Wolf Angel Mark Hobson (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📖

while, he laid the paper down and stretched one arm out on the back of the bench, looking all nonchalant, but with his eyes fixed on the building across the street.

After a while, with nothing happening and his empty stomach starting to rumble, he contemplated dashing over to the nearby kiosk to quickly grab a sandwich and a coffee. He would still be able to watch the doorway, and he would only be gone for two minutes. Yet just as he was about to get to his feet the decision was made for him. The office light suddenly blinked off and the three windows went dark, and Beumers’ body stiffened in anticipation.

Sure enough, about a minute later the narrow door opened and out stepped the distinctive form of Levi Kohnstaam.

Now dressed in an overcoat over his ill-fitting suit, and with a black leather briefcase in his hand, the portly jeweller paused briefly as he locked the door, and then set off, waddling his way along the pavement in the direction of Rozengracht Bridge. Beumers waited until he was about fifty metres or so in front, and then rose and followed.

Kohnstaam turned onto the bridge and crossed over, the large tower of Westerkerk looming overhead. He continued on down the busy thoroughfare of Raadhuisstraat, passing over several more canals as he headed in the direction of Dam Square.

                                   Raadhuisstraat and Westerkerk

Beumers matched the jeweller's pace, keeping a steady distance behind but not wanting to let him get too far ahead and risk losing sight of him in the busy streets. He wondered whether to call Pieter Van Dijk, to let him know their man was on the move, but he decided to wait and see exactly where he was headed first, or whom he was planning to meet with.

The large edifice of The Royal Palace came into view, marking the end of the road, and Kohnstaam veered across the pavement and skirted around the corner of the large grey building. Beumers lost sight of him temporarily and he hurried forward, hoping to catch up, and then to his relief caught a glimpse of him again as he cut a diagonal path across the cobbles of Dam Square.

The jeweller was a fast walker for such a large man, his legs moving like pistons, and Beumers thought perhaps he was hungrily making for one of the hot-dog stands, but instead he bustled by them and then dashed across Damrak, weaving in and out between the trams and bicycles.

Again Beumers lost sight of the waddling figure and he swore under his breath, thinking maybe he had been seen, but when he followed across the busy street he soon spotted him again, going by the large obelisk of the National Monument and turning left down the narrow pedestrianized Warmoesstraat.

This was the edge of the red-light district and where most of the gay bars were located. At this time of the afternoon it was starting to get busy, and Beumers had to dodge around people just to maintain visual contact with his target. Once more, he was impressed with the fast pace Kohnstaam was setting. Perhaps he had a rendezvous with a boyfriend? Or was about to turn down Sint Annenstraat to enjoy an afternoon with one of the window girls? It wasn’t unusual to see men suddenly pick up speed as they neared their destination here.

But Kohnstaam instead continued on straight down the street, head down and briefcase swinging. At the far end there was a sharp turn to the right, or alternatively there was a tiny little passageway that continued straight on, and the jeweller chose the latter. Somewhat hesitantly, Beumers followed him into the narrow passage.

His nose wrinkled at the smell of stale urine, the cobbles here always in the shade and puddled from underground seepage from the sewers. Halfway down the alley had a slight turn, and then thankfully re-emerged back into daylight, and Beumers found himself stepping out by the side of St Nicolaaskerk Cathedral. He was just in time to see Kohnstaam slip around the far corner.

Jogging along the pavement Beumers sneaked a look around the side of the wall. Kohnstaam was just disappearing down some steps alongside a familiar-looking building, which was perched over a canal.

He finally relaxed, for there was nowhere else for the jeweller to go. He had reached his destination.

Standing there and breathing hard after the quick walk across the city centre, Beumers studied the short, circular squat building ahead of him. This was The Weeping Tower, or Schreierstoren to give it its proper name. Beumers knew a little about the place as it was a well-known landmark to locals if not the tourists. It was part of the old city defences, and the spot where in centuries past the womenfolk came to wave off their husbands as they set sail on riggers and whalers, crying quietly to themselves as they watched the sailing ships depart.

A few years ago Beumers knew the place had been renovated and turned into a trendy bar, but more recently it had shut down and from what he understood was now empty again. There was one entrance on this side, a solid-looking, old door at the top of a short flight of stairs. Above this, and set at various intervals in the building’s round walls were a number of square windows. The roof was squared off, but atop this and looking like a witches pointy hat was a steep triangular slate turret.

Looking back at the door Beumers noticed it was padlocked on the outside, and Kohnstaam hadn’t used this entrance anyway, instead he had descended the steps to the side. Down there, Beumers knew there was an old wooden deck down at the canal-level, and beside this was a small boathouse underneath the stone tower itself. There must be a way into the building down there.

Leaning against the wall from his