Floodgate

Nine

The barn that served as a garage was cold and draughty and leaking and couldn’t have served as a barn for many years: the air was heavy with the unsavoury smell of musty hay although there was no trace of hay to be seen. But it was clean and well fit, enough to show that the army truck’s freshly painted bodywork had vanished under a thick encrustation of mud. George and O’Brien were bent over what appeared to be some kind of check-list when van Effen entered. George looked over O’Brien’s shoulder and lifted an interrogative eyebrow. Van Effen gave a brief nod in return, then said: ‘About through?’

‘Finished,’ George said. ‘All present and correct, I think.’ ‘Think,’ O’Brien said. ‘Check, re-check and cross-check. Never saw a man so meticulous about anything.’ Julie and Annemarie had taken what seemed like an unconscionably long time before making their departure. ‘But I did learn a little about explosives. And a lot about drinking beer.’ They switched off the lights, padlocked the doors — George pointedly pocketing the key while making some remark to the effect that signed receipts came first — and entered the mill. Julie and Annemarie were seated at a table by the fire, each with a small glass before her, a sure indication, van Effen knew, that they had read the note he had left with them. He noted, approvingly, that both girls regarded their entry with an open curiosity: it would have been an odd person indeed who would have registered indifference when encountering George’s vast bulk for the first time. Across the fire-place, and seated at another table, Samuelson was just replacing the handset of a rather splendid-looking radio transceiver: when obtaining new equipment the FFF obviously didn’t patronise second-hand markets.

‘All well?’ Samuelson said.

‘All well,’ O’Brien said. ‘Just about managed to stop George testing the detonators with his teeth. That’s quite an arsenal you have there, Mr Samuelson.’

‘Sign here, please.’ George laid three copies of the inventory on the table before Samuelson who signed them, thus confirming that he was, indeed, the man in charge, smiled and handed them back. to George who solemnly handed over the garage padlock key.

‘A pleasure to do business with you, George. How would you like & fee to be paid?’

‘Not time for the— fee yet,’ George said. ‘The inventory is only a promise. Wait for the guarantee — let’s see if the damn things work.’ Samuelson smiled again. ‘I thought businessmen always demanded cash on delivery.’

‘Not this businessman. If, of course, you decide not to use them, then I’ll present the bill — you understand that I can’t very well return them to the ordnance store. Or if you decide to dispense with our services.’ ‘Still a pleasure, George. I’m quite certain we’ll be requiring both your goods and your services. Weli, gentlemen, we’ll be hearing a rather-‘ He broke off, looked at van Effen, patted the radio and said: ‘You know what this is, don’t you’ ‘

‘A transceiver. RCA. The best, I believe. If you’d a mind to, you could reach the moon with thar.’

‘It can reach Amsterdam, which is all I want. Helmut. Helmut Paderiwski, whom you have met, I believe.’

‘Yes. I rather wondered where Helmut was.’

‘Our voice in the capital. He has just arranged for our latest message to be made known.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Exactly eight minutes. TV and radio. We’ve decided not to bother about newspapers any more. I am not being smug when I say that we can now get instant coverage whenever we wish it. I think you’ll all I find it a rather interesting message — messages rather. Don’t you think we should give them — ah — advance notice, Romero? Mix Danilov here has said that he likes to know what’s going on before he reads or hears about it.’ ‘If it Is your wish, of course.’ Agnelli was his usual smiling self. ‘But I would rather they saw it on TV. I think it would be interesting to see what the reaction of the average Dutch citizen would be.’ ‘We’ll wait. It’s unimportant. Although I’d hardly call those three average Dutch citizens. Ah! Our provision party has returned.’ The two girls van Effen had met the previous evening in the room off the Voorburgwal entered, each carrying a shopping basket. They were followed by a young man who was having some difficulty in coping with a huge hamper he was carrying.

‘Welcome back,’ Samuelson said benignly. ‘A successful expedition, I see. Ah! Introductions. Mr Danilov, of course, you’ve met. This is George, this is the Captain who for some obscure reason is called the Lieutenant. Maria. Kathleen. You look puzzled, Mr Danilov.’

‘That’s a lot of food.’

‘True, true. But a lot of mouths to feed.’

‘It’s a fair way to Utrecht.’

‘Utrecht? My dear fellow, we shop at the local village store. Delighted to have our trade. Ah, the factor of anonymity.’ He laughed. ‘Romero. If you would be so kind.’

Romero led van Effen to the front door, opened it and gestured. At the foot of the steps stood a dark blue van. Emblazoned on its side, in golden lettering, was the legend Golden Gate Film Productions. ‘Ingenious,’ van Effen said.

‘It is, rather. Not a famous enough name to attract national attention but we’re certainly well enough known locally. Been here for almost a month now. We have a camera crew almost continuously on the move around the area. An isolated spot, this, and it brings a touch of colour into their otherwise drab lives. No trouble at all in recruiting house and kitchen staff-we are generous employers and very well thought of locally.’ ‘You’d be even better thought of if they knew that this is probably the only area in the Netherlands that’s immune from flooding.’ “Mere’s that, there’s that.’ Agnelli seemed quite pleased with the idea. ‘War film, I need hardly say. Hence the helicopter. Had to get official permission, of course, but that was a mere formality.’

‘I’d wondered how you’d managed that. You do have your nerve, that I must say.’

‘Just had a thought. This newly acquired truck. Change of paint and it can move around in complete freedom. War film — army truck. Follows, no?’ ‘Yes. This is your brain-ch: ld, of course?’

‘Yes. But why “of course”F

‘You do have a certain talent for devious organization.’

The TV announcer, soberly suited and tied and ominously grave in expression, looked as if he were about to pronounce a funeral oration. ‘We have just received what is called an interim communiqué from London. It — says that the talks about the Dutch crisis are continuing and that a further communiqué can be expected within the hour. ‘It was expected that some further statements would be received from this terrorist organization calling itself the FFF. Those have arrived some fifteen minutes ago. They are not so much statements as threats of the very gravest nature.

‘The first of those states that they, the FFF, expect to hear by midnight that a definite and affirmative answer — that is an answer agreeing to the FFF’s demands — will be announced before 8 a.m. tomorrow. If they do not hear such confirmation by midnight, the Oostlijk-Flevoland dyke will be blown at five minutes past midnight. The citizens of Lelystad are advised to begin to take precautionary measures now. If they fail to do this, the FFF now disclaim all responsibility for their fate. ‘The second statement makes the announcement that the FFF have in their possession a number of nuclear explosive devices which they will not hesitate to use, if the need arises, to achieve their ends. The FFF hastens to assure the people of the Netherlands that those nuclear devices are not of the calibre of hydrogen or atomic weapons. They are tactical battlefield devices intended for delivery by plane, rocket or shell-fire. All are of American manufacture, some still on the secret list. All have been obtained from NATO bases in Germany. They have the serial numbers of those devices — they are clearly stamped on each one — and the US forces in Germany can confirm that those devices are, in fact, missing. If, that is, they are prepared to give this confirmation.’

There was a pause while the newscaster broke off to accept and glance at a sheet of paper that had just been handed him by a studio colleague: judging from the stricken expression on the colleague’s face, he had already read the message.

Van Effen looked around the room. No newscaster, he felt certain, had ever had so rapt an audience. The faces of George and the Lieutenant were expressionless, but that was only because, in certain circumstances such as those, they hadn’t much use for expressions: but their eyes were very still. Julie and Annemarie looked shocked. Kathleen and Maria were smiling, but their smiles were half-hearted and more than tinged by apprehension: no question, they had known what was coming but they still didn’t like hearing it. Agnelli, O’Brien and Daniken looked thoughtful but not particularly gratified. But the normally genial Samuelson was revelling in every moment of it. True, he was still smiling, but there was no warmth in his smile: there never can be in the smile of a hungry crocodile that has just spotted his unwary lunch.

‘We have here,’ the announcer said, ‘a further message from the FFF. They say they are prepared to release those numbers at any time, but they feel a practical demonstration to prove their possession of those nuclear devices would be much more convincing. Accordingly, they intend to explode one of those devices in the lisselmeer in the early afternoon of tomorrow. The power of the charge will be in the range of one kiloton — that is to say, the equivalent of one thousand tons Of TNT. This is expected to cause a certain disturbance of the water but the probable height of the accompanying tidal wave — tsunami is the term for it — is not precisely known. It is hoped that the inhabitants of the coastal settlements of the lisselmeer will not be too inconvenienced. Inconvenienced!’ The newscaster almost spluttered the word which was obviously not in the script — or the repetition of it. He recovered himself. ‘The demonstration has been delayed until the afternoon in order to allow British cabinet ministers plenty of time to fly across and join their Dutch colleagues in watching this demonstration. The precise time and place will be announced later. The device, they add, is already in position.

‘Finally, they demand some money. This money, they say, will be returned. It is not blackmail money, or ransom money, merely a temporary loan to cover operating expenses. Details of the methods of payment will be announced later this evening — this is to give the parties concerned time to arrange for the transfer. The demand is for one hundred million guilders from the government, twenty million from Mr David Joseph Karlmann Meijer, the Rotterdam industrialist. ‘The newscaster laid down his paper. ‘Viewers will not need reminding that Mr Meijer’s daughter, Anne, is being held hostage by the terrorists.’ Samuelson touched a switch before him and the screen went blank.

‘I wish,’ Samuelson said in a complaining voice, ‘that he wouldn’t call us “terrorists”. “Philanthropists” is the word. I rather liked that touch about operating expenses. Anne, my dear, do sit down. You’re overexcited.’

Annemarie, who was clearly and very understandably overexcited was on her feet, face pale, lips compressed, her hands unclenching and clenching into ivory-knuckled fists.

‘You monster,’ she whispered. ‘You utterly evil monster.’ ‘You think so, my dear?’He looked round the room, smiling. Van Effen was one of those who smiled back at him: there were witnesses. ‘Not at all. Philanthropist. Equitable redistribution of excess wealth. Besides, it’s not even that. As you heard, merely a temporary loan. Don’t tell me that the wealthiest man in the Netherlands can’t afford that money. I know all about your father.’

‘You murderer,’ she said softly. Her hands were hanging straight by her sides now, and they were still. ‘You murderer.’ The tears were rolling down her cheeks and now Julie was on her feet, her arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘You know all about my father. You know then that he has had two major heart attacks this year. You know that he came out of hospital only four days ago after his last heart attack. You’ve killed him.’ Her voice, like her shoulders, was shaking. ‘You’ve killed him.’ Samuelson had stopped smiling. He frowned and said: ‘I did not know this. Before God, I didn’t.’ Without apparently even pausing to think ha reached out for the handset of his RCA and pressed a button. He must have received art acknowledgement almost immediately for he started talking into the mouthpiece rapidly and urgently, nearly issuing instructions in a language that no one there knew but which George, from a few odd words, recognized as being Yiddish. He replaced the handset, rose, walked around behind the bar, poured himself a brandy, not a small one, and drank the contents in two or three gulps. This Performance was watched with some astonishment but no comment was made.

Van Effen rose in turn, walked round to the bar in turn and poured brandy, two large brandies. He carried these round to Anne and Julie, waited until they had both sipped from them and resumed his seat. ‘Fine lot you are when it comes to ladies in distress.’ He looked at Agnelli. ‘That was a nice line in threats.’

‘You think they were meaningless threats, Mr Danilov? Agnelli didn’t seem at all reluctant to speak, like others in the room he probably found it embarrassing not to look at Samuelson who was on his second brandy and paying attention to nobody. ‘I assure you they wet.- all genuinely intended. And will be carried out.’

‘So much for your word, Agnelli.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You’d have to have a damned short memory riot to. Only a few hours ago; you promised us that no harm would come to any Dutch people. You warn all the Lelystad people to take the necessary precautions against the breaching of the dykes. Good God, man, it’s pitch black outside and coming down in torrents. They won’t. be able to see to take precautions.’ ‘They don’t have to see. Flood level won’t be more than half a metre. We’ve checked and checked the area. Plenty of second floor rooms and attics — although they could remain on the ground floor if they didn’t mind getting their feet wet. And plenty of boats. We’ve checked that also. The message was primarily for intimidation. Surely you can see that?’

‘That’s as maybe. Where’s old Elastic Conscience?’

‘Elastic what?’

‘Elastic who. Riordan. The praying priest. The god-fearing Reverend. Why wasn’t he here watching?’

Agnelli smiled faintly. ‘He regards TV as the work of Satan. Could be right, for all I know. As you saw, he’s practically married to his earphones. There was a simultaneous radio broadcast.’ ‘You do really have those nuclear devices? I find it frankly incredible.’ ‘I can show them to you.’

‘Well, that answers that. So this man of peace and goodwill is prepared to play around with lethal explosives.’

‘You heard what Mr Samuelson said to you a short time ago.’ Agnelli looked quickly at the bar. Samuelson, still looking at nothing and nobody but with something peculiarly tense in his stance, appeared to be on yet another brandy. ‘Mr Riordan’s prepared to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil.’

‘Too late in the day to talk about pious, hypocritical platitudes, I suppose. How did you get them — those nuclear devices?’ ‘You heard. NATO. West Germany. Specifically, US bases.’ ‘I heard that. I didn’t ask where. I asked how.’ Van Effen looked away for a moment, then back at Agnelli. ‘I know. The RAF. The Red Army Faction.’

‘Yes. I would have told you but since you’ve guessed it or know — yes.’ ‘Jesus! The holy father upstairs must really have the original, twisted, double-dyed, infinite-stretch elastic conscience. The RAF! And only last night, according to the papers — correct me if I’m wrong — he was telling Wieringa, the Defence Minister, that the RAF were the inheritors of the bloody mantle of the Baader-Meinhof gangsters of the early seventies. The fact that his own hands are stained a bright red doesn’t appear to worry the Reverend at all. God, I should have thought of this right away. It’s only a couple of weeks since there was this successful breakin at a US army ammunition depot outside Hanover. The RAF claimed responsibility and their claim was generally accepted: the RAF is rather good at this and the Americans rather poor at guarding their installations. No mention of nuclear devices. It would have been in character for the RAF to have made specific mention of this: one supposes that they did but that the US Army, or the army through the government, put a stop order on this. Anti-nuclear sentiment is high enough already in Germany without the added knowledge that there’s a bunch of woolly-headed hare-brained young terrorists on the loose with nuclear weapons in their suitcases.’

‘No prizes for your guesses, Mr Danilov. Had to be that way. And it was.’ ‘Your information, of course, comes from the same source as the nuclear devices.’

‘Where else?’

‘Joachim and joop. And the two other baby-faced choirboys who were here when we arrived this afternoon.’

‘Who else?’

‘The leisure-time terrorists, as the West Germans call them — nights and weekends only. Since the egregious Christian Klar was captured — along with two lady friends, Mohnhaupt and Schultz I think they were called — and charged with the murders of diverse politicians, prosecutors, bankers and industrialists, the RAF have pulled in their horns and are reported to have moved into neighbouring countries. I suppose Holland was the natural, the inevitable first choice. Should be like a second home to them. ‘van Effen thought briefly then smiled. ‘On the one hand the RAF, on the other your blackmailing demands on the Dutch Government. Don’t you find it rather a splendid thought, Mr Agnelli, that the Dutch Government are going to pay the RAF for nuclear devices to be used against the Dutch people?’ Agnelli didn’t have the opportunity to say whether he did or not for the call-up buzzer on the RCA rang at that moment. He lifted the handset, spoke an acknowledgement, then said: ‘Mr Samuelson, for you.’ Samuelson came and took the handset, listened, said: ‘Thank you, Helmut, thank you very much,’hung up and looked at his watch. ‘Four minutes. I’m going to my room, Romero, but will be down for dinner. So will Mr Riordan. There’ll be a news flash on TV in four minutes. Please don’t miss it. ‘On his way to the stairs, he stopped by Annemarie’s table. ‘I am sorry, Miss Meijer.’ No ‘my dear’, no ‘Anne’. ‘I did not know.’ When the news flash came, interrupting some appropriately lugubrious offering from Handel by the Concertgebouw, it was very much what van Effen expected. ‘The now notorious terrorist — group, the FFF,’ the newscaster read, ‘have announced that, for reasons they do not wish to discuss, the demand for twenty million guilders from Mr David Meijer has been withdrawn, effective as from now. Miss Anne Meijer will be released and returned to her father as soon as is conveniently possible. The sum now asked from the Government has been correspondingly increased to a hundred and twenty million guilders.’

Apart from a slow shake of the head, which could have meant anything but probably indicated a total lack of understanding, Annemarie did not react at all. Julie smiled in delight and hugged her. George clapped a hand on van Effen’s knee and said: ‘Well, now, my friend, what do you think of that?’

‘Splendid,’ van Effen said. ‘Quite splendid. Bit unfair on policemen’s sisters, though. They should have let her go as well.’

‘I must admit,’ van Effen said, ‘that it does make it a bit more difficult to kill him, should that unfortunate need arise. If, of course, our friend Samuelson was moved solely by humanitarian principles. One must not misjudge the man. Perhaps he recalled the days when he used to say his prayers at his mother’s knees and his heart was touched. Equally well, he may be an even more calculating villain than we’ve given him credit for.’ ‘I can’t see how you can possibly say that,’ Vasco said. They were pacing to and fro on the front porch. It was bitterly cold, now, and the wind of gale force dimensions.

They had a certain degree of privacy out there — it had been impossible to conduct a private conversation inside — but only a certain degree. There was a loft over the garage, approached, as was the custom in that area, by an external stairway. Earlier on they had seen one man go up those stairs and another come down: almost certainly a change of watchman who would have taken position behind the loft window. There were probably others similarly stationed in the other barn and in the windmill itself. Whether the purpose was to keep insiders from going out or outsiders from coming in, it was impossible to say. All that could be said was that it was done with great discretion. Civilian staff were employed in the windmill and even the hint of the maintenance of a guard — almost certainly an armed guard — would have done much to destroy the credibility of the Golden Gate Film Productions.

‘I not only say that he may be an exceedingly cunning villain,’ van Effen said. ‘I believe it. Sure it was moving, touching, heartrending even, a fundamentally decent man overwhelmed by his own decency. You noticed the terms of the communiqué. Miss Anne Meijer will be released as soon as conveniently possible. For conveniently possible read inconveniently impossible. People will know that the poor man is trying desperately to return Annemarie to the bosom of her family but finds it impossible to do without jeopardizing his own plans and safety. But he has made the offer. Mr David Meijer, who has not, I assume, accumulated his millions or billions or whatever without having some faint glimmer of intelligence somewhere, will know exactly what the score is and that his daughter is as much a pawn as ever and that he can still be counted on to do the right thing — as far as Samuelson is concerned — about bringing his influence to bear on whatever the government’s decision may be. The government whose decision matters, of course, is the British one. He can’t influence that. But he can influence the Dutch Government to influence the British one, which is just about as useful from Samuelson’s viewpoint.

‘And think what would have happened had David Meijer died while his daughter was still in the FFF’s custody. Unlikely, but that’s not the point. People range from the soft-headed to the incurably romantic. The “died-of-a-broken heart” syndrome has always had a powerful following. Sure, people do die of a broken heart but it’s over the months and the years and not overnight. No matter. If he had died the public reaction to Samuelson and the FFF would have been one of total revulsion and rejection. Attitudes — would harden, resistance stiffen, and the average man in the street would say: “The hell with this cold, ruthless, murderous monster. -Never give in to him, never. Let him do his worst and see if we care.” That, I should imagine, is the last thing that Samuelson and company want.

‘Going back to that communiqué. Notice the noble, dignified and selfless fashion in which he refused to give the reasons for his decisions. I didn’t know that David Meijer had a heart condition but for all I know it may be common knowledge. If it’s not, I’ll take long odds that it soon will be. Helmut Paderiwski, whom Samuelson calls our voice in Amsterdam, will make good and sure of &.at and that his voice will be heard. Radio and newspapers will be anonymously and discreetly told that David Meijer has a severe heart condition — the truth of that can soon be established — and hints dropped that his gallant hostage daughter had been pleading for his life. For the newspapers, it’s a natural, a human-angle story to tug at the very heart strings. Suitably dressed up in the usual sickening journalese, this will be manna to Samuelson, a big plus, an image that puts him in line for tabloid canonization. No matter what he’s done or is threatening to do, popular sympathy is going to swing behind him and make it all the easier for his demands to be granted. The whole world loves a reformed rogue, a bandit with a heart of gold. A toast to the Robin Hood of Amsterdam.’

‘This I do believe,’ George said. ‘Among the other accomplishments that you don’t know I have, is a smattering of Yiddish. Not much, not even a working knowledge, but a smattering. I wondered what senseless instructions he was trying to give in Yiddish to this fellow Paderiwski in Amsterdam. I don’t wonder any more. It makes sense.’ ‘Lastly, of course, there’s the Dutch reverence for the guilder. What praise, people will say, can be too high for a man who spurns twenty million guilders — the fact that he doesn’t have it and probably wouldn’t have got it anyway is quite irrelevant — at the sight of a tear-drop in the comer of the eye of a lovely maiden. The twenty million, admittedly, is added to the government’s bill, but who ever cared about robbing a government. You still think, Vasco, that Samuelson was motivated only by humanitarian considerations?’ ‘When you put it that way, I have to admit that I don’t. He has to be what you say — a crafty conniving villain. Well, it’s all very well you having convinced me. It’s an unfortunate fact that fourteen million other Dutchmen didn’t hear you. I’m convinced that they’re going to stay convinced to the contrary.’

‘Not all of them. Give some of them time and they’ll work it out. The great majority won’t. And that’s what the frightening thing is about Samuelson. It took me quite a time to figure out the angles here and I’m in the heart of this whole messy business. Samuelson’s got a computer mind. He did it all on his feet, within seconds and it would seem automatically, although of course it wasn’t automatic at all. Man’s brilliant. And he’s highly dangerous. It would behove us to have a very long spoon when we’re supping with Samuelson.’

‘Back to the devil again, is that it?’George said. ‘He’s the key. Nothing else fits the lock. He’s the one who says that Riordan is prepared to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil. I wonder if Riordan uses a long spoon to sup with Samuelson. It must cost thousands of dollars a day to run this operation. Maybe tens of thousands. Agnelli hasn’t got that kind of money and I doubt whether Riordan ever earned a penny in his life.’ ‘Samuelson beyond doubt. The paymaster.’

‘Pity we’re in no position to check with Interpol.’ ‘Wouldn’t do us-any good even if we were. If he’s as clever as I think he is. Interpol will never have heard of him. Interpol simply has no idea as to who the world’s outstanding criminals are. That’s why they’re outstanding. May not even have a criminal past at all — I say criminal past as distinct from criminal record. He’ll have no record. And perhaps, as I say, no past. He may even be what Uncle Arthur suggested he was — a bloated plutocrat, a man who has made his immense fortune in oil or shipping or something of the kind.’

‘Then we would have heard of him.’

‘We may or may not have heard of him — under another name, of course. May not even be a photograph of him in existence. Some of the world’s wealthiest men are never photographed.’

George said: ‘If he’s as wealthy as we think he may be, why is he trying to extract more from other sources?’

‘Show. I’m convinced that Samuelson neither wants nor needs money. But for all I know he may have persuaded his partners that his funds are drying up and he’s now making a show about money to divert attention from the fact that money is of no value to him and that his interests lie elsewhere. Agnelli makes no secret of the fact that he’s very interested in money and this may be Samuelson’s way of keeping him happy. He has a large staff to keep happy and they’ll be keenly interested in seeing Samuelson displaying a keen interest in money. He seems to need us — for what precise purpose we don’t yet know, we may well be here on only a contingency basis — but we need money too. And Riordan, above all, has to be kept happy, for Riordan above all needs unholy money to achieve his holy purposes.’

‘Unholy money for unholy purposes,’ George said. ‘Split mind. Dichotomy. There must be something in this Irish American connection. We know there are men who are willing to trade heroin for bags of gold to help a so-called worthy cause. Purblindness. That the word?’ ‘Something like that. In medical terms, tunnels as opposed to peripheral vision. We have to accept that it’s an illness and try to treat it as best we can.’

‘How do we go about treating this ailment? The good doctor has something on his mind?’ Despite his vast bulk George shivered in the bitter wind. ‘A prescription? A nostrum?’

‘Too late for medicine.’

‘Surgery? I wouldn’t even know which end of a scalpel to hold.’ ‘You don’t have to. In the best medical parlance, surgery, at this moment, is contra-indicated.’

George cleared his throat delicately, which is no easy thing to do in a gale-force wind. ‘You have suddenly developed a new-found regard for the well-being of murderous villains? Criminals who are prepared to drown God knows how many thousands of our fellow countrymen?’

‘No such sea-change, George. I know they have their quota of hard men and psychopathic nut-cases around here but do you seriously doubt for a moment that we could kill Riordan, Samuelson and Agnelli and get the girls away unharmed?’

‘I know we could — I take back my ludicrous suggestion about your tender heart. Tungsten steel, more like.’

Vasco’s expression didn’t exactly register shock but it did hold a certain amount of apprehension and disbelief.

‘You’re a policeman. Sir. Sworn to uphold the law. I mean, give them a fair trial and hang them in the morning.’

‘I’m my own court of law and I’d shoot them down like wild dogs if I thought it would solve anything but it wouldn’t. Two reasons — one psychological, one practical.

‘The psychological — curiosity, nosiness if you like. I am not convinced that those three are ordinary criminals. I am not convinced that Romero Agnelli is the murderous, ruthless killer we think he is. He bears no resemblance to his two brothers I put behind bars, who were Grade A vicious sadists. The fact that he hasn’t laid a finger on either Julie or Annemarie helps bear that out. Or Riordan. He’s no psychopath. Loony as a nut or nutty as a loon and a demagogue of some note — but only an occasional demagogue. But being loony doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re certifiable: there are quite a number of people tidied up — institutionalized, as they say — in lunatic asylums who are convinced that they are the only sane people around and that there exist great numbers of people, those responsible for wars, hunger, diseases, genocide, heroin pushers and those who talk glibly of nuclear annihilation, not to mention a few other trivial matters, who should be where they are, and who’s to say they’re not right?’

‘And then there’s the factor of demagoguery.’

‘Dema what?’ Vasco said.

‘People who are supposed to go in for ranting and raving. A word that has fallen into disuse. A word associated with the likes of Hitler, Mussolini and a few dozen nationalistic leaders in the world today. There are good demagogues and bad ones.

Originally it meant people who were opposed to established rules of law, usually bad rules. Christ, if you Eke, could have been called a demagogue. Riordan, I admit, is no member of the Holy Trinity, but I believe him to be a sincere and honest demagogue, however misguided. I do not believe him to be evil.

‘Samuelson is the nigger in the woodpile — if one can use such racist language in these days. He’s the real enigma. You know that he’s English?’

Both men shook their heads.

‘He is. A wealthy man. Obviously, a very wealthy man. Sure, rich men are normally under a compulsion to become even richer, but there’s a limit even to that and I believe Samuelson has reached that limit. As sane and stable a man as you could ever hope to meet. Beneath that bonhomie and geniality I think he’s an obsessed man. A driven man. I would like to know what drives him. What do you think of Kathleen?’ Both men stared at him, then George said: ‘Wait a minute.’ He disappeared inside the mill and reappeared shortly afterwards with three very large glasses of brandy in his hands. ‘if we are to continue this discussion in Verkhoyansk temperatures — what do you mean “Kathleen”?’ ‘What I said. How does she strike you?’

‘We hardly know her,’ George said. ‘A lovely child, of course.’ ‘There you go again. You and your middle-aged propensities. Vasco?’ ‘I agree with George. I’ve never seen — ‘ he broke off. ‘She seems kind and gentle and — ‘

‘An accomplished actress? A case-hardened spy?’ Vasco said nothing. ‘The feminine equivalent of the smiler with the knife under the cloak?’ ‘No!”Vasco was vehement.

‘No, indeed. When she was watching that TV announcement tonight, you weren’t. You were watching her. Not that I blame you, she’s as watchable as anyone in the Netherlands. But that’s not why you were watching her. Apropos of nothing, Vasco, I think you’d make an excellent Inspector. Under, of course, the watchful eye of George, whom I hope to persuade to leave his ill-chosen role of restaurateur.’

‘Me?’ George stared at him as if either or both of them had taken leave of their senses.

‘You. You’re wasted. Keep La Caracha, of course. Annelise is the best cook in Amsterdam and you could always hire a couple of thugs, preferably ex-convicts, to take over your distasteful duties as bouncer. But that’s by the by. What did her eyes tell you, Vasco?’

‘Her eyes?’ Vasco was momentarily confused.

‘Kathleen’s. You were watching her eyes, not her face.’ How did you know — ‘

‘A combination of craftiness, cunning, deviousness and experience. Practice is all. Fear, distress?’

‘Something like that. Distinctly unhappy. Edgy. Odd thing was, she was looking like that before the announcement was made. She knew what was coming or thought or was convinced she knew what was coming and didn’t like it one little bit.’

‘Another driven person,’ van Effen said.

‘If we’re talking about drivers and driven people,’ George said, ‘you could also include Maria Agnelli. A great lip-licker is our Maria. We’ve all met people who lick their lips when they’re in a state of sadistic anticipation but when you’re in a state your lips don’t tremble. Hers did. Nervous apprehension. Revulsion, if you like.’

‘I missed that,’ van Effen said.

‘Well, we’ve each of us got only one pair of eyes,’George said reasonably. ‘But you only had to have half an eye to see that Samuelson enjoyed every moment of the broadcast. So what do we have? Three driven people. One of those driven people, Samuelson, is also the driver, going hell-bent, one could say, round a series of hairpin bends down a pretty precipitous mountain slope. The other two are driven, terrified of going over a precipice at the next hairpin.’

Vasco said in a complaining voice: ‘You’re going too fast for me. You make those two girls sound relatively harmless, maybe even nice. Joachim, Joop and those two other baby-faces in the mill here — Baader-Meinhof, RAF or whatever you call them — they are Dot nice.’

‘They wouldn’t agree,’ van Effen said. ‘They arc the new Messiahs, dedicated to the creation of a nobler and better world. It’s mere!y because of the blind folly of this misguided world that assassination and the deployment of tactical nuclear weapons have become their stock-in-trade.’

‘And those two girls are their associates and allies,’ Vasco said. He sounded very bitter indeed. ‘Or do you dip your band into this witches’ brew of murder, mayhem, blackmail, terrorism and theft and bring them out pure as the driven snow?’

‘A little dusting of soot, perhaps. Camouflage. A little coercion here, a little blackmail there, misguided love, misguided loyalty, a warped code of honour, a false sentimentality, a judicious mixture of truth and lies.’

‘ “Conned”, I believe is the word you’re after,’ George said. ‘But they weren’t conning anyone when they kidnapped Julie.’ ‘Of course they were. Sure, they hoped to discourage me, but that was only the ostensible reason. Romero Agnelli would never have thought that up on his own and as for hurting my sister I’ve already given it as my opinion that he would be reluctant to tread on a beetle. The orders came from his brothers Giuseppe and Orlando, that delightful duo I put away all those years ago.’

‘But they’re in prison.’

Van Effen sighed. ‘Vasco, Vasco. Some of the most powerful and vicious gangs in the world are controlled by bosses temporarily confined to maximum-security blocks in prisons. Palermo, Cagliari, Ajaccio, Marseilles, half a dozen cities in the United States, even London and Amsterdam and Naples — there’s where the criminal overlords — overlords still with powers of life or death — hang out in their prison cells. It’s Romero’s brothers who have the orders for the sending of those menacing postcards to me, who ordered Julie’s kidnapping. But they’re not after Julie. I don’t believe they’re even after me. Convicted criminals, oddly enough, don’t usually harbour grudges against the cops who caught them: their resentment is reserved for the judges who sentenced them. Italy Is a classic example of this.’

‘If they’re not after you or Julie,’ George said slowly, ‘then my towering intellect tells me they’re after something else. And to think that Samuelson had the staggering effrontery to say that Riordan was prepared to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil.’

‘And I said that one would require a very long spoon to sup with the devil.’

‘Speaking about the devil,’ Vasco said, ‘and with all due respect, of course, what the devil are you two talking about?’ ”The devil,’ George said. ‘Or devils. Part of the flooding — or non-flooding of the country — and it may even be a pre-condition — will be that Romero’s murderous brothers be released from prison or, heaven help us, be given a free pardon.’

There was a brief hiatus while George returned inside the mill to get some more anti-pneumonia specific. When he returned van Effen said: ‘Well, so much for theory. I d-Link we’ve got everything right except Samuelson’s ultimate motivation. We’re not even wrong about that — we just don’t know. Now, practicalities: that shouldn’t take too long. Our options are limited and, besides, it’s too damned cold.

‘We have agreed that now is not the time to dispose of the three boss villains here. There are other and non-theoretical reasons. Samuelson may not be the C-in-C, although I’m convinced he is. There may be others. He has to have someone in the vicinity of the lisselmeer to trigger off that damned nuclear device of theirs. They also told us, unwisely, that this is only a stop-over HQ. The other will be their main one and, almost certainly, the one from which they intend to make their final strike. We have to find it so, for the moment, we have to go along with them. ‘I’m more than prepared for the fact that they’ll breach the dykes north and south of Lelystad and flood the east and south Flevoland areas shortly after midnight because I’m equally certain that the British are going to temporize and not throw in the towel before the first bell rings. With any luck there should be no loss of life — human life, that is: I wouldn’t care to guess what is going to happen to the livestock. This nuclear device to be detonated in the Ijsselmeer tomorrow afternoon presents a more serious threat — my guess is that it would be in the Markerwaard — and I wouldn’t much care to be in the vicinity of Marken or Volendam, when it went off. Nasty things, tidal waves, especially when the height is unpredictable. Things might even be unpleasant in Hoorn or Amsterdam itself, although I doubt it. After all, this is meant primarily as a demonstration for the British cabinet or whatever. The big bang will come later — considering the steadily worsening conditions that should be at the next high tide afterwards. Or the one after that. In daylight, anyway.’ Vasco said: ‘Why daylight?’

‘You think they have this helicopter just to make a non-existent film? They want it to take them some place a land-based vehicle can’t reach. An island, perhaps, though that seems unlikely. The point is that it’s very difficult to land a helicopter in gale force winds although highly-trained air-sea rescue pilots do it regularly. But to try it in a gale in total darkness and driving rain — in zero visibility, that is — is foolhardy to the point of suicide — especially if you happen to have as part of your cargo some potentially unstable nuclear devices. So, daylight.’

‘We might be here for a couple of days yet?’ George said. ‘My guess is that we’ll be off first light in the morning. They’ll want to establish themselves in their HQ, near the scene of action. Those ground-to-ground and ground-to-air missiles — they have been deactivated?’ George nodded. ‘How are you when it comes to deactivating tactical nuclear devices?’

‘I’ve never even seen a tactical nuclear device. If I could examine one or see a blue-print, well, yes, perhaps. Otherwise, no. I know I wouldn’t feel a thing but I still don’t much fancy being vaporized.’ ‘Well, we’ll have a look at them later on tonight. They’re somewhere on the premises. We don’t even have to look. You heard what Agnelli said — “I can show them to you now.” ‘

‘Won’t that make them suspicious?’ George said. ‘That we didn’t ask to see them right away? They’ll be thinking we have been having a conference and have dreamed up some devilish scheme.’

‘Let them think what they like and be as suspicious as they like. We’re as safe-as men in a church. We, my friends, are indispensable.’ George and Vasco looked at each other, then at van Effen, but said nothing. ‘We’re also not very bright. Joop, Joachim or some of their psychopathic Red Army Faction pals stole those nuclear devices from the US NATO arms dump near Metnitz on the night of February 3rd. Something else happened on that same night.’

‘February 3rd,’ George said. ‘Of course. We really are not very bright. That was the night the De Dooms ammunition dump was blown out of existence. Samuelson’s explosive experts trying to replenish their supplies. An enormous crater. No replenishments and, of course, no experts. No wonder the FFF were so desperate for our supplies and services. We’re probably the only people around who could set off a squib. Lloyd’s of London would approve of this.’

Vasco said: A marvellous insurance policy, to be sure. But has the thought occurred to you that Joop or one of his lunatic associates may know how to trigger those nuclear devices?’

‘The thought has occurred,’ van Effen said. ‘So we’ll just have to attend to the lunatics or the devices, won’t we? Or both. But before we start attending to anything I suggest we go inside, have a wash and brush up, find out how thoroughly they have examined our luggage, listen to the next riveting communication from the Dutch or British governments or the FFF, then join our genial hosts for dinner. One would imagine that a of Samuelson’s resources could run to a cordon bleu chef.’

Romero Agnelli greeted them genially on their entrance and at once pressed jonge jenevers on them. ‘You must be needing this after your long stay outside. I mean, it’s pretty cold tonight.’

‘Not for us,’ van Effen said. ‘We’re fresh-air fanatics.’ 11 thought that applied only to the English. Anyway, I trust you enjoyed your stroll.’

‘If you call pacing up and down your veranda a stroll, then, yes, we did.’ Van Effen knew that Agnelli was perfectly well aware that they had not once left the veranda.

‘And, of course, the opportunity for a private conversation.’ Agnelli was still smiling.

‘Well, yes. Pondering our probable future, about which we know precious little. After all, you and your friends are hardly very communicative. We don’t know what we’re here for, what services we are expected to perform, where we’re going, even when we’re going.’ ‘That last I can tell you — eight o’clock tomorrow morning. As for the rest, well, you and I are great believers in the need-to-know principle.’ ‘True, true. But there’s one thing that we do need to know — where do we sleep tonight? On the floor?’

‘Dear me, no. Mind you, this is no Amstel but we do have accommodation of sorts. Come, I’ll show you. I’ve already had your baggage brought up.’ He led the way up the curving staircase and along to a door at the end of a passageway. The room beyond was of moderate size with three single beds. Agnelli indicated a door at the far end of the room. ‘Bathroom. No marble bath, no gold taps, but serviceable enough.’ He looked at his watch, ‘Dinner in twenty minutes.’ He left, still smiling. Van Effen and George sat on their beds, engaged in desultory conversation, while Vasco looked around. In this particular kind of looking-around Vasco was a specialist, very meticulous, very thorough. After a few minutes he said: ‘Clear. No bugs.’

George hoisted his medium-sized suitcase on to his knees. It was one of those fancy cases with combination locks, four figures by each of the two keyholes, eight in all. George peered at it closely. ‘Combinations as set?’ van Effen said.

‘As set. But not untouched. Very tiny scratches. This case is brand new, never been used before. Normally, I wouldn’t be seen dead with this junior-executive status symbol but Annelise gave it to me for my birthday and it would have been more than my life’s worth to have left home without it. It’s been opened and closed and in very short order, too. I don’t know of a safe-breaker in the Netherlands who could have done this.

Anyone who knows his job can open a conventional safe — 2 pair of good ears or a doctor’s stethoscope can hear the tumblers click. No tumblers in this type of lock.’

Van Effen said: ‘I’ll bet O’Brien could open the vaults of the Amsterdam-Rotterdam bank with a bent hairpin.’

‘I wouldn’t doubt it.’ George adjusted the combination figures and opened the case. ‘A very neat character. Everything exactly where it was except of course where it’s naturally settled in the process of being carried.’ ‘Yours, Vasco?’

Vasco unlocked his case. ‘Untouched. Spare Smith & Wesson magazines still there.’

‘Naturally.’ Van Effen opened his own case — it hadn’t even been locked — lifted out a rather battered toilet bag, and took from it a burgundy-coloured aerosol can with a chrome top. The side of the can bore the legend: Yves Saint Laurent — Pour Homme — Mousse — Raser. The aerosol, in fact, contained no shaving foam.

‘Well,’ George said, ‘nobody’s been touching or sniffing the contents of that lot.’

‘Obviously.’ Van Effen replaced the aerosol. ‘If they had they’d still be here. Horizontal on the carpet. I doubt if they even opened my toilet bag. If there was anything worth finding, they must have reckoned, it would have been in George’s thief-proof case.’ He took a small tablet of soap from his toilet bag and handed it to Vasco. ‘You know what to do with this.’ ‘Hygiene is all.’ Vasco went into the bathroom while van Effen and George crossed to the window opposite the beds and opened it. As far as they could judge in the darkness they were about fifteen feet above the cobbled courtyard below, a courtyard shrouded in almost total darkness. ‘Very satisfactory, George, don’t you think?’

‘Very. Only snag is that you’ll have to make a pretty long detour to keep in the darkness in order to reach the back of the barn. And have you thought of anti-personnel land-mines — you know, the nasty kind that jump three feet in the air before exploding?’

‘George, this place is run and staffed entirely by local villagers. If, say, a laundry-maid was just kind of accidentally blown in half — ‘

‘True. Point taken. But if you were to run into a patrolling member of the FFF — ‘

‘Anybody out on patrol on a night like this has to be a head case. Gale, driving rain, bitter cold, thunder and lightning due any time ‘But _’

‘I’m not going to run into anyone. Someone might run into me. Velvet gloves. Vasco’s taking his time, isn’t he?’ They moved to the bathroom door, tried to open it and found it locked. Van Effen rattled the door handle.

‘Put out your light,’ Vasco said. They did as he asked. Vasco opened the door of the bathroom which was in total darkness. ‘Sorry about that, gentlemen, but I didn’t want the watcher in the shadows to know that he was been watched by another watcher in the shadows. Not, mind you, that our fellow watcher is very much in the shadows.’

The bathroom window was, in fact, directly opposite the door in the loft of the barn that held the army truck on the ground floor. The man standing in the doorway was making no great effort to conceal his presence and the courtyard light projecting from the mill veranda was quite strong.

‘Doesn’t seem to me to be guarding against anything very much,’ van Effen said. ‘Unenthusiastic. Don’t blame him. Must seem like a pretty useless exercise on a night like this.’

‘And a pretty freezing exercise, too,’ George said. ‘He generates his own heat,’ Vasco said. ‘Wait.’

They didn’t have to wait long. After less than two minutes the guard reached behind him, lifted a bottle, to his lips and took what appeared to be a very considerable swig from it.

‘No mineral water, that’s for sure,’ van Effen said. ‘Let’s get inside.’ They closed the bathroom door behind them and switched on the bedroom light. Vasco handed van Effen a small metallic object sheathed in polythene. Van Effen dropped it in his pocket.

‘I’ve stuck the two pieces of soap together and left them in hot water,’ Vasco said. ‘Should be mushed together again pretty soon. I have an idea. Just after I got into the bathroom I saw a man crossing the courtyard towards the barn. That’s when I switched off the light. He disappeared round the back of the barn, you know, where the outside stairs are, and then joined the man who was then standing at the loft door. Changing of the guard, so to speak. That was exactly at seven o’clock. It occurred to me that it might be very convenient if the condition of my throat has deteriorated so badly that I will be unable to join you for dinner. It might be very convenient if we found out how regularly they changed guards.’ ‘It would.;indeed,’ van Effen said. ‘An excellent suggestion, Vasco. Should have thought of it myself. Promotion guaranteed — if, that is, we survive this lot. I’m sure Samuelson will be most distressed. Probably insist on sending you another toddy.’

‘Make sure it’s a large one, if you please. I’m feeling very weak.’

‘Mr Danilov. George.’ As van Effen and George descended the stairs into the living-room, Samuelson advanced to greet them, beaming as if they were long-lost friends. ‘Just in time for the next TV broadcast. Then dinner. But where’s our dashing young Lieutenant?’

‘Our young Lieutenant isn’t feeling at all dashing. Throat’s worse. Flu, I think.’

Samuelson clucked his tongue and shook his head. ‘Damn flu’s everywhere these days. This awful weather. Most important that he’s reasonably fit tomorrow. Herta!’ This to a flaxen haired young girl who was setting the table for the evening meal. ‘A toddy. A strong one. Take it up to the Lieutenant’s room. Dear me, dear me. Ah!’

Agnelli had just turned up the volume of the TV set and a rock band, which had been playing, mercifully, in apparent mime, faded from the screen to be replaced by the accustomed announcer looking, if possible, even more lugubrious and funereal than he had on the previous occasion. ‘With reference to the threats being made against our country by the unidentified group calling themselves the FFF, the Ministry of Defence has just issued a statement. The British Government and ours are in constant contact but no announcement as to the results of those negotiations can yet be made pending the outcome of discussions between Whitehall and Stormont. Stormont is the parliament or governing body of Northern Ireland which is, of course, next to ourselves, the country most closely concerned with the outcome of those negotiations. Whitehall, it must be said, finds itself in a most difficult and peculiar position. Ulster, Northern Ireland, that is, although an integral part of Great Britain, retains a certain degree of autonomy as far as decisions relating to its own future is concerned. When further news comes to hand the country will be immediately informed.

‘The FFF have informed us that they will issue a further communiqué after this broadcast. This will be transmitted to you at 8 p.m. ‘In the circumstances, the latest report from the meteorological office is relevant. The wind, due north, is Force Nine and strengthening. Torrential rain is sweeping over most of Scandinavia and is heaviest of all over the Netherlands. The North Sea is expected to reach its highest level for at least the past quarter century inside the next forty-eight hours.’

The announcer’s image faded and Agnelli switched off the set. ‘Dear me, dear me,’ Samuelson said. ‘Things do look very unpromising. Or very promising. All depends upon one’s point of view.’ He gestured towards the bar. ‘Romero, see to it that our friends are not neglected. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. 1 shall be back shortly.’ He disappeared up the stairs.

While the Agnelli brothers busied themselves behind the bar van Effen wandered aimlessly around the room apparently admiring the paintings and the bronze and copper artefacts that decorated the walls. van Effen paid particular but very brief attention to the telephone: the telephone number had been carefully and thoroughly inked out, which neither surprised nor disturbed him. He was reasonably certain that he could, later that night, have given that number to the police HQ in the Marnixstraat in Amsterdam, which would have enabled them to pinpoint the exact whereabouts of the windmill, but that would not have suited his purpose: the answer to the machinations of the FFF lay elsewhere. Samuelson, presumably and for reasons best known to himself, had gone upstairs to use another telephone to deliver the text of the next FFF communiqué.

Dinner that night was a rather odd affair. Not that there was anything odd about the food. Obviously, there wasn’t a cordon bleu chef within miles. The Dutch, taken by and large, are not gourmets. Your standard Dutch cook or housewife consider it a matter of personal pride and honour and an insult to their guests if they can see any part of the plate under the mound of food that covers it: the food was palatable enough but Michelin would not have come there a second time.

What was odd was the contrasting behaviour of the diners. Samuelson, Romero Agnelli, van Effen and George were in an expansive, genial and talkative mood. Daniken made an occasional contribution but was clearly no conversationalist. The Rev. Riordan, apart from delivering a lengthy and, in the circumstances, extremely hypocritical blessing before the meal, remained grave and thoughtful and totally silent throughout the meal: Riordan, van Effen reflected, if not quite deranged or demented, was totally detached from reality and possessed of an incredible naivety. Leonardo was equally silent. He, too, was thinking, but only of his stomach: for a man of his diminutive stature, he was an awesome trencherman. They spoke only when spoken to, smiled but seldom and for the most part were remote and withdrawn to the point of being dispirited. At one point van Effen said to Romero Agnelli: ‘And where’s our friend O’Brien tonight? He’s not down with the flu, I trust?’ ‘O’Brien’s as fit as a fiddle. He’s elsewhere.’

Van Effen said: ‘Ah.’

Samuelson smiled. ‘You really are a singularly incurious person, Mr Danilov.’

‘Would it help any if I knew where he was or what he was doing?’ ‘No. Romero has spoken to me several times about your need-to-know philosophy. It is one with which I am in entire agreement.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Romero, it lacks one minute to eight o’clock.

It was the same newscaster. He looked as if he had just heard that his entire family had been wiped out in an air crash.

‘We have here the latest communiqué from the FFF.’ He didn’t sound at all like a news reader, he intoned the words like a minister delivering a funeral oration. ‘It is very brief and reads as follows: “We place no credence in the Ministry of Defence’s statement. We think the Dutch and British governments are either stalling or don’t believe in our threats. Or both. We do not intend to stall. We do intend to make them believe our threats. The dykes north and south of Lelystad will be breached a few minutes after midnight. The nuclear device in the lisselmeer will be detonated at 2 P.M. tomorrow. We beg you to believe that these two incidents will be regarded as the merest trifles compared to the disaster that will engulf the Netherlands within twenty-four hours of the detonation of the nuclear device. ” That is the end of their communiqué.”

‘We have also had a further statement from the Ministry of Defence. They say that they have no comment to make on this latest communiqué on the basis that there is NO way that they can predict the irrational workings of the minds of terrorists.’ Samuelson clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly. ‘They say they are prepared to believe that the terrorists are insane enough to carry out their insane threats’- more cluckings and shakings from Samuelson — ‘and can do no more than warn all local authorities to carry out all possible means of protection. ‘Netherlands experts and British nuclear scientists have agreed on the probable results of such a nuclear explosion. It is assumed that this will take place in the Markerwaard. If this device is located in or near the centre of the Markerwaard, the tsunami — the tidal wave — reaching the shores should be of minor proportions, averaging between sixty and seventy centimetres. Should it be placed close inshore the wave could be several times as high and the local results could be disastrous. ‘The nation will be immediately informed of any further developments.’ Agnelli switched off the set. Samuelson, half-smiling, looked at van Effen and said: ‘Do I detect just a trace of a half frown, Mr Danilov?’

Van Effen made no reply. ‘Romero has told me that you are prepared to react in an extremely violent form to any threat to the lives of your fellow citizens or, rather, to the citizens of your adopted country. Romero is of the opinion that you and your two friends are highly dangerous men. I concur. You are, I believe, heavily armed.’ Van Effen opened his jacket to demonstrate that he wasn’t carrying his shoulder-holstered Smith and Wesson, then turned to Agnelli, who was sitting next to him, crossed his knees and pulled up his right trouser leg to show that he wasn’t carrying his Lilliput either. ‘I do not consider guns as being an essential part of dressing for dinner. Do you think I would be so mad as to start a gun-fight in the company of four beautiful young ladies? Any ladies, come to that?’ ‘No. My mistake. The nuclear device is in the Markerwaard but is located precisely in its centre. Do you believe me?’

‘If I had your unpleasantly suspicious mind I would say that I’d wait until five past two tomorrow afternoon to find out. As it happens, I believe you. Now, Mr Samuelson, you know that I do not normally probe into anyone’s — affairs but I must confess to being just a little concerned about those nuclear devices. My two friends and I are acknowledged explosives experts but we know nothing about nuclear devices. We wouldn’t recognize one if we saw it, far less know how to arm it, activate it or deactivate it. But we do know they are nasty, jiggly and unpredictable things. I do know you have some on the premises, although I don’t know how many. What I do know is that I have a healthy regard for my own skin. I assume you’re transporting them elsewhere — they can be of no use to you here. I have no wish to be aboard whatever form of transportation is taking those devices from here to wherever elsewhere may be.’

Samuelson smiled. ‘Mr Daniken here shares your sentiments exactly.’ ‘What has Mr Daniken got to do with it?’

‘Air Daniken is our helicopter pilot. He doesn’t want to carry those things.’

‘I didn’t refuse to, Mr Samuelson,’Daniken said. ‘I said I was F.-I 257

highly reluctant because of the great risk involved. I agree with Mr Danilov. I don’t know how unstable or temperamental those damn things are. Flying conditions are atrocious, just on the limit. With an updraught or wind shear we can go up or down a hundred feet in two seconds. We could make a heavy landing, a crash landing or, heaven help us, just crash.’ ‘You and Mr Danilov can relax. Should have mentioned it before, but we made our minds up just before dinner. No helicopter. We have decided to use the army truck with which Mr Danilov and his friends have so thoughtfully provided us. Those devices are quite small and can easily be concealed in what looks like a couple of extra long-range petrol tanks. We’ll have three men dressed in uniforms, Ylvisaker as a full-scale lieutenant-colonel, and the rest — ‘

‘Where did you get the uniforms?’ van Effen said.

‘I told you,’ Samuelson said patiently. ‘We’re making a war film. The rest of us go by helicopter.’

‘Must be some helicopter.’

‘A war film, I said. A gunship. The end of the Vietnam war caught the US Air Force on the hop and they had overproduced. Going for a song. Elderly but fully serviceable. Stripped of armament, of course, but we ordered dummies. I suggest we move to more comfortable chairs for our brandies, liqueurs or whatever.’

Van Effen said: ‘If I may be excused, I’d like to have a look at the Lieutenant.’

‘Give him my sympathies,’ Samuelson said. ‘I suggest he might appreciate another toddy.’

‘Thank you. I’m sure he would. If he’s not — asleep, that is.’

Vasco was not asleep. He was comfortably seated in a small armchair that he had brought into the bathroom. Using the pencil beam of the variably hooded torch which was an indispensable item of his travelling equipment, van Effen handed Vasco the glass.

‘Compliments of Mr Samuelson.’

‘Very civil of him. Well, it’s eight-twenty now and the same character is still on watch. Judging from his performance with that bottle he must be half sloshed by this time. Like me, as you can see, he’s found an armchair. I’m surprised he hasn’t dropped off by this time. Anyway, I’ll keep watch until they change guard. The toddy will help sustain me through the long watches of the night.’

Van Effen gave him a brief resume of the Ministry of Defence’s statement and the FFF’s reply, promised that he and George would be back by nine o’clock and left.

He returned to the living-room to find that the group seated in armchairs had been considerably depleted.

‘The Lieutenant seems to have benefited from that first toddy. He doesn’t sound quite so hoarse. Very drowsy but not too drowsy to attack the second toddy. His thanks. And dear me, dear me, the lovely young ladies have departed. Shame. But I’m not surprised. They were hardly what you might call gay and vivacious at the table tonight.’ ‘They said they were tired,’ Samuelson said. Julie, van Effen knew, had not been tired. She was a notoriously poor air traveller and the thought of travelling in a helicopter — she’d never been in one in her life — must have been a nightmare. ‘Whatever have they done to make them tired?’ ‘Nothing. They’re just nervous and apprehensive.’

‘Just like George and myself.’

Samuelson surveyed him dispassionately. ‘I doubt whether you and your big friend have ever been nervous and apprehensive in your lives.’ ‘There’s always a first time. And where’s the holy father?’ ‘You know the Reverend doesn’t drink. But it’s not that. Every night before he goes to sleep he spends an hour in meditation and prayer.’ Van Effen said sombrely: ‘Let’s hope he includes in his prayers the souls of the victims of his nuclear toys.’

The silence that followed, of which van Effen seemed to be quite unaware, was, to say the least, embarrassing. It was Romero, in a clear attempt to break the silence, who said hastily: ‘Speaking of those nuclear toys, as you call them, I told you earlier I could show them to you. As an explosives expert, I thought you might be interested — ‘

‘Not L’ Van Effen waved an indifferent hand. ‘Same old principles — need-to-know and would it help any if I saw them?’ He was aware of George’s momentary slight frown but knew that no one else had seen it. Van Effen paused, as if something had just occurred to him, then said: ‘Someone has to be able to trigger off those nuclear devices. Don’t tell me it’s Joop and his psychopathic pals.’

‘It is indeed, as you say in your disparaging fashion, Joop and his psychopathic friends. ‘The words held a rebuke but the tone didn’t: it required no telepathy to realize that Samuelson shared van Effen’s opinion of the Red Army Faction. ‘When they got hold of those devices in Metnitz, they also obtained copies of the operating instructions. One would have been useless without the other.’

‘Remind me not to be within five kilometres of Joop and company when they arm either of those devices. A palm-reader once told me I had a long life-line but she could have been wrong. How is this device in the Markerwaard to be detonated?’

‘Pre-set timing device.’

‘And the two other devices?’

‘By radio control.’

‘God help us all. Make that ten kilometres.’

‘You don’t trust them?’

‘I wouldn’t trust Joop and his friends with a firework. They are fanatics and fanatics have unstable minds. Unstable hands also, probably. No, I don’t trust them. Neither, I suspect, do you.’

‘You still wouldn’t like to see those devices?’

‘I presume you’re not lunatic enough to keep those in the mill.’ ‘They’re a kilometre away in a secure underground cellar.’ ‘I’ve no intention of going out in that monsoon. And though you might not be lunatic I think you’re guilty of a grave error of judgement. To detonate any device by radio doesn’t call for the mind of an Einstein but it can be tricky and a job for experts.

Joop, and his band of trusty experts have never detonated a charge in their lives.’

‘And how would you know that?’

‘That’s being simple-minded. Why did you have to call me in for the palace job?’

‘True, true. Would your scruples, or your objections to monsoons, prevent you from having a look at the operating instructions? We have them in this room.’

Van Effen looked at him then looked away. The TV was on, showing a weirdly dressed quartet who. were presumably singing, but, perhaps fortunately, in silence: the volume control had been turned off. Samuelson and his friends were presumably expecting another newscast. Van Effen looked back at Samuelson.

‘Scruples? What you have in mind, of course, is that we should do your work — your dirty work — for you instead of those deranged amateurs. Do you know what would happen if those explosions resulted in the deaths of any citizens?’

‘Yes. You would ensure that I joined the departed. I wouldn’t like that at all.’

‘Let’s see the plans.’

Romero Agnelli removed a couple of papers and handed one each to van Effen and George. George was the first to speak and that only after a few seconds.

‘This isn’t a half-kilo device. It’s only for the equivalent of fifty tons Of TNT.’

Samuelson came very close to smirking. ‘The equivalent of ten tons would have suited me equally well. But it’s useful to exaggerate the terror potential, don’t you think?’

George didn’t say what he thought. After less than a minute he looked up and spoke again. ‘Only moderately complicated and very precise. Two snags. The first is that Joop speaks fractured English and people who have difficulty in speaking only the simplest form of a language usually are pretty hopeless when it comes to reading or writing it. The second snag is the jargon.’

‘Jargon?’

‘Technical terms,’ van Effen said. ‘They might as well be in Sanskrit as far as Joop is concerned.’

‘Well?’

Van Effen handed his paper back to Agnelli. ‘We’ll have to think and talk about it.’

Samuelson tried, not altogether successfully, to smother the smile of a man who knows he has won his point. For the next minute or two they remained, sipping their branches in comparative and apparently companionable silence, when the singers, if such they were, slowly faded from the screen to be replaced by the now familiar figure of the tragedy-stricken newscaster. ‘The government have just announced that they have just received two more demands from the FFF. The first of those concerned the demand for a hundred and twenty million guilders and how it is to be transferred. The government does not say whether it will accede to the request and refuses to discuss the nature of the transfer. The second demand is for the release of two prisoners who were imprisoned several years ago for crimes of extreme violence. The government refuses to disclose the names of the prisoners. ‘We would remind viewers that we shall be on the air again at midnight to find out whether the FFF have, in fact, breached the Flevoland dykes.’ Agnelli switched off the set. ‘Satisfactory,’ Samuelson said. He was actually rubbing his hands together. ‘Eminently satisfactory.’ ‘Seems like a pretty silly and stupid broadcast to me,’ van Effen said. ‘Not at all.’ Samuelson was positively beaming. ‘The nation now knows that the government has received details of our demands and, as they have not outright rejected them it probably means that they are going to accede to them. It also shows how weak the government is and in how strong a position we are.’

‘That’s not what I mean. They’ve been stupid. They didn’t have to make that announcement at all.’

‘Oh, yes, they did. They were told that if they didn’t we would radio the communiqué to Warsaw who would be just too delighted to re-broadcast it to Western Europe.’

‘You have a transmitter that can reach as far as Warsaw?’ ‘We haven’t got a transmitter, period. Nor do we know anyone in Warsaw. The threat was enough. Your government,’ Samuelson said with considerable satisfaction, ‘is now reduced to such a state of fear and trepidation, that they believe anything we say. Besides, they would look pretty silly, wouldn’t they, if the announcement came through Poland?’ Van Effen refused the offer of a second brandy, he had every reason to keep a clear mind for the next hour or two, and said goodnight. Samuelson looked at him in some surprise. ‘But you’ll be coming down to see the midnight broadcast?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t doubt your ability to carry out your threat.’ ‘I’m going too,’ George said, ‘but I shall be back down. Just going to see how the Lieutenant is. Incidentally, Mr Samuelson, if I may — ‘ ‘Another toddy for the young lieutenant. Certainly, my friend, certainly.’ ‘He may have a bit of a head in the morning,’ George said, ‘but he should be halfway towards recovery in the morning.’

Vasco, was in fact, in excellent health and showing no signs of an incipient headache.

‘Still the same lad. I should imagine the changeover will be at nine. Some guard. Spends most of the time with his chin on his chest then jerks awake.’

Let’s hope his relief is of the same cast of mind. Me, I’m going to have a snooze. If he’s still there at, say, nine-twenty, give me a shake. If he’s relieved at nine, shake me at ten. How do you operate the radio on that army truck? And what’s its range?t

‘Unlimited. Well, a hundred, two hundred kilometres, I’m not sure. Operation is simple. just lift the receiver and press the red button. The transmitter is pre-set to the nearest army command base which is always manned.’

‘I particularly don’t want to talk to the army. I want to talk to Marnixstraat.’

‘Easy. Standard tuning dial, standard wave-bands and a switch beside the button for illumination that picks out the wavelengths very easily indeed.’

Van Effen nodded, stretched out on a bed and closed his eyes.