Peccadillo - A Katla Novel (Amsterdam Assassin Series Book 2) by Martyn V. Halm
Authors: Martyn V. Halm
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underwater lamp, while Zeph grabbed the rope with the hook and threaded it through the handle of the large toolbox to lower the gear into the cargo hold.
The underwater lamp threw bright white light against the walls and Katla positioned it at an angle where she didn’t look into the glare. She shrugged out of her jacket, hung it from the engine room door, and unrolled the small toolkit. She took a jar of dark jelly and rubbed it in her hands.
“What’s that?”
“Protective jelly. Makes it easier to clean my hands afterward.”
“What I can do, sista?”
She uncoupled the cables. “Throw the switches in the fuse box.”
“Anything else?”
“Watch what I’m doing. Next time you can try it yourself.”
Zeph sat on the floor and watched her dismantle the generator. She hummed under her breath and moved unhurried but steadfast, arranging the parts she removed in ordered rows on the engine room floor.
Katla straightened. “My pager is vibrating. On my belt.”
She turned her left side to him and Zeph slipped the pager from the clip on her belt, showing her the number on the screen. “Bram.”
“Can you call him from your cell?”
He called Bram, who answered on the first ring. “Ja?”
“Yo, bredda. You page Katla?”
“Is she with you?”
“She is fixing I-man generator,” Zeph said. “I put her on.”
He held the phone at her ear and Katla asked Bram in Dutch where he was. She listened with a grave expression on her face, told him to come to the Mojo and looked at Zeph. “You can switch it off.”
“Bram coming?”
“Yes.”
He pressed the red button on his phone. “Everything cool, sista?”
“No problem,” she replied and resumed her work on the generator, not humming under her breath anymore.
-o-
Finished with cleaning the generator, Katla leant back and rolled her head like a boxer, to ease the stiffness in her neck.
“Done?” Zeph asked. She turned to the Rastafarian and said, “Time to test it.”
She started the generator. The metal walls echoed the sound back to her, but she disregard the echo and listened to the main rhythm.
“Sound good,” Zeph spoke behind her. “No noise.”
Katla put a finger to her lips to silence him and adjusted a valve with her screwdriver. The basic design made tuning the generator far less difficult than the average car engine, but it was still a precision job. She took a voltmeter from her kit and measured the outlet under the light switch and nodded at Zeph. He threw the first switch in the fuse box. The fluctuation was probably a result of the ancient wiring. The lamps in the machine room bloomed to life when he flipped the second switch and she measured the outlet again.
Still the same. Good. Otherwise the whole ship might have to be rewired.
Zeph tapped the last switch. “Hothouse.”
“Flip it,” Katla said, her eyes on the voltmeter’s digital readout. Again a flicker, but the drain was constant, so there was no need to worry. From behind the door came a hum and a reddish glow.
Zeph grinned. “UV lights.”
Katla wiped her hands on a dirty cloth and packed her tools, still listening to the smooth thrumming of the generator. Zeph took her toolboxes and carried them out of the engine room. She followed him with the underwater lamp and halted by the door. The cargo hold in front of her held five long rows and three stories high of flower boxes. Zeph placed her toolboxes by the ladder, walked back and halted in the middle of the hold.
“You like I-man hothouse?”
Katla climbed out of the engine room. “Is that cannabis?”
“Ganja, sista. Tha Holy Herb.”
Each box was provided with an electric dripper to moisten the earth and adjustable ultraviolet lamps that hung from the shelf above, except for the boxes on the top shelf, whose lamps were attached to the iron dome of the cargo hold.
Zeph caressed a small plant in the middle story. “Clones I grow at eye level. Later I slide boxes from frame, put them up
The underwater lamp threw bright white light against the walls and Katla positioned it at an angle where she didn’t look into the glare. She shrugged out of her jacket, hung it from the engine room door, and unrolled the small toolkit. She took a jar of dark jelly and rubbed it in her hands.
“What’s that?”
“Protective jelly. Makes it easier to clean my hands afterward.”
“What I can do, sista?”
She uncoupled the cables. “Throw the switches in the fuse box.”
“Anything else?”
“Watch what I’m doing. Next time you can try it yourself.”
Zeph sat on the floor and watched her dismantle the generator. She hummed under her breath and moved unhurried but steadfast, arranging the parts she removed in ordered rows on the engine room floor.
Katla straightened. “My pager is vibrating. On my belt.”
She turned her left side to him and Zeph slipped the pager from the clip on her belt, showing her the number on the screen. “Bram.”
“Can you call him from your cell?”
He called Bram, who answered on the first ring. “Ja?”
“Yo, bredda. You page Katla?”
“Is she with you?”
“She is fixing I-man generator,” Zeph said. “I put her on.”
He held the phone at her ear and Katla asked Bram in Dutch where he was. She listened with a grave expression on her face, told him to come to the Mojo and looked at Zeph. “You can switch it off.”
“Bram coming?”
“Yes.”
He pressed the red button on his phone. “Everything cool, sista?”
“No problem,” she replied and resumed her work on the generator, not humming under her breath anymore.
-o-
Finished with cleaning the generator, Katla leant back and rolled her head like a boxer, to ease the stiffness in her neck.
“Done?” Zeph asked. She turned to the Rastafarian and said, “Time to test it.”
She started the generator. The metal walls echoed the sound back to her, but she disregard the echo and listened to the main rhythm.
“Sound good,” Zeph spoke behind her. “No noise.”
Katla put a finger to her lips to silence him and adjusted a valve with her screwdriver. The basic design made tuning the generator far less difficult than the average car engine, but it was still a precision job. She took a voltmeter from her kit and measured the outlet under the light switch and nodded at Zeph. He threw the first switch in the fuse box. The fluctuation was probably a result of the ancient wiring. The lamps in the machine room bloomed to life when he flipped the second switch and she measured the outlet again.
Still the same. Good. Otherwise the whole ship might have to be rewired.
Zeph tapped the last switch. “Hothouse.”
“Flip it,” Katla said, her eyes on the voltmeter’s digital readout. Again a flicker, but the drain was constant, so there was no need to worry. From behind the door came a hum and a reddish glow.
Zeph grinned. “UV lights.”
Katla wiped her hands on a dirty cloth and packed her tools, still listening to the smooth thrumming of the generator. Zeph took her toolboxes and carried them out of the engine room. She followed him with the underwater lamp and halted by the door. The cargo hold in front of her held five long rows and three stories high of flower boxes. Zeph placed her toolboxes by the ladder, walked back and halted in the middle of the hold.
“You like I-man hothouse?”
Katla climbed out of the engine room. “Is that cannabis?”
“Ganja, sista. Tha Holy Herb.”
Each box was provided with an electric dripper to moisten the earth and adjustable ultraviolet lamps that hung from the shelf above, except for the boxes on the top shelf, whose lamps were attached to the iron dome of the cargo hold.
Zeph caressed a small plant in the middle story. “Clones I grow at eye level. Later I slide boxes from frame, put them up
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