"Empty it."
Goldwasser hastened to comply. He spread the money and jewels out on a table and looked at them beseechingly. "Is this okay?"
"Take your clothes off." Stako ordered.
Goldwasser swallowed some blood. "What's that?"
Stako leveled his gun at Goldwasser's crotch. "Take them off, now!"
"He means it, Walter. If you don't hurry you'll never be able to show anyone your collection again."
Goldwasser didn't doubt that Stako would carry out his threat. With trembling hands he took off his clothes. When he was down to just his underpants he gave Fanny a beseeching look. "Please, Miss Galinda."
Fanny looked at his potbelly and shrugged her shoulders.
Moments later Goldwasser was sitting on a chair in just his underpants. He'd been bound to the chair hand and foot, with plastic handcuffs.
Kosta and Stako stuck their guns in their belts.
With growing fear Goldwasser saw how they pulled up a low table on which they put all sorts of instruments which they got from the pockets of their anoraks: a straight razor, two detonators, a transmitter, a syringe, and a few ampoules. But what frightened him most was the extension cord with a plug attached, alligator clips, and a voltage regulator.
Fanny pulled up a chair and made herself comfortable. "Shall we start by clearing up a few things?" She didn't wait for an answer, "As we know, your real name isn't Walter Goldwasser, but Salomon Slepak. And you're a Russian Jew. As Slepak you worked as a diamond sampler for the Department of Mineralogy in Siberia until the Soviet Union fell apart. After the wall came down, you went to Moscow to work for Igor Fedojev, an ex-KGB colonel who had started privately exporting Russian industrial diamonds."
Goldwasser shuffled his backside across the chair. "You have mistaken me for someone else, Miss Galinda. I was born in Vienna and lived there until I moved to Antwerp six years ago, to establish Diamonds International. I can prove it."
Fanny picked up the razor and opened it. "As Slepak you became Fedojev's confidant. Six years ago you brought a diamond valued at half a million dollars to London on a business plane owned by Fedojev. Once over the Channel the plane sent out a mayday. It crashed. Some time later the coastguard found the wreck. It was partly submerged, lying on a sandbank. The pilot's body and Slepak's had been washed away. The diamonds had disappeared as well." With a quick movement she put the razor on Goldwasser's hairy upper leg and scraped off some of the hair. A drop of blood welled up from a small nick and trickled down his shin. "I'd better shave all of it off to conduct the electricity better. Too bad for you my hand isn't very steady."
Goldwasser was shivering with fear. He understood that it made no sense to deny it. "The entire diamond trade in Russia was in the hands of the mob, Miss Galinda, headed by Fedojev. He forced me to work for him, but I wanted to lead an honest life, free from blackmail, murder, and manslaughter."
"Nobody leaves Fedojev, except feet first, Slepak. And anyone who crosses him signs his own death warrant. As his former lieutenant you should be aware of this." The razor slid across his chest in the direction of his navel and left fresh, bleeding cuts. Goldwasser's eyes nearly popped out with fear. "I haven't sold Fedojev short. I gave him the case with the diamonds back later, saying that it had just been found."
"You shouldn't have done that, Slepak, it made Fedojev think. Honesty doesn't always pay." The blade swiped downward.
Goldwasser couldn't take any more. "Stop, please." he begged. "Tell me how to make it up to you!"
"You can start by signing a document to the effect that Diamonds International will only trade in goods and money from Fedojev Trading."
That meant that his company would be used to launder Fedojev's money. He didn't care. Anything was better than this. "Okay!" Goldwasser moaned. "Untie me. I'll sign."
"Afterwards we'll drive to the Hovenierstraat together to empty the vault. A million euros is the least you owe Fedojev for your disloyalty."
"That can't be done until Monday morning at nine o'clock," Goldwasser said. "The vault is on a timer. Until then the security in and around that building is so good that a fly couldn't land in the parking lot without alerting the entire diamond district."
"I know," Fanny said. "But I also know that you have a secret code with which you can bypass the timer."
"That's right. But if anyone uses that number to open the vault, an automatic alarm signal is sent to the central office. They then send a patrol car to see what's going on. Even if I tell them over the phone that everything is all right, they will come and see whether I'm acting under duress."
"We've taken that into consideration." Fanny smiled. "As I officially work for you, nobody is going to think it strange that I'm in the building with you. And, to prevent your tongue from slipping when the police come to check, we'll put one of these small detonators in your underpants. It's remote controlled and the explosive power is just big enough to damage certain parts of the body permanently."
Goldwasser turned pale just at the thought. "It won't have to come to that," he said. "The code number is the arithmetical complement of the number on my ID card. It's very simple. For every digit you take the difference with nine, for the last digit, the difference with ten. My ID card is in my wallet."
Fanny stood up. "All right. But remember. We'll also detonate the device if you gave us the wrong number. Where's your wallet?"
"In my pocketbook." Suddenly his eyes opened wide. His breathing was so fast that Fanny thought for a moment he was having a heart attack.
"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.
"God help me. The pocketbook. I left it on the roof of the car… drove off… forgot. It's gone."
"That's not my problem. All I need is the code."
He shook his head violently. "That's just it. I don't know it by heart. Without my ID card we can't get in."
Fanny brought her face close to his. "You don't think you can trick me that easily, do you?"
The sweat was now pouring off him. "I swear to you, Miss Galinda. We'll have to wait until Monday morning. There's no other way."
Fanny straightened. "That's what you think. Kosta and Stako won't need more than ten minutes to help you refresh your memory." She snapped her fingers. "Go ahead, boys."
Kosta and Stako quickly went into action. Kosta unrolled the wire and plugged it in. Stako poured the Champagne over Goldwasser's head because he would conduct electricity better when wet. With a practiced move he clamped one of the alligator clips to the struggling Goldwasser's right nipple, and the other on the small toe of his left foot. Meanwhile, Kosta had the voltage regulator ready. "We work with a scale from one to ten," he declared with an evil grin. "We'll start you on four to warm you up. Until now we've never had to go higher than seven. Brace yourself."
Goldwasser bent his back in anticipation and screeched with fear.
But before Kosta could flip the switch, the doorbell's little melody rang through the house.
For seconds nobody moved. Then Fanny bent over Goldwasser and pushed the razor under his nose. "Are you expecting anyone?"
Goldwasser hardly dared move his mouth to answer. "No one."
Fanny increased the pressure. "A silent alarm maybe?"
"No way," Goldwasser whispered. "Check the monitor."
Fanny was beside the control panel in two steps and studied the screen. "Blast!" she said. "It's that bum with the two raincoats. What's he doing here?"
The doorbell rang a second time.
In a flash, Goldwasser remembered the tramp standing in the middle of the intersection waving a dark object. He thanked God for his mercy. "Let him in," he sighed, relieved. "The good fellow has found my pocketbook."
* * *
Fanny waited for Pier at the door. He recognized her by the red top. In his Antwerp Seefhoek dialect he asked her whether he could speak to Mr. Goldwasser. Fanny tried, first in French and then in English, to make him understand that he had better hand over the pocketbook straight away and then get lost. Because he didn't understand her, she lost patience with him. She pulled him inside, slammed the door shut, and took him upstairs.
Pier looked dumbfounded at the naked man in the chair, whom he recognized as the driver of the Mercedes. Rosa had told him that rich people played strange games sometimes and hurt each other for fun, but this seemed to be a little over the top to him. The woman in the miniskirt spoke to the two men in Russian. He'd boxed against a Russian once and he had sworn at Pier in that incomprehensible language during the whole bout until Pier had silenced him with a direct left. The man in the chair asked him about the pocketbook in Dutch and when he told him that it was still at Rosa's he went berserk. He alternated between begging for the pocketbook and cursing Pier for not bringing it. Pier got so upset that he didn't react immediately when the two men brought his hands together behind his back and cuffed him. Not until they pushed him roughly into a chair did it register that he was in trouble. "Stop that right now!" he protested. "If you think I'm going to play along with your dirty games, you're mistaken."
"It's not a game," Goldwasser moaned, beads of sweat on his forehead. "They are robbing me, those two men are vicious gangsters and if you don't give them my pocketbook and the wallet immediately, I wouldn't give a dime for our lives."
"Rosa has the pocketbook," Pier said with sudden clarity of mind. "She didn't want me carrying all that money across town and we didn't want to hand it in at the police station because of the reward we are going to send to Starving Africa."
"Rest assured, my good man. Give me back my wallet and I will reward you handsomely. Where does Rosa live?"
Pier shook his head. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone." No one was allowed to know they were living together, otherwise they would lose part of their social security.
"What's the moron saying?" Fanny asked impatiently.
Goldwasser translated, and Pier just couldn't understand why his refusal to give Rosa's address caused such a commotion. The angrier they got, the tighter he shut his mouth. They tore clumps of hair from his beard and used his head for a punching bag, but he had learned to take it and even when they threatened to cut off his left ear— the deaf one— but they didn't know that, he didn't even flinch. And just as the gong had saved him from a knockout in many of his fights, so the doorbell saved him now. It rang just as the man with the razor was about to carry out his threat.
* * *
Rosa had quit after only thirty mailboxes and returned home. She should have known better than to send Pier out on his own and with an unusual assignment. He was all right as long as he was in a familiar environment and stuck to his daily routine. Essentially he was a good man with a heart of gold who only wanted to do household chores for her or to take care of her when she had one of her attacks. They complemented each other perfectly. She had the brains, he the brawn.
She got to the house, put the pocketbook and its contents into a backpack, and got on the bike. Pier had a twenty-minute jump on her. The only way to overtake him now was in a taxi. As soon as she'd thought of it, she rejected the possibility. A taxi would cost bits of people, the money could be better spent. Pier would understand. In their mania for noble causes too, they were on the same wavelength.
In the Jan van Rijswijcklaan the wind was behind her so she could increase her tempo a little. She thought about her first meeting with Pier, a good seven years ago.
She'd been on her way home from the post office where she'd collected her monthly social security. Just fifty meters from her house she'd had one of her epileptic fits. She had severe muscle spasms and fell on the sidewalk against the front of her house. All the passersby walked around her and even when three young hoods took the opportunity to grab her handbag, no one intervened. Except Pier. He had seen what happened, collared one of the thieves and shook him. The other two had gone for Pier with knives. With a few well-aimed upper cuts, he knocked them off their feet. He had taken the stolen handbag from them and concerned himself with Rosa. The fit was over but now she had the blinding headache and confused feeling that always followed an attack. Pier had taken her in his arms and carried her up to her apartment on the third floor. He had stayed with her until she was able to take care of herself again. A few days later a pressure group had filed charges against Pier because he was an ex-boxer and had handled the young thieves too roughly. He was penalized and had had to pay their medical expenses. Ever since then, Rosa and Pier had kept each other going. She made sure he didn't get involved in any other incidents because Pier clearly didn't know his own strength. And he took care of her when she had one of her attacks.
She reached the Kastanjelaan and to her relief, saw his bicycle parked against the gate. She didn't hesitate for a moment. She put her thumb on the bell and kept it there.