She nodded her understanding and Carter stood, and then frowned when she saw him righting his clothes.
“You’re not staying the night?”
“Can’t. I’ll stay in my own hotel. And sleep.”
“Damn,” she murmured, “just like a man.”
The kiss at the door almost made him change his mind.
Eight
It was still dark when Carter checked out with his small flight bag and took a taxi to the Yum-Yum Club. In the rear of the club he found the motorbike, a big BMW.
One light rap on the door of the club and it was opened by the bulky Chinese. Wordlessly, Carter was handed a set of leathers and a helmet. He changed right there in the tiny hallway and stuffed his clothes in the bag. As he was leaving, he traded the bag for a long, leather-covered case. This he strapped to the BMW and kicked it into life.
Minutes later he was in the western part of the city fighting a slight drizzle and heavy fog. The fog, he thought, would be both good and bad. Hopefully it wouldn’t deter Huzel from talking to his Momma.
In Ijmuiden, he located the long-term parking lot and fed coins into the meter until he had enough slips for a week’s parking. Back on the bike to the cemetery and church.
Everything was quiet and there was no light on in the caretaker’s cottage. He went directly to the spot he had picked out, and hid the case containing the air rifle and the case among the stones. Then he jogged around the perimeter to the two rear entrances. As quietly as possible, he closed the gates and hung the No Admittance signs on both of them.
The fog was still heavy but the gray light of dawn was valiantly trying to penetrate it as he rode back to the village of Ijmuiden. He located a small roadside café and sat at a front table by the window and had breakfast.
He was on a second cup of coffee when he spotted the ambulance go past. His watch said a little after nine o’clock.
He paid for the breakfast and rode the bike back to the cemetery. At the main entrance he saw no sign of the ambulance, but Mortimer, in a pair of blue coveralls and a heavy jacket, was moving litter around with a rake.
Carter rode on through the cemetery to the caretaker’s cottage and honked twice. The door opened and Lorena’s head popped out.
“Done,” she murmured.
Carter nodded and wheeled the BMW around to a lean-to in the rear of the cottage. He killed the engine and jogged through the stones to his place of concealment.
When he had the air rifle out of its case and assembled, he lifted one of the two darts that Mortimer had supplied and pulled off the plastic cap over the point. Then he crimped the fine plastic flanges and slid it into the firing chamber. Next came the CO2 cartridge. When its head was pierced, he heard the slight whoosh of air release that would fire the dart. Carefully, he removed the second dart’s tip and set it on the gravestone beside him. With the scope sight and the short range, he was sure he wouldn’t need it, but it was there just in case.
Then, resisting the desire for a cigarette, Carter wormed his way down between the stones to wait.
The moment he heard the car the Killmaster became instantly alert. Through the stones he could see the Opal moving through the fog. It turned into the gate, passing Mortimer without slowing. About thirty feet from the tomb the Opal stopped and Huzel got out.
He was a handsome devil, Carter thought, if you liked them mean. He would be a great success with ladies who preferred their sex swift and brutal.
Huzel paused beside the car, his eyes taking in every tree and stone. He took a cigarette from a black case and lit it.
The man, Carter thought, was like an animal, always wary, alert, sniffing the air for danger.
At last Huzel was apparently satisfied. He moved forward.
Carter’s eyes drifted from Huzel to Mortimer. He had abandoned his rake and was closing the gate. He hung the No Admittance sign and was gone. With the fog it was doubtful that they would have any more visitors, but the closed gate would provide some insurance.
Huzel was almost to the tomb now, a ring of keys in his hand. When he reached the iron gate of the tomb’s door, he stopped and slipped one of the keys into the lock.
Carter put the man’s neck in the cross hairs of the sight. He wasn’t moving. It was the simplest shot in the world.
He squeezed the trigger.
The little dart entered the side of Huzel’s neck and hung there like an enlarged bee sting.
The carotid is the principal artery of the neck; it is as thick as a garden hose. As Huzel felt the sting he jerked his head back. His hand moved toward the holster, and his heart pumped with dispassionate efficiency. Arteries carry blood from the heart to the tissues. This one went straight — that critically short distance — to his brain.
The Killmaster was reaching for the second dart, when Huzel pitched forward. He had barely hit the ground when Carter whistled.
Everything had been coordinated.
Lorena sprinted from the caretaker’s cottage. She opened the front gate just as Mortimer, in the ambulance, drove out of the trees. Lorena didn’t pause but ran right to the back gates and opened them.
Carter methodically went through Huzel’s pockets, transferring everything he found to his own.
“One shot?” Mortimer asked.
“That’s all it took,” Carter grunted.
Together they hefted Huzel to the rear. When the doors were open they sat him up and undressed him. When he was dressed again in a hospital gown and a heavy terry-cloth robe, he was strapped onto the gurney and covered.
Lorena appeared at the rear of the ambulance. “Caretaker’s still out, no cars on the road.”
Carter produced the two rings of keys he had taken from Huzel’s pockets. The larger ring held the keys to his flats and house and probably his shop. Keys on the smaller ring belonged to the fleet of cars he used.
Carter passed the car-ring to Lorena along with the parking lot stamps, and then turned to Mortimer. The man had already peeled off the windbreaker, flannel shirt, and coveralls. Beneath them he wore the white smock and pants of a driver or orderly.
“Drive to the café behind the church and have coffee,” Carter instructed. “Lorena, as soon as you leave Huzel’s car in the parking lot, head for the ambulance.”
They both nodded.
“Now,” Carter said, “where do we rendezvous?”
“At Weesp, in the parking lot of the school,” Lorena answered.
“Good enough,” Carter said. “Let’s move!”
Mortimer headed back toward the village first. Two minutes later, Lorena followed in Huzel’s car. Two minutes after that, Carter fired up the motorcycle and headed for Amsterdam.
Carter felt a clammy sweat roll down his back as he parked the bike and slung the courier’s bag over his shoulder. It was just past noon. He had already gone through Huzel’s country house and one of the two flats in the city. He hadn’t found what he was looking for in either place.
Did Huzel keep the records of his foreign customers in his head? Did he memorize every address, contact method, the telephone number of everyone he bought and sold from?
Carter hoped to strike pay dirt here, in the second flat.
The houses were all in a row, exactly alike, stretching from one canal to another. He located the number and entered the hall. Cooking smells assailed his nostrils and somewhere a radio played jazz.
He took the steps to the third floor two at a time and attacked the lock. The fifth key on the ring opened the door.