"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 G.o.d-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, G.o.d, 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 ident.i.ty 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-Cla.s.s 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 acc.u.mulating 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 antic.i.p.ate 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 b.i.t.c.h in heat. Well, where he would put her, no man would ever touch her again.

The inspector was saying, "They learned the security routine of the bank. They know what time the armored truck makes its pickup and---"

The chief commissioner was studying the report in front of him. "Lovebirds, a pigeon, goldfish, a canary--- do you think any of this nonsense has something to do with the robbery?"

"No," Van Duren said.

"Yes," Cooper said.

Constable First-Cla.s.s Fien Hauer, dressed in an aqua polyester slack suit, trailed Tracy Whitney down Prinsengracht, across the Magere Bridge, and when Tracy reached the other side of the ca.n.a.l, Fien Hauer looked on in frustration as Tracy stepped into a public telephone booth and spoke into the phone for five minutes. The constable would have been just as unenlightened if she could have heard the conversation.

Gunther Hartog, in London, was saying, "We can depend on Margo, but she'll need time--- at least two more weeks." He listened a moment. "I understand. When everything is ready, I will get in touch with you. Be careful. And give my regards to Jeff."

Tracy replaced the receiver and stepped out of the booth. She gave a friendly nod to the woman in the aqua pantsuit who stood waiting to use the telephone.

At 11:00 the following morning a detective reported to Inspector van Duren, "I'm at the Wolters Truck Rental Company, Inspector. Jeff Stevens has just rented a truck from them."

"What kind of truck?"

"A service truck, Inspector."

"Get the dimensions. I'll hold on."

A few minutes later the detective was back on the phone. "I have them. The truck is---"

Inspector van Duren said, "A step van, twenty feet long, seven feet wide, six feet high, dual axles."

There was an astonished pause. "Yes, Inspector. How did you know?"

"Never mind. What color is it?"

"Blue."

"Who's following Stevens?"

"Jacobs."

"Goed. Report back here."

Joop van Duren replaced the receiver. He looked up at Daniel Cooper. "You were right. Except that the van is blue."

"He'll take it to an auto paint shop."

The paint shop was located in a garage on the Damrak. Two men sprayed the truck a gun-metal gray, while Jeff stood by. On the roof of the garage a detective shot photographs through the skylight.

The pictures were on Inspector van Duren's desk one hour later.

He shoved them toward Daniel Cooper. "It's being painted the identical color of the real security truck. We could pick them up now, you know."

"On what charges? Having some false business cards printed and painting a truck? The only way to make the charges stick is to catch them when they pick up the bullion."

The little p.r.i.c.k acts like he's running the department. "What do you think he'll do next?"

Cooper was carefully studying the photograph. "This truck won't take the weight of the gold. They'll have to reinforce the floorboards."

It was a small, out-of-the-way garage on Muider Straat.

"Goede morgen, mijnheer. How may I serve you?"

"I'm going to be carrying some sc.r.a.p iron in this truck," Jeff explained, "and I'm not sure the floorboards are strong enough to take the weight. I'd like them reinforced with metal braces. Can you do that?"

The mechanic walked over to the truck and examined it. "Ja. No problem."

"Good."

"I can have it ready vrijdag--- Friday."

"I was hoping to have it tomorrow."

"Morgen? Nee. Ik---"

"I'll pay you double."

"Donderdag--- Thursday."

"Tomorrow. I'll pay you triple."

The mechanic scratched his chin thoughtfully. "What time tomorrow?"

"Noon."

"Ja. Okay."

"Dank je wel."

"Tot uw dienst."

Moments after Jeff left the garage a detective was interrogating the mechanic.

On the same morning the team of surveillance experts a.s.signed to Tracy followed her to the Oude Schans Ca.n.a.l, where she spent half an hour in conversation with the owner of a barge. When Tracy left, one of the detectives stepped aboard the barge. He identified himself to the owner, who was sipping a large bessenjenever, the potent red-currant gin. "What did the young lady want?"

"She and her husband are going to take a tour of the ca.n.a.ls. She's rented my barge for a week."

"Beginning when?"

"Friday. It's a beautiful vacation, mijnheer. If you and your wife would be interested in---"

The detective was gone.