Floodgate

Eight

At noon on that February day the streets of Amsterdam were dark as dusk. At noon on that same day the streets were as deserted as those of any long-dead city. The cloud cover driven by that icy northern wind must have been black and heavy and thousands of feet in depth but it could not be seen: the torrential slanting rain that bounced knee-high off those same deserted streets limited visibility in any direction, including vertically, to only a few yards. It was not a noontide for the well-advised to venture out of doors.

Van Effen, George and Vasco were among the very few who seemed to be singularly ill-advised. They stood in the porch way of the Trianon hotel, sheltering from the monsoon-like rain behind the side glass panels. Van Effen was subjecting Vasco to a critical examination. ‘Not bad, Vasco, not at all bad. Even if I hadn’t known it was you, I don’t think I would have recognized you. I’m quite certain I would have brushed by you in the street and not given you a second look. But don’t forget that Romero Agnelli had the opportunity of studying you very closely over the table at the Hunter’s Horn. On the other hand, the clothes you wore on that occasion were so outlandish that he probably didn’t spend much time examining your face. It will serve.’

Vasco had indeed undergone a considerable metamorphosis. The long blond locks that had straggled haphazardly over his shoulder had been nearly, even severely, trimmed and parted with millimetric precision just to the centre left. His hair was also black, as were his eyebrows and newly-acquired and immaculately shaped moustache, all of which went very well with his shadowed, thinned-down cheeks and heavy tan. All dyes were guaranteed waterproof. He was the maiden’s conceptualized dream of what every young army officer should look like. Shirt, tie, suit and belted trench-coat were correspondingly immaculate. ‘They could use him in those army advertisements,’ George said. ‘You know, your country needs you.’ George, himself, was still George. For him, disguise was impossible.

‘And the voice,’ van Effen said. ‘I’m not worried about Agnelli, he’s hardly heard you say more than a few words. It’s Annemarie. I don’t know whether she’s a good actress with her emotions under control or not, but I rather suspect not. It would rather spoil things if she flung her arms round your neck and cried “My saviour!”’

‘I have a very bad cold,’ Vasco said hoarsely. ‘My throat is like sandpaper.’ His voice reverted to normal and he said morosely: ‘Whose throat wouldn’t be in this damned weather. Anyway, I’ll be the strong, silent type: I shall speak as little as possible.’ ‘And 1,’George said,’shall lurk discreetly in the background until one of you have advised the ladies — if the ladies arc indeed there — of my presence. But make it fast.’

‘We’ll make it as fast as we can, George,’ van Effen said. ‘We appreciate it’s a bit difficult for you to lurk discreetly anywhere for any length of time. And I have no doubt whatsoever the ladies will be there.’ He tapped the newspaper under his arm. ‘What’s the point, in holding a couple of trumps if you don’t have them in your hand?’

The FFF’s latest announcement had been very simple, direct and to the point. They had now with them, they said — crude words like ‘abducted’ and ‘kidnapped’ had been studiously avoided — two young ladies, one of them the daughter of the nation’s leading industrialist, the other the sister of a senior police officer in Amsterdam. They had then proceeded to name names. Condolences, the FFF had said, had been sent to both parents and brother, together with assurances that they were being well cared for and expressing the pious hope that they would continue to remain in good health. ‘I do look forward to meeting those card players,’ George, said wistfully. ‘Crafty bunch of devils, aren’t they? I wonder what American university — or it could be Irish — offers a combined course in terrorism and psychology?’

‘They’re not exactly mentally retarded,’van Effen said. ‘But, then, we never thought they were. Another push up the back for the arm of the government — and another push into an even more impossible situation. just ending their message with those prayerful good wishes. No threats, no hints of reprisals or what might happen to the girls, no possibility of torture or even death. Nothing. The old uncertainty principle in full operation again. What, we are left to wonder, do they have in mind. That’s left to us — and, of course, it’s only human nature to come up with the worst possible scenario. Bad enough to have the country threatened with inundation, but for the tender-hearted and romantic — and even among the so-called stolid Dutch there are an uncommon number of those around — the thought of what dreadful terrors may lie in store for two beautiful and innocent young damsels could be a great deal worse.’ ‘Well, there’s one consolation,’Vasco said. He was practising his in extremis voice again. ‘I’m sure that’s the last threat about your sister’s well-being that you’ll be getting, Lieutenant.’ ‘Stephan,’ van Effen said.

‘Stephan. I know. But I won’t apologize this time.’ Vasco’s voice was back to normal. ‘Once I clap eyes on that lot there’s not the slightest chance I’ll forget.’

‘My mistake,’van Effen said. ‘I’m the person who’s doing the forgetting — about your undercover years. I agree with you — there’ll be no more threats to Julie. By the same token, I don’t even think they’ll bother to try to extract any money from David Meijer. Apart from the fact that they appear to have unlimited funds of their own, David Meijer is much more important to them as David Meijer — the man who, however unofficially, has very much the ear of the government and is in a position to influence them, to swing whatever decision may be under consideration. Not that I think that the government has any decision under consideration. I think that matter has been effectively taken out of their hands now. The ball, in the American phrase, is now very much in the court of the British.’

‘I wouldn’t very much like to be in the position of the British either.’ George said. ‘They face a position that, if it’s possible, is even worse than the one our government had to face. Are they going to be dictated to, even by proxy, by a bunch of what are essentially no more than terrorists, no matter what lofty motives they may ascribe to themselves? What will happen in Northern Ireland if they did pull out — would there be strife, and murder, even massacre that might cost more than any lives that could or would be lost in the Netherlands — and, of course, we can have no idea of how many lives that might be — hundreds or hundreds of thousands. Or do they just dig in, refuse to move and sit back and let the Hollanders drown and make themselves the lepers of the world, ostracised, perhaps for generations to come, by all nations — and although this is a wicked old world there must be still quite a few left — who still subscribe to some ideals of decency and humanity?’

‘I do wish you’d shut up, George.’ Rarely for him, van Effen sounded almost irritable. ‘You put the damn thing all too clearly. In a nutshell, it’s a toss-up between what value is put on the lives of x number of citizens in Ulster against number of citizens in the Netherlands.’ Van. Effen smiled without much mirth. ‘It’s difficult to solve an equation when you don’t even have a clue as to what the factors are. Imponderables, imponderables. The physicists who ramble on about the indeterminates and uncertainties in quantum mechanics should have this one dumped on their laps. Me, I’d rather spin a coin.’

‘Heads or tails,’ George said. ‘What way do you think the coin would land?’ 11 have absolutely no idea because, of course, no one eve” knows which face 01 the coin is going to show. But there’s one factor that is at ‘Least faintly determinate, even although that is wildly uncertain, and that is human nature. So at a wild guess, just as wild as guessing at the toss, I would say that the British would give in.’

George was silent for a few moments, one massive hand caressing his chin, then said: ‘The British haven’t got much of a reputation for giving in. Feed any of them enough beer or scotch or whatever and like as not someone will end up by telling you that no unspeakable foreigner has ever set foot on their sacred soil for a thousand years. Which is true — and it’s the only country in the world that can claim that.’

‘True, true. But not applicable — or at least of importance — here. This is not a case of Churchill declaiming that we will fight in the streets, hills, beaches or wherever and that we will never surrender. That’s for martial warfare and in martial warfare the parameters and issues are clear-cut. This is psychological warfare where the distinctions are blurred out of sight. Are the British any good at psychological warfare? I’m not sure they are. Come to that, I’m not sure that any country is — too many indefinables.’

‘I don’t think, anyway, that it’s a factor of either martial or psychological warfare. If there’s any factor that’s going to count, it’s the factor of human nature. This is how it might just possibly happen. The British will bluff and bluster, rant and rave — you have to admit that they yield first place to none when it comes to that — throw their arms in the general direction of a mindless heaven, appeal for common justice and claim they’re as pure and white and innocent as the driven snow, which, at this moment of time and conveniently forgetting their not-so distant bloody history, they have some justification in claiming to be. What, they will ask, have we done to precipitate this intolerable situation and why should they, luckless lambs being led to the slaughter etc, be forced to find an impossible solution to an impossible problem which is none of their making? All quite true, of course. Why, they will cry, is no one in the world lifting a finger to help us, specifically those idle, spineless, cowardly, incompetent etc, Dutch who can’t bear to separate themselves from their cheese and tulips and gin even for the few moments it would take to eradicate this monster in their midst.

‘Nobody, of course, is going to pay a blind bit of attention to what they are saying. And when I say “they” I don’t mean the British people as a whole, I mean Whitehall, their government. And here’s where the first real bit of human nature comes in. The British have always prided themselves on their compassion, fair-mindedness, tolerance and undying sympathy for the under-dog- never mind what a few hundred million ex-subjects of the British Empire would have to say on that subject — and their kindness to dogs, cats and whatever else takes their passing fancy. That they may be happily existing in a world of sheer illusion is irrelevant: what is relevant for them is that what other people may regard as sheer hypocrisy is, for them, received truth. It is an immutable fact of life — British life, that is

— so that if we poor Dutch even as much as got our feet wet, their moral outrage would be fearful to behold. Their indignation would be unbounded, ditto their consternation, the principles of all they think they hold dear destroyed, their finer sensible ties trampled in the mud. The Times letter department would be swamped in an unprecedented deluge of mail, all of it demanding that the criminals responsible for this atrocity should be held to account. X number of heads on X number of chargers. John the Baptist raised to the nth.

‘And now the second real bit of human nature. Whitehall is acutely aware who the John the Baptists would be. The government — any government, come to that — may regard themselves as statesmen or cabinet ministers but deep down in their cowering hearts they know full well that they are only jumped up politicians strutting their brief hour upon the stage. Politicians they are and politicians in those fearful hearts they will always remain. And in their little egoistic political minds they are concerned, with rare exceptions — our Minister of Defence is one — only with security of tenure, the trappings of office and the exercise of power. Their egos are their existence and if you destroy their egos you destroy their existence or at least consign them to the political wilderness for many years to come.

‘There would be a landslide defeat for them at the next election or, much more likely, they would be turfed out of office very promptly. For your average cabinet minister, such a possibility is too appalling for contemplation. So we won’t get our feet wet. Motivated not by their own miserable fear, cowardice, greed and love of power but by the overriding dictates of common humanity, Whitehall will gallantly bow its head to the terrorists.’

There was a considerable silence, interrupted only by the hissing and drumming of rain on the window panes and streets and the constant rumbling of distant thunder. Then George said: ‘You never did have a very high opinion of politicians, did you, Peter?’

‘I’m in the sort of job where I have the unfortunate privilege of coming into contact with far too many of them.’

George shook his head. ‘That’s as may be. But that’s a very, very cynical outlook to adopt, Peter.’

‘We live in a very, very cynical world, George.’

‘Indeed, indeed.’ There was a pause and this time George nodded his head. ‘But sadly I have to agree with you. On both counts. About the world. And about the politicians.’

Nobody had anything more to say until a van drew up before the hotel entrance — it was, in fact, the minibus that had been used in the Dam Square the previous evening. Romero Agnelli, who was driving, wound down the window and slid back the door behind him.

Jump in. You can tell me where to go.’

‘Jump out,’ van Effen said. ‘We want to talk to you.’ ‘You want to — what’s wrong, for God’s sake?’

‘We just want to talk.’

‘You can talk inside the bus.’

‘We may not be going anywhere in that bus.’

‘You haven’t got the — ‘

‘We’ve got everything. Are we going to stand here all day shouting at each other through the rain?’

Agnelli slid the door forward, opened his own and got out, followed by Leonardo, Daniken and O’Brien. They hastily mounted the steps into the shelter of the porch.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Agnelli said. The suave veneer had cracked a little. ‘And what the hell — ‘

‘And who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’ van Effen said. ‘We’re not your employees. We’re your partners — or we thought we were.’ ‘You think you — ‘ Agnelli cut himself off, frowned, smiled and hauled his urbanity back into place. ‘If we must talk — and it seems we must. - wouldn’t it be a little more pleasant inside?’

‘Certainly. This, by the way, is the Lieutenant.’ Van Effen made the introductions which Vasco hoarsely acknowledged, apologizing profusely for the state of his throat. Agnelli, it was clear, had no idea who he was, even going as far as to say that Vasco couldn’t possibly be anything else than an army officer. Inside, seated in a remote corner of the lounge, van Effen unfolded his newspaper and laid it on the table before Agnelli. ‘I suppose you can see those headlines?’

‘Um, well, yes, as a matter of fact, I can.’ He could hardly have failed to for the banner headline was the biggest the newspaper could produce. It read, quite simply, ‘FFF BLACKMAILS TWO NATIONS’ which was followed by a number of only slightly smaller headlines which were concerned primarily with the perfidy of the FFF, the heroic resolution of the Dutch government, the dauntless defiance of the British government and one or two other lies. ‘Yes, well, we rather thought you might have read something like this,’Agnelli said. ‘And we did think you might have been a little troubled. But only a little. I mean, I personally can see no reason for concern, or that anything has radically altered. You knew what the reasons for your employment — sorry, engagement — were and you knew what we were doing. So what has changed so much overnight?’

‘This much has changed,’ George said. ‘The scope of the thing. The escalation of the plan. The sheer enormity of the matter. I’m a Dutchman, Mr Agnelli. The Lieutenant is a Dutchman. Stephan Danilov may not be Dutch born, but he’s a damn sight more Dutch than he is anything else and we’re not going to stand by and see our country drowned. And country, Mr Agnelli, means people. It is certain that none of us three operates inside the law: it is equally certain that none of us would ever again operate outside the law if we thought that our actions would bring harm to any person alive. Quite apart from that, we’re out of our depth. We are not small-time criminals but we do not act at an international level. What do you people want with Northern Ireland? Why do you want the British out? Why do you blackmail our government — or the British? Why do you threaten to drown thousands of us? Why threaten to blow up the Royal Palace? Or haven’t you read the papers? Are you all mad?’

‘We are not mad.’ Agnelli sounded almost weary. ‘It’s you who are mad — if you believe all that you read in the papers. The papers have just printed — in this instance, what your government has told them to say — in a state of national emergency, and the government do regard this as such, they have the power to do so. And the government have told them what we told them to say. They have followed our instructions precisely. We have no intention of hurting a single living soul.’ ‘Northern Ireland is still a far cry from blackmailing the Dutch government for a little ready cash,’van Effen said. ‘This, we thought, had been your original intention and one with which we’d have gone along. Quite willingly. We have no reason to love the government.’ He stared off into the far distance. ‘I have no reason to like quite a number of governments.’

‘On the basis of what you have told me,’ Agnelli said, ‘I can quite understand that.’ He smiled, produced his ebony cigarette-holder, fitted a Turkish cigarette and lit it with his gold-inlaid onyx lighter, all of which demonstrated that he was at ease, in charge and back on balance again — assuming, that is, that he had ever been off it in the first place. ‘Cash is the basis, gentlemen, and only cash. Precisely how it is the basis I am not yet permitted to divulge but you have my assurance that it is the sole and only motivation. And you also have my assurance — which you can take or leave as you choose — that we have no intention of bringing harm to anyone. And, quite honestly, in saying so we are not so moved, perhaps, by humanitarian considerations as you are. Organized crime on a large scale is big business and we run our affairs on a businesslike basis. Emotion is nothing, calculation all. Killing not only pays no dividends, it is counter-productive. A robber is pursued by the law, but only within reasonable limits: but he who kills in the process of robbery is relentlessly pursued. No, no, gentlemen, we are in the business of conducting a purely psychological warfare.’ George reached across the table and touched another headline. ‘Kidnapping young ladies is another form of psychological warfare?’ ‘But of course. One of the most effective of all psychological forms of blackmail. It touches the strings of one’s heart, you understand.’ ‘You are a cold-blooded bastard,’George said genially. When George was at his most genial he was at his most menacing and the slight compression of Agnelli’s lips. showed that he realized that he was in the presence of menace. ‘I wonder how you would like it if your wife, sister or daughter were held with a gun at their heads or a knife at their throats? And don’t throw up your hands in horror. Blackmailers never hold hostages without accompanying threats of what will happen if their blackmailing ends are not achieved. As often as not such threats are carried out. What would it be in this case? Turning, them over to some of the less uninhibited among your employees for a few hours’ innocent pleasure? Torture? Or the ultimate? We are, as we have repeatedly told you, not men of violence. But if any harm were to come in any way to those young ladies, totally harmless and innocent as we believe them to be, we would be capable of actions that you would regard as being acts of unimaginable violence. I do wish you would believe me, Mr Agnelli.’

Agnelli believed him all right. The atmosphere in the Trianon’s lounge was acceptably cool but a sheen of sweat had suddenly appeared on Agnelli’s forehead.

George said: ‘Why, for instance, did you kidnap this Anne Meijer? Is it because her father runs a minor kingdom of his own and may be presumed to have a powerful voice in government?’ Agnelli nodded silently. ‘And this’ — lie twisted the paper to have a glance at it — ‘this Julie van Effen. She’s only a policeman’s sister. There are thousands of policemen in the Netherlands.’

‘There’s only one van Effen.’ Agnelli spoke with a considerable depth of feeling. ‘We know there’s a nation-wide hunt up for us but we also know who’s leading it. Van Effen. If we have his sister, and we do, we may clip his wings a bit.

‘You don’t sound as if you care for this man very much?’ Agnelli said nothing, the look in his eyes said it for him. ‘And you still ask me to believe that you wouldn’t subject those girls to some subtle or not so subtle forms of persuasion to achieve your ends?’

‘I don’t really care whether you believe me or not.’ Once again Agnelli was beginning to sound more than a little tired. ‘I believe you are quite capable of doing what you say you would do if you found out we are deceiving you. I have no doubt that you are heavily armed. I suggest you come along and see and believe for yourselves. That includes seeing our hostages this afternoon. If you don’t like what you see you can leave or take any other measures you think appropriate. There’s nothing else I can say and I can’t speak fairer than that.’

George said: ‘Stephan?’

‘We’ll go along. Mr Agnelli’s explanations may be a bit thin, but if we are to believe in the essence of what he says-and I have no reason to think that we shouldn’t — then I think we all may have a great deal to lose if we are raising objections to a state of affairs that do not exist. It wouldn’t be very bright of us to cut off our own noses. As Mr Agnelli says, let’s go and see for ourselves.’

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Agnelli didn’t mop his brow, perhaps because he wasn’t the brow-mopping kind, but almost certainly because he would not have regarded it as a very politic thing to do. ‘I was by no means convinced that you would come to see it my way — you are exceptionally difficult negotiators, if I may say so — but I am glad you have done.’ Moderation, reasonableness, courtesy — Agnelli could generously afford all of those now that he had had, as he thought, his own way. ‘Now, where’s the truck?’

‘Nearby garage.’

‘Garage? Is it safe-‘

‘I own it,’ George said. ‘Goodness sake, do you think this is the first time?’

‘Of course. Silly question.’

‘We have one or two questions,’ van Effen said. ‘We’re committed now and we’ve no more wish to take chances than you have. I don’t for a moment suppose we’ll know where this place is until we get there. Have you a place of concealment for this truck?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many people are going out there?’

‘Apart from yourselves? The three of us, Mr Riordan whom you haven’t met but have read about, Joop, and Joachim. Why?’

”Please. My turn for questions. You travel in the minibus?’ ‘Well, no. We’d hoped there would be plenty of room in the truck., No, indeed, van Effen thought. They wanted to keep the closest possible eye on the three of them and the precious contents of the truck. ‘How many cars?’

‘Cars?’Agnelli looked faintly surprised. ‘No cars. Why?’ ‘Why?’ Van Effen looked at the ceiling, then at George, then back at Agnelli. ‘Why? Tell me, Mr Agnelli, have you ever transported stolen Government property before?’

‘This will be a new experience for me.’

‘I want two cars. One to follow the truck at two or three hundred metres, the other to follow the first car at a similar distance.’ ‘Ah! Well, now, I appreciate this. You do not wish to be followed.’ ‘I have a rooted objection to being followed. One chance in a million. We do not take that chance.’

‘Good, good. Joop and Joachim. I’ll phone now.’

‘Last question. We forgot to discuss this. Do we return to the city tonight?’

‘No.’

‘You should have told us. We do require a tooth-brush or two. However, we guessed right and packed some gear. Three minutes in the lobby.’

Back in his room van Effen said: ‘George, I’ve said it before and say it again. Your career has been a wasted one, ruined and misplaced. That was splendid, quite splendid.’

George made a mock-modest gesture of depreciation. ‘It was nothing.’ ‘How to establish a moral ascendancy in one easy lesson. They’re going to go out of their way not to step on our toes. And did you gather the impression, George, that they need us more than we need them. Or, at least, that they think so?’

‘Yes. Intriguing.’

‘Very. Second, they know that they’re not going to be followed. It was our suggestion, so that makes us trustworthy?’

‘Anyone can see that. It will also, we trust, make them relax their vigilance.’

‘We trust. Third, a&n thanks to you, it is certain that Agnelli has no idea whatsoever who I am. Agnelli is sadly in need of a course of instruction from you. He’s a poor dissembler and over-reacts too easily. it is not possible, that, knowing who I was, he could have sat at the same table without giving himself away. Lastly, it seems fairly certain that we’ll be safe until or unless they find out who we are or until we are no longer of any use to them — when they have achieved whatever it is they want to achieve, that is. But I think the latter unlikely. I could understand them wanting to dispose of us if we were to betray their identity but their identity is already well known — the names of those in Dessens’ house last night will probably be in every major newspaper in Europe this morning. Or by nightfall. And the TV and radio. I asked Mr Wieringa to make specially sure about that. And didn’t you love all this talk about limiting themselves solely to pure psychology and being interested only in cash returns? You believed him, of course?’

‘You can’t always trust a man like Mr Agnelli.’

Agnelli, O’Brien and Daniken were waiting in the lounge when the two men descended. Van Effen said: ‘Fixed?’

‘Yes. But one thing we overlooked — or I overlooked. I said I’d call them back. I didn’t know whether to ask them to come here or not.’ ‘We’ll let them, know when we move out in the truck.’ ‘Why not call them from here?’

Van Effen, looked at him as if in faint surprise. ‘Do you ever make two consecutive calls from the same phone?’

‘Do I — ‘ Agnelli shook his head. ‘And to think that I thought I was the most suspicious, most security-conscious person around. Do we move now?’ ‘The heating in Dutch army trucks is rather sub-standard. I suggest a schnapps. We have time?’

‘We have. Very well. Until the Lieutenant comes, I assume.’ ‘He doesn’t join us. We join him. That’s why I suggested a schnapps. Takes him a little time.’

‘I see. Rather, I don’t. He’s not going to join

‘He’s leaving by the fire escape. The Lieutenant has a penchant for unorthodox exits. Also, he’s bashful about calling attention to himself.’

‘Unorthodox. Bashful. I understand now.’ Standing by what appeared to be a freshly painted army truck in an otherwise empty, brightly lit small garage, Agnelli surveyed the rather impressive figure of Vasco who was now attired in what was obviously a brand new Dutch army captain’s uniform. ‘Yes, I understand. The desk staff in the Trianon would have found the change rather intriguing. But I thought — um — the lieutenant was a lieutenant?’

‘Old habits die hard. You don’t change a man’s name just because he changes his suit. Promoted last month. Services to Queen and country.’ ‘Services to — ah, I see.’ Agnelli, it was clear, didn’t see at all. ‘And what’s this bright orange dagger flash on the radiator?’ ‘ “Manoeuvres. Do not approach.” ‘

‘You don’t miss much and that’s a fact,’ Agnelli said. ‘May I look inside?’

‘Naturally. I wouldn’t like you to think that you’d bought a pig in a poke.’

‘This, Mr Danilov, is the most unlikely looking pig in a poke that I’ve ever seen.’ Agnelli had inspected the neatly stacked and, in the case of the missiles and launchers, highly gleaming contents of the truck and was now actually rubbing his hands together. ‘Magnificent, quite magnificent. By heavens, Mr Danilov, when George here is given a shopping list I must say that he delivers. I wouldn’t have believed it.’ George made a dismissive gesture. ‘A little assistance from the Lieutenant here. Next time, something a little room difficult. ‘Splendid, splendid.’ Agnelli looked towards the front of the truck and at the heavily side-curtained bench seat behind the front seats. ‘That, too? I see, Mr Danilov, that you share my passion for privacy.’

‘Not I. Senior Dutch army officers on manoeuvres.’

‘No matter. Mr Riordan, I am sure, will be delighted. When you meet him you will understand why. He is. a man of a rather striking appearance and rather difficult to conceal, which is a pity, as he does like his privacy.’ Agnelli was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat and said: ‘In view of all this and the very, very stringent security precautions you have taken, Mr Danilov, I do feel a bit — in fact, very — diffident about asking — but, well, do you mind if Mr O’Brien here carried out a closer inspection’

Van Effen smiled. ‘I’ve often wondered what Mr O’Brien’s function might be. But this? Well, I’m slightly puzzled. If Mr O’Brien knows more about explosives and arms than we three do, then he must be Europe’s leading expert and our services would seem to be superfluous.’ ‘Explosives, Mr Danilov?’ O’Brien was an easy smiler and had a pleasant light baritone voice, a natural for the rendering of ‘When Irish eyes’. ‘Explosives terrify me. I’m an electronics man.

‘Mr O’Brien is being modest,’ Agnelli said. ‘He’s an electronics expert and one of the very best in the business. Security. Alarms. Installation — or deactivating.’

‘Ah. Burglar alarms. Photo-electric rays, pressure pads, things like that. Always wanted to meet one of those. It’ll be a pleasure to watch one at work. Little enough scope, I would have thought, for an electronics man around an army truck. Wait a minute.’ Van Effen paused briefly then smiled. ‘By all means go ahead, Mr O’Brien. I’ll take long odds against you finding one, though.’

‘Finding what, Mr Danilov?’

‘One of those dinky little location transmitters.’

Agnelli and O’Brien exchanged glances. Agnelli said: ‘Dinky little — I mean, how on earth — ‘

‘Because I removed one this morning. Rather, the Lieutenant did it for me.’

Agnelli, as van Effen had said, would never stand in line for an Oscar. He was perplexed, apprehensive and suspicious, all at the same time. ‘But why should one — I mean, how did you suspect-‘ ‘Don’t distress yourself. ‘van Effen smiled. ‘Perfectly simple explanation. You see-‘

‘But this is an army truck!’

‘Precisely. Far from uncommon on Army trucks. Use them on their silly war games, especially at night, when there’s no lights permitted and strict radio silence. Only way they can locate each other. The Lieutenant knew where they were usually concealed and found and detached this one.’ Vasco opened a map compartment by the driver’s seat, removed a tiny metallic object, and handed it to van Effen, who passed it over to O’Brien. ‘That’s it, all right,’ O’Brien said. He looked doubtfully at Agnelli. ‘In that case, Romero — ‘

‘No, no,’ van Effen said. ‘Go ahead and search. Be happier if you do. Damn truck could be littered with them, for all I know. Speaking personally, I wouldn’t know where to start looking.’

Agnelli, trying with his usual lack of success to conceal his relief, nodded to O’Brien. Van Effen and George left the truck and wandered idly around, talking in a desultory fashion. Agnelli, they could see, was displaying a keen interest in O’Brien at work, but none in them. In a far corner van Effen said: ‘Must be an interesting profession being a professional dismantler of alarm systems.’

‘Very. Useful, too. If you want to get at the private art collection of some billionaire or other. Or into a secret army base. Or bank vaults.’ ‘It’s also useful if you want to blow up a dyke or a canal bank?’ ‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so either.’

Although it was only just after i p.m. when they left the garage it could well have been night-time for the amount of light left in the sky. And although it seemed impossible that the amount of rain could have increased, it undoubtedly had: the truck was equipped with two-spec’d wipers but might almost as well have been equipped with none at all. And the wind blew even more strongly from the north. Apart from the occasional triple tram the streets were deserted. One might almost have thought that the efforts and intention of the FFF were wasted: Holland, it appeared, was about to drown under the weight of its own rainfall.

Agnelli had made his phone call from the garage. Shortly after leaving it, at a word from Agnelli, Vasco, who was driving, pulled up outside an undistinguished cafe off the Utrechtsestraat. Two cars were parked there, both small, both Renaults. Agnelli got out and spoke hurriedly to the invisible drivers of the cars: he had need to hurry, he had no umbrella and his gabardine raincoat offered no protection at all to the pitiless rain. ‘Joachim and Joop,’ he said on his return. ‘They are following us to a restaurant just this side of Amstelveen. Even the FFF must eat.’ Agnelli was probably back to his smiling again but it was impossible to say. The inside of the truck was almost totally dark.

‘If they can follow us,’ van Effen said. ‘In this weather, I can see that my precautions were superfluous. I thought we were to meet your brother and Mr Riordan. I must say I shall be most interested to meet your Mr Riordan. If the newspaper accounts are anything to go by, he must be a most extraordinary character. ‘He ignored George’s heavy nudge in the ribs. ‘He’s all that. They’ve elected to remain in the cats — I don’t suppose they fancied getting wet. We’ll meet up in De Groene Lanteerne.’

Riordan was indeed an extraordinary character. For some extraordinary reason — known only to himself — he had elected to dress himself in a sweeping, neck-buttoned, black-and-white shepherd’s tartan cloak with matching deerstalker, of the type much favoured by Highland lairds and Sherlock Holmes. As the cloak ended six inches above his knees and hence made him took even more incongruously tall and skeletal than ever, he couldn’t possibly have been trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He had greeted everyone civilly enough — when he wasn’t declaiming against the IRA he was, it seemed. a normally grave and courteous man — raised his eyes at the sight of Vasco’s uniform, ready accepted its explanation and thereafter remained silent, not from any wish to disassociate himself from those at the table but because he was carrying a large, very intricate and expensive-looking radio and had a pair of earphones clamped to his head. He was listening, Agnelli explained, to weather forecasts and Dutch and international news broadcasts. Agnelli didn’t have to explain why.

Lunch over, Riordan elected to continue the journey in the truck, earphones still in place. He ensconced himself In the right-hand corner of the rear bench seat and seemed to approve of the heavy side curtain which he pushed as far forward as possible. Vasco drove south during the dark afternoon making the best speed possible which, because of the near zero visibility, was no speed at all. Van Effen was particularly impressed by the careful)y polite attention Vasco paid to Agnelli’s would-be meticulous instruction as how to drive through Utrecht. As Vasco had beer born, bred, lived all his life and been a police driver in Utrecht, it said much for Vasco’s heroic patience that he three times followed directions that he must have known to be wrong. About mid-afternoon, Riordan unhooked his earphones. ‘Progress, gentlemen, progress. The Dutch Foreign Minister and Defence Minister — that’s that excellent Mr Wieringa of theirs — arrived in London this afternoon and are meeting with their counterparts. A communiqué is expected. It shows that we are being taken seriously.’ Van Effen said: ‘After those scare headlines, those banner headlines in the papers today, and all the emergency news flashes on TV and radio, did you seriously expect not to be taken seriously?’

‘No. But gratifying, none the less, gratifying.’ Riordan re-affixed his earphones and leaned back into his corner. The expression on his face was an odd mixture of the expectant and the beatific. A man with a mission, Riordan wasn’t going to miss out on anything.

Some twenty minutes later the truck pulled off to the right on to a B-road and, a couple of kilometres further on, left on to a still more minor road. It stopped at a building which appeared to be fronted by a brightly-lit porch.

‘Journey’s end,’ Agnelli said. ‘Our headquarters — well, one of them — and our overnight stop. I think you’ll be quite comfortable here.’ ‘A windmill,’ van Effen said.

‘You seem surprised,’ Agnelli said. ‘Hardly uncommon in these par-ts. Disused but still functional, which is also not unusual. Large extensions and quite modernized. It has the additional attraction of being a long way from anywhere. If you look to this side you’ll see the place of concealment I promised for the truck. Disused barn.’

‘And that other barn-like structure beside it?’

‘State secret.’

‘Helicopter.’

Agnelli laughed in the darkness. ‘End of state secret. Obvious, I suppose, since we told people that we had taken aerial photographs of those rather stirring scenes north of Alkmaar on the Noord Holland canal.’ ‘So you’re now the happy owner of both army and air-force property?’ ‘No. Not air force. Indistinguishable, though. A lick of paint here, a lick of paint there, some carefully selected registration numbers — but it’s unimportant. Let’s go inside and see what we can find in the way of old Dutch cheer and hospitality.’ Now that he had, as he thought, completed his mission with a hundred per cent degree of success he was positively radiating a genial cordiality. It could well, van Effen thought, represent his true nature: nature had not designed him for the cut and thrust, riposte and parry that he had been through that afternoon. ‘Not for me,’George said. ‘I’m a businessman and a businessman always likes to — ‘

‘If you’re referring to payment, George, I can assure you ‘Payment? I’m not referring to payment.’ George sounded pained. ‘I’m referring to standard business practices. Lieutenant, is there an overhead light? Thank you.’ George produced a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and handed them to Agnelli. ‘Inventory of goods. You have to sign the receipt but not until I have checked the conditions of all the items — you will understand that I had no time to do so this morning — and see how they survived the transport. Standard business ethics. ‘No one seemed to find it peculiar that George should use the word ‘ethics’ in connection with stolen goods. ‘But some of that hospitality wouldn’t come amiss. Beer for me?’ ‘Of course,’ Agnelli said, then added delicately: ‘Would you be requiring any help?’

‘Not really. But it is customary for a purchaser or purchaser’s agent to be present. I would suggest Mr O’Brien. Electronics experts are accustomed to small fiddly things and detonators are small fiddly things. A carelessly dropped detonator, Mr Agnelli, and there wouldn’t be a great deal left of your windmill. There wouldn’t be a great deal left of the people inside it, either.’

Agnelli nodded his satisfaction and led the way to the porch that had been added to the windmill. A tall, shock-haired and unshaven youth whose most notable facial characteristic was the negligible clearance between eyebrows and hairline, moved to bar their entrance. A machine-pistol was held loosely in his right hand.

‘One side, Willi. ‘Agnelli’s voice was sharp. ‘It’s me.’ ‘I can see that,’ Willi scowled — it was the kind of face that wasn’t built for much else — and stared truculently at van Effen. ‘Who’s he?’ ‘Hospitality,’van Effen said. ‘Our genial host, no doubt. God help us. Is this the kind of hired help you have around here?’ Willi took a threatening step forward, lifting his gun as he did so, then subsided gently to the ground, clutching his midriff as he did so: the blow he had received there had been no friendly tap. Van Effen took his gun, removed the magazine and dropped the gun on top of the wheezing Willi. Van Effen stared at Agnelli, his expression a nice mix of consternation and disbelief

‘Frankly, I’m appalled. I don’t like this one little bit. Is this — I mean, is he typical — you have retarded morons like this on your team? People who are going to hold — no, people who are holding nations to ransom having — having — words fail me. Have you never heard of the weakest link in the chain?’

‘My own sentiments exactly,’Riordan said gravely. ‘You will remember, Romero, that I expressed my reservations about this fellow. Even as a guard, the only possible function he could serve, his limitations have been cruelly exposed.’

‘I agree, Mr Riordan, I agree.’ It would have been untrue to say that Agnelli was discomfited, but his ebullience was in temporary abeyance. ‘Willi is a disappointment. He shall have to go. I Willi had now slipped over on to his side. He was conscious enough, propped on one shaky elbow and grimacing with pain. Van Effen looked over his all but prone form to the opened doorway beyond. His sister was there, Annemarie by her side, Samuelson just behind them. The expression on both girls’ faces were markedly similar — slightly wide-eyed, slightly shocked, totally uncomprehending. Van Effen let his eyes rest on them for a brief moment then looked indifferently away.

‘Have to go, Mr Agnelli? Have to go? If he goes, I go. Can’t you see that you’re stuck with him, want it or not. Stuck with him either above ground or below. Let him go and the first thing he’ll do is talk his head off to the first policeman he meets. No drastic methods, preferably, but his silence must be assured. I hope the rest of your Praetorian guard is a cut above this character.’

‘The rest of the Praetorian guard, as you call them, are more than a cut above this unfortunate.’ Samuelson, rubicund, smiling and looking even more prosperous than the previous evening, had gently pushed the girls apart and stepped out on to the stoop. He smelt of some very expensive after-shave lotion. Rubbing his chin with an immaculately manicured hand, he peered down at Willi then looked up at van Effen. ‘You do have a direct way with you, my friend. At the same time one must admit that you come to some remarkably quick conclusions in a commendably short time. I must confess that I have occasionally felt tempted to do just what you have done, but, well, explosive violence of that kind is not my forte. Ah, yes, I saw it all. Very economical, very.’ He extended a hand. ‘Samuelson.’

‘Danilov.’ Judging from both his bearing and his speech, van Effen was in no doubt that he was in the presence of the man who mattered. His speech. Samuelson had said so few words the previous evening that his country of origin had remained uncertain. De Graaf had thought him Irish-American. De Graaf, van Effen thought, had been wrong. This man was English-American. Perhaps even an Englishman who had spent just long enough in the United States to pick up a slight American over-tone. Van Effen gestured to the fallen man. ‘Sorry about this, Mr Samuelson. One does not usually treat a host’s staff in — so summary a fashion. On the other hand you must admit that it’s not the average guest who finds himself confronted with a sub-machine gun.’

‘A well-taken point, Mr Danilov.’ Like Agnelli, Samuelson seemed much given to warm and friendly smiles. ‘A breach of hospitality. It will be the last — as you yourself have personally assured. All is well, Romero? ‘Perfect, Mr Samuelson. Everything there, everything in order. Exactly as Mr Danilov guaranteed.’

‘Splendid. Mr Danilov does have a certain aura of competence about him. Come in, come in. Wretched evening. Absolutely wretched.’ That, thought van Effen, made him English for sure. ‘And good evening to you, Captain. I understood you were a lieutenant.’

‘A very very recent captain,’ Vasco said hoarsely. ‘Sorry about this throat.’

‘Dear me, dear me.’ Samuelson sounded genuinely concerned. ‘A hot toddy, and at once.’ Samuelson did not seem to find it at all amiss that a regular army captain should be in their company: but a man with so smoothly unlined a face could take many things in his stride without registering reactions of any kind. ‘Let me introduce our two charming guests. Miss Meijer, Miss van Effen.’

Van Effen bowed briefly. ‘Those are the two who figured so prominently in the headlines this morning? Their photographs didn’t do them justice.’ Agnelli said: ‘Mr Danilov and his friends were rather concerned about their well-being, Mr Samuelson.’

‘Ah, yes. Compatriots, of course. No need, no need. As you can see, both in excellent health.’

There were five other people in the room, all men. Two were earnest looking, intellectual looking youths cast in the mould of Joachim and Joop. The other three were older, bigger and a great deal tougher looking, although that didn’t mean that they were in any way more dangerous: apart from the fact that they lacked sunglasses they looked uncommonly like the Secret Service men who guard an American president. There was nothing criminal in their appearances. Samuelson didn’t see fit to introduce them: as a result, indeed, of some signal that van Effen had not seen they all quietly left the room.

‘Well, now.’ Van Effen looked at Samuelson, Agnelli and Riordan in turn. ‘I don’t know which of you I should address. It doesn’t matter. We have delivered the material — one of our number is at present checking the explosives and armaments to see that they are in the best possible working order. We understood that some call might be made on our services — our expertise, if one might put it that way. If you don’t require us, there’s no point in our remaining. We have no wish to impose ourselves on anybody.’ Samuelson smiled. ‘You would rather go?’

Van Effen smiled in turn. ‘I think you are perfectly well aware that we would rather stay. I’m as curious as the next man. Besides, it would be most interesting to know what is going to happen without having to wait to read about it in the newspapers.’

‘Stay you shall,’ Samuelson said. ‘We will probably have need of your expertise. We do, in fact, have plans for you. But first, perhaps, a soupcion of borreltje. 5 p.m., and 5 p.m., I understand, is the prescribed hour. Leonardo’ — this to Agnelli’s brother who had just entered with Daniken — ‘be so kind as to have some hot water brought from the kitchen.’ This, van Effen felt certain, made Samuelson the man who called the tune. ‘And some honey. We must do something about this fearful cold the Captain has. Come. Join me.’

A log fire burnt in an open hearth built into the window less back wall. Adjoining this was a circular oaken bar, small but quite splendidly stocked. Samuelson moved behind this as Riordan said: ‘You will, of course, excuse me.’

‘Of course, James, of course,’ Samuelson said. Van Effen felt faintly surprised. Riordan didn’t look like a man who had a first name. Riordan nodded to the company and mounted a circular stairway. Van Effen said: ‘Mr Riordan doesn’t approve of our heathenish practice of having a borreltie at this hour?’

‘Mr Riordan doesn’t disapprove. He doesn’t drink himself, nor does he smoke, but he doesn’t disapprove. I may as well tell you — for you will find out anyway and I don’t wish to cause anybody any embarrassment — that Mr Riordan regularly goes upstairs at this hour for prayer and meditation. He does this several times a day and one cannot but respect a man with such deeply-held beliefs. He is very devout — and is, in fact, an ordained minister of the church.’

‘You surprise me,’ van Effen said. He thought briefly. ‘No, on second thoughts you don’t surprise me. It seems very much in character. For such a devout character, I must say, the Reverend has certainly let loose a storm of cats in the dovecotes of Europe today.’

‘You must not think ill of Riordan, nor underestimate him.’ Samuelson spoke very seriously. ‘He is an evangelist, a missionary fired by a burning zeal. He is genuinely appalled by what is happening in Northern Ireland and believes that if blood must be spilled to bring peace to that troubled land then that’s how it will be. In his own words, he’s prepared to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil.’

‘And you support him in all of this?’

‘Naturally. Why else should I be here?’

It would have been interesting, van Effen thought, to know just why else he should be there but it seemed hardly the time and place to raise the question. He hoisted himself on a bar stool and looked around. The two girls were in whispered consultation. Agnelli and Daniken had already occupied the two stools at the further end of the bar. Vasco, who had been wandering round looking at the paintings and brass and copper work on the walls, made his unconcerned way over to the bar and sat down beside Daniken whom he began to engage in hoarse conversation.

‘Mr Samuelson.’ It was Julie. ‘I think I’ll go to my room. I have a bit of a headache.’

Van Effen remained casually still, drumming his fingers idly on the bar-top, a man perfectly at ease with himself. He was, in fact, very far indeed from being at ease with himself, the last thing that he wanted was that either of the girls should go to their rooms. Samuelson, who had been stooping down behind the bar, came to his unwitting rescue. ‘My dear Julie!’ If he weren’t so certain that he knew what Samuelson would say next, van Effen could have hit him. ‘Not to be thought of. Here we have a fine Tio Pepe. Guaranteed cure for any headache. Would you deprive me of your company?’

They would obviously have cheerfully done just that but just as obviously deemed it prudent to do as he told — prisoners tend to do what their gaolers tell them — and came and perched reluctantly by the bar, Julie close to her brother. She glanced at him briefly, a glance which told him quite clearly what she thought of violent characters who spoke off-handedly about sticking undesirable characters under the ground, then looked away. Almost at once she looked back again, fortunately not too quickly: something had just touched her right thigh. She looked at him, frowning slightly, then glanced downwards. Almost at once she turned away and made some confidential remark to Annemarie, just as Samuelson’s head cleared the bar again. Magnificent, van Effen thought, she was magnificent, the best in Amsterdam wouldn’t be good enough for his sister after this.

She accepted her sherry from Samuelson with a correctly pleasant if somewhat forced smile, delicately sipped her drink, placed it on the bar-top, opened her handbag on her lap and brought out cigarettes and lighter. She was magnificent, van Effen thought. She lit the cigarette, returned the cigarette case but not the lighter to her bag and, while still talking quietly to Annemarie while watching, without seeming to, the men at the bar, dropped her hand till it touched van Effen’s. A moment later, the lighter and the folded note, the top of which had been protruding between the fore and middle fingers of van Effen’s was safely inside her closed bag. He could have hugged and kissed her and made a mental note to do so at the first available opportunity. In the meantime, he did the next best thing, he downed his borreltie in one gulp. He had never much cared for it but this one tasted as nectar must have done to the gods. Samuelson, ever the attentive host, hurried across to replenish his glass and van Effen thanked him courteously. The second borreltie went the same way as the first.

Julie locked the bedroom door behind her, opened her bag and brought out the note which she began to unfold. Annemarie looked at her curiously. ‘What have you got there? And why are your hands shaking, Julie?’ ‘A billet-doux that I have just got from a love-lorn suitor in the bar. Wouldn’t your hands shake if you’d just got a billet-doux from a love-lorn suitor in the bar?’ She smoothed out the note so that they could both read it together. It had been meticulously typed so obviously it was not a scribbled note put together at the last moment.

‘Sony about the appearance and the thick accent,’ it said, ‘but you will understand that I can’t very well go around in my ordinary clothes and using my ordinary voice.

‘The dashing young army captain is Vasco. You will understand why he has developed this sore throat. Annemarie might just have been a little startled to hear his normal voice. Agnelli would have been very startled. ‘George is with us. Couldn’t bring him in athirst because George can’t be disguised. Couldn’t have you hugging him with feminine shrieks of delight. ‘You don’t know, us and you don’t want to know us. Stay away from us but don’t make it too obvious. Distant, remote and extending to us as much courtesy as you would to any other common criminals. ‘Don’t try to do anything clever. Don’t try to do anything. The men, probably, are not dangerous but watch the girls. They’re shrewd and have nasty devious feminine minds.

‘Destroy this note immediately. I love you both.’

‘And signed,’ Julie said, ‘with his own unmistakable signature.’ Her hands still weren’t too steady.

‘You said he would come,’ Annemarie said. Tier voice was like Julie’s hands.

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? Didn’t expect him quite so soon, though. What are we going to do — cry with relief?’

‘Certainly not.’ Annemarie sniffed. ‘He might have spared us the bits about feminine shrieks of delight and shrewd and nasty devious feminine minds.’ She watched as Julie ignited the note over a wash-basin and flushed the ashes away. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Celebrate.’

‘In the bar?’

‘Where else?’

‘And ignore them totally.’

‘Totally.’