didn’t spot you tailing him?”

“He had no idea. He was in too much of a hurry to notice anything.”

Still holding the phone to his ear, Beumers continued to stare at the building, thinking hard. He heard Pieter’s voice come through the phone again.

“Wait there. Don’t go inside until I arrive with backup and-”

But Beumers cut the call, and moved out from his hiding place.

In his office at Police HQ on Elandsgracht, Pieter stared at his silent mobile phone in horror. He quickly pressed the call-back button and listened in dismay as it went straight to voicemail, which meant either Beumers had switched off or he was already inside the building and wouldn’t be able to get a signal.

Jumping to his feet he snatched his Walter P5 from its secure metal box and slipped it into his waist-belt holster, and then rushed out of the office, bellowing for some backup.

Beumers walked quickly down the narrow street, the slight incline passing the main entrance, and stepped through a small wooden gate. A narrow flight of wooden stairs led down the side of the building to the small deck below. Tied up there was a long motor launch with a wooden cabin. There was no sign of anybody, everything was still, but he nevertheless felt his heart starting to race as he withdrew his sidearm. Gripping it in both hands he kept the barrel pointed down, and with his left shoulder brushing the brickwork of the building he carefully descended the staircase.

                                                  The weeping Tower

Only twice previously during his fourteen years in the police had he been required to draw his gun while on active duty, and he’d never actually had to fire it. Preying that today would be no different he moved slowly down one step at a time, his mouth suddenly dry, his breath coming in quick rasps.

At the bottom he moved along the deck and paused just this side of the entrance to the boathouse. Counting silently to three, he swung quickly around the corner, arms outstretched and pointing the gun dead ahead. Swinging from side to side to cover the interior, quickly establishing there was nobody here, and then casting his eyes over the small speedboat floating inside and seeing this too was empty. He breathed a sigh of relief and took a moment to get his bearings and scan the layout of the boathouse.

The speedboat was in the centre with its bow pointing towards the building’s wide entrance. There was a walkway around the inside walls of the boathouse, going down the side, then across the back behind the boat, and then along the opposite wall where it led to an open doorway. Hung on the walls were a number of fishing rods and nets, plus a life-ring. In the far corner was an empty deckchair, and beside it a steaming mug of tea or coffee.

Treading as quietly as he could, Beumers followed the walkway around, thinking perhaps coming in alone wasn’t the wisest of decisions but knowing it was too late to change his mind now. Drawing to a halt near the doorway he snatched a quick look before pulling his head back out of sight. Still nobody. Just another set of steps leading upwards.

Once again, he moved as quietly and slowly as possible, but this time going up into the main building itself.

At the top was a large and open room. There were several windows down both sides, letting in bright sunlight from outside, allowing him to take a good look.

There wasn’t much to see as the room was mostly bare. He guessed this must have once been the main bar area but now all of the fixtures and fittings had been ripped out, the furniture all removed, the floorboards were all covered in a layer of dust and pieces of crumbling plaster from the walls. High on one wall was an old ship’s figurehead, a naked woman’s upper torso, leaning out and leering down at him. Apart from this and a couple of shallow alcoves beside the gutted fireplace, there was nothing.

Except over in the far corner was an iron spiral staircase, twisting around and up before disappearing through the roof to the upper level. Which meant that Kohnstaam, together with whoever he had been in such a hurry to see, must be up there. There was nowhere else where they could be.

Taking several deep breaths to fortify himself, Beumers started out across the room, his firearm once again pointing forward.

Passing beneath the steady gaze of the figurehead, he didn’t notice the man standing upright in one of the alcoves, he only heard the scrape of footsteps after he had gone by, when it was too late.

Something came down over his head, and a pair of huge hands held whatever it was in place, and when Beumers opened his mouth to yell in fright and realized he couldn’t draw in any air, or breathe at all, he knew it was a plastic bag. A terrifying panic gripped him, and he brought up the gun, but just as he was reaching backwards to fire at the person standing behind him, another person came into view, the face all distorted and pale-looking through the plastic bag. Then he was punched hard in the stomach and what little air he had in his lungs was expelled, the gun flew from his grasp, and something was being coiled around his neck, cinching the bag tight, either a rope or a belt. The inside of the bag misted up,