Floodgate

Eleven

Two men were to play particularly important parts in the morning hours of that day.

One of those was Sergeant Druckmann, who was accompanied by two other officers. All three were in plain clothes. Their unmarked police car was mud-covered and slightly battered. It carried an unusual amount of electronic equipment, two separate sets of radio transceivers and a radar tracking device, so much, in fact, that, unusually, it was located on the floor just in front of the right-hand rear seat. The operator sat on the left-hand rear seat with a large-scale road imp on his knees. The equipment was, for the moment, covered by a carelessly thrown rug. The car had been in position since six-thirty that morning in a side road just north of Gorinchen.

Two other unmarked police cars, similarly equipped, were within a few miles of them. But it was Druckmann’s car that was to matter that morning.

The other man to matter was one Gropious, dressed in the uniform of a corporal in the Dutch army and sitting beside a private at the wheel of a small Dutch army troop carrier. Two other soldiers sat in the rear. Nobody would have used a photograph of Gropious on a recruitment poster for the Dutch army. His uniform was shabby and rather wrinkled and his long blond locks fell every which way under a hat that was more than slightly askew: the Dutch, for some reason best known to themselves, permit their soldiers to grow their hair to a length that would have had any British soldier confined to barracks for a fortnight. But the blond locks were not his own.

The uniform, like the wig, was a fake. Gropious was undeniably a soldier but no corporal: Lieutenant-Colonel Gropious, of the Dutch army commandos, was a particularly tough specimen of a particularly tough and elite corps.

The 7 a.m. broadcast that morning — the first breakfast-time broadcast in Dutch TV history — had been at once gloomy and slightly reassuring. Hundreds of square miles of the Flevolands had been inundated but to no great depth. As far as was known, no lives had been lost: the loss in livestock could not be estimated until later in the day. Hundreds of engineers were already pouring even more hundreds of tons of boulders and quick-setting concrete between hastily erected and, it was admitted, inadequately secured vertical steel plates. At best, it was also admitted, this could do no more than slightly reduce the effects of the next high tide and operations would have to cease at least three hours before that.

In the living-room of the windmill, where some dozen people were having breakfast, Samuelson was in high good humour.

‘Exactly as predicted, ladies and gentlemen, exactly as predicted.’ He looked in turn at van Effen, George and Vasco. ‘I keep my word, do I not, gentlemen? Maximum psychological impact, yet not a life lost. Things are going our way.’He paused and listened to the thunderous drumming of the rain on the veranda, gradually lost his expression of good humour, drummed his fingers on the table, looked at Daniken and said: ‘What do you think?’ ‘I don’t like it much,’ Daniken said. He rose and walked out to the veranda, closing the door behind him. He was back inside ten seconds. ‘The wind’s about the same,’ he said. ‘That is, gale force. I could fly in that. But the rain is the heaviest I’ve ever seen, even worse than the onset of the monsoon in India. Visibility is zero. I can’t fly in that and keep our flight plan as it is.’

‘You mean you won’t By?’ Samuelson said. ‘You refuse to fly?’ Samuelson didn’t seem unduly perturbed.

‘Not even if you ordered me. I will not be the person who Will be responsible for the end of all you wish for. I am the pilot and refuse to be responsible for the deaths of twenty-two people. Which I will be if we stick to our flight plans. Mass suicide is not for me.’ Van Effen cleared his throat delicately. ‘I am normally, as you know, the most incurious of persons, but I don’t like this talk of mass suicide, not least because it involves me. Is the need to leave on time a matter of complete urgency?’

‘Not really.’ It was Romero Agnelli who answered. ‘Mr Samuelson does the honour of leaving all the organization to me.’

‘And exceptionally good you are at it, too.’

‘Thank you.’ Agnelli smiled almost apologetically. ‘I’m just a stickler for timetables.’

‘I don’t think you need to worry too much about timetables,’ van Effen said. ‘I know this country, you people don’t. I’m sure George and the Lieutenant will confirm that downpours of this extraordinary order rarely last more than an hour or so, never as long as two. As I am in this unusually questioning mood, what’s all this about flight paths or flight plans or whatever?’

‘No reason why you shouldn’t know,’ Samuelson said. He was obviously relieved by van Effen’s statement and was in an expansive mood. ‘Daniken has radio-filed a flight plan to Valkenburg, near Maastricht, and this has been accepted. We are, today, filming a scene in hilly countryside and the only hilly countryside in the Netherlands is in the province of Limburg where Valkenburg lies. Romero has even had the foresight to book us hotel accommodation there.’

‘Where, of course, you have no intention of going. ‘van Effen nodded his head twice. ‘Neat, very neat. You take off for Limburg, which lies in a roughly south-south-easterly direction, then Mr Daniken descends and alters course. The Netherlands is a very flat country so one has to fly very low to keep beneath the radar screen. As a pilot myself, I know that altimeters are notoriously inaccurate at very low altitudes. It wouldn’t do us a great deal of good if a sudden down draught were to bring us into contact with a block of high-rise flats or even one of those massive TV antennas which are such a feature of this country. Mr Daniken has to see where he is going and I have to say that I am in one hundred per cent agreement with Mr Daniken.’

‘Mr Danilov has put it even better than I could,’ Daniken said. ‘I am in one hundred per cent agreement with him.’

‘And I agree with you both,’ Samuelson said. ‘Leonardo, be so kind as to tell Ylvisaker to delay his departure with the truck until further notice. I do not wish him to arrive at our destination before we do.’

Ylvisaker, resplendent in his lieutenant-colonel’s uniform, and his two companions, dressed in the uniforms of a sergeant and private of the Dutch army, departed at 8.45 a.m. The wind had not eased but the rain, as van Effen had predicted, had lessened to no more than a heavy drizzle.

At 8.46 a.m., Cornelius, the policeman in the rear of Sergeant Druckmann’s car, said: ‘They are moving out, sergeant.’ Druckmann picked up his microphone.

‘Sergeant Druckmann here. Target Zero has just moved out. Will A, B, C, D, E, please acknowledge.’

The five army patrol vehicles acknowledged in alphabetical order. Druckmann said: ‘Two minutes, three at the most and we should be able to know what route Target Zero is taking. After that, we shall report at minute intervals.’

At 8.47 a.m., twenty-two people filed aboard the giant helicopter. All, except the four girls, van Effen and George, were dressed in Dutch army uniforms. Samuelson said goodbye to four umbrella-carrying staff who had come to see them off, assuring them that they would be back the following evening. All the soldiers, with the one exception, were armed with machine-pistols: the exception, Willi the feckless guard, was burdened only by a pair of handcuffs.

At 8.49 a.m., Daniken lifted off and headed towards the south-south-east.

Also at 8.49 a.m., Sergeant Druckmann reported: ‘Tracking Target Zero at two kilometres. Target Zero is now one kilometre north of Gorinchen. From there the three main exit routes are east, south and west. Two minutes and we should be able to let you know which direction he is heading.’

Van Effen turned to Romero Agnelli, who was sitting beside him, cupped his hand to his ear and said: ‘Two things intrigue me.

Agnelli smiled and lifted his eyebrows.

‘I was led to believe that the armament on this gunship had been dismantled and replaced by dummies. Those guns arc for real.’ ‘The armament was dismantled and replaced by dummies. Then we replaced-the dummies. These things aren’t hard to come by if you know where to look. What was the other thing?’

‘Why isn’t Daniken climbing? We’re still under a hundred metres.’ ‘Look to your left and you’ll see why.’

Van Effen looked. Less than fifty metres away another, much smaller helicopter, was flying alongside them. Even as van Effen looked the pilot slid back his window and waved an arm. Van Effen looked forward. Daniken was waving in return. The pilot of the small helicopter closed his window and began to climb. Daniken gently eased the gunship around until it was heading due south.

‘Neat,’ van Effen said. ‘Very, very neat. In weather like this there will be precious little private flying in the country today. The odd bored air controller might just amuse himself by tracking this helicopter to Valkenburg. That helicopter, of course, is heading for Valkenburg. ‘Agnelli nodded. ‘Your idea, of course.’, Agnelli smiled and made a deprecating motion with his hand.

‘Target Zero is heading west on the Sliedrecht road,’ Druckmann report. ‘Which patrol is in the vicinity?’

‘Patrol A.’

‘Ah! Colonel Gropious, sir?’

‘Yes. I am seeing a road block one kilometre east of Sliedrecht. Close up until you have them visually. But not too close.’ ‘I understand, sir. Target Zero is travelling at a very leisurely pace — perhaps “circumspect” is the word I’m looking for. just below fifty kilometres. I estimate they should be with you in just under twenty minutes.’

‘Thank you, sergeant.’

Ylvisaker leaned back luxuriously in his seat and lit a cigar. ‘This,’ he said with a sigh, ‘is the life. Thank God we’re not aboard that damned helicopter.’

That damned helicopter was bumping and lurching its way in a generally west-by-south direction. ‘Generally’, because Daniken was at pains to avoid towns, villages or settlements of any size. It was, van Effen thought, a totally superfluous precaution. There was no earthly reason why, say, a lone farmer should report the passage of an unidentified and probably unidentifiable helicopter. Helicopters were ten a penny in the Netherlands. Van Effen looked around the gunship. Most of the passengers looked distinctly unhappy and their complexions offered an interesting variety of shades of colour. Annemarie and Julie, who were sitting together, had adopted remarkably similar attitudes — clenched fists and eyes screwed tightly shut. Van Effen himself was untroubled: Daniken was a superb pilot. He cupped his hand to Agnelli’s ear. ‘How much further?’ ‘About fifteen minutes.’

‘Reasonable accommodation?’

Agnelli smiled. ‘It’s a nice little place.’ judging by the standards of Samuelson’s taste, the nice little place, van Effen thought, was probably about the size of the royal palace in the Dam Square.

The blue and yellow sign read: ‘ROAD CHECK AHEAD. PLEASE STOP AT THE RED LIGHT’.

Ylvisaker’s driver slowed and said: ‘What do we do now?’ Ylvisaker took a leisurely puff at his cigar. ‘Drive on, my man.’

Gropious’s driver lowered his binoculars. ‘Target Zero for sure, Sir.’ He raised his binoculars again. ‘And the given number.’ F.-K 289

Gropious’s vehicle was in the left-hand lane, facing oncoming traffic. On the right-hand side, and slightly behind them, was another troop carrier. Two soldiers, both holding umbrellas, were leaning against their vehicle. Both were smoking cigarettes.

‘Would you look at that sloppy bunch,’ Ylvisaker said. ‘Umbrellas! Cigarettes! I’ll bet there’s not an officer nearer than Rotterdam. And these, mind you, are the gallant troops sworn to defend NATO to the death.’

As they came to a halt at the red light, Gropious and his two men, all three trailing machine-pistols in their left hands, approached the stolen army truck, Gropious going to the front of the truck and his two men to the rear. Ylvisaker opened his door.

‘What’s all this then, Corporal?’

‘Colonel’ An embarrassed Gropious, perceptibly stiffening, executed as military a salute as could be expected from a slovenly corporal. ‘Colonel. If I had known — ‘

Ylvisaker smiled tolerantly. ‘What is it, Corporal?’ ‘Orders, sir. We are under instructions to stop and examine all vehicles, army trucks included, which may be carrying illegally obtained weapons. We were given the registration number of one particular army truck. This is not the one.’

Ylvisaker displayed some mild interest. ‘Are you searching for anything in particular?’

‘Missiles, sir. Ground-to-ground and ground-to-air missiles. I must admit, sir, that I don’t even know what they look like except that they’re copper coloured and over two metres long.’ ‘Duty is duty, Corporal. I see you have two men at the rear. Instruct them to open up and search. just, you know, for the records.’ Gropious gave the instructions, the rear doors were opened and no missiles were found.

‘My apologies, Colonel,’ Gropious said. He hesitated, then produced a notebook and pencil. ‘My instructions are to make a note of the identification of every person passing through this check-point.’

Ylvisaker reached inside his uniform jacket. Gropious said: ‘No, no, sir. In your case, no papers are necessary. just your name, Colonel.’ ‘Ylvisaker.’

‘Colonel Ylvisaker.’ Rather laboriously, Gropious wrote down the name in his notebook. How ironic, he thought, that such a confrontation should occur between a lieutenant-colonel posing as a fake corporal and a civilian — and criminal — posing as a lieutenant-colonel. He put his notebook away and lifted his machine-pistol at the same instant as his two soldiers at the rear of the truck.

‘Move,’Gropious said, ‘and you’re dead.’

No sooner had Gropious and his men brought Ylvisaker and his two men out on to the roadside than Sergeant Druckmann’s car drew — up behind them. Druckmann and his men got out, Druckmann carrying a considerable number of metal objects in his hand. Druckmann looked at the scruffy corporal with the straggling blond locks and said hesitantly: ‘Colonel Gropious?’ ‘it is indeed.’ Gropious removed his hat, took off his wig and threw it beyond the roadside. ‘Those damn things itch.’

Druckmann said: ‘Congratulations, sir.’

Gropious, who without his wig now looked remarkably like a lieutenant-colonel, shook his hand warmly. ‘And the very same to you, Sergeant. Your name, please? All I know is that all the police cars were manned by sergeants.’

‘Druckmann, Colonel.’

An excellent piece of work, Sergeant Druckmann. Most professional. And what, may I enquire, is all that. ironmongery you’re carrying?’ ‘Handcuffs and leg irons, sir. I understand that those are not standard army issue.’

‘Splendid. Kindly have one of your men attach them at once.’ He turned to one of his soldiers. ‘Instruct all patrols to return to base. I suggest, Sergeant Druckmann, that you instruct one of your men to do the same for the police cars. Emphasising, of course, the need for complete secrecy.’

‘At once, Colonel. But there is no need to emphasize secrecy. All of us, myself included, have been threatened by Colonel de Graaf with the equivalent of Devil’s Island.’

‘Ah! Our redoubtable Chief of Police in Amsterdam.’ ‘Yes, sir. Whose prisoners are those — yours or ours?’ ‘They are now the property of the nation. We will drive to my base, call up Mr Wieringa, the Defence Minister, and Colonel de Graaf and see what is to be done with them. Meantime, let’s have a look at Ylvisaker’s truck — well, his stolen truck.’

Inside the truck Druckmann said: ‘I really know very little about what’s going on. Those three men are FFF?’

‘They are indeed and they face three charges. The first is impersonating army officers. The second is being in possession of a stolen army vehicle.’ Gropious opened the lids of the two fake long-range petrol tanks to reveal the squat, cylindrical shapes of two bronze-coloured metal objects. ‘The third, of course, is to have them explain how come they are transporting a couple of nuclear bombs along the roads of our fair countryside.’

The lids were lowered and they stepped outside. Druckmann said: ‘May I smoke in the Colonel’s presence?’

‘The Colonel is about to do the same.’

After a few moments, Druckmann said: ‘Well, all right. I volunteer.’ Gropious smiled. ‘To drive this truck to base?’

‘I’m a fearful coward, Colonel. I shall take great care.’ ‘I have a great deal of time for fearful cowards, sergeant. By the time we get there we shall have two US experts from Germany standing by to deactivate those damned things. I shall lead the way, red lights flashing and all that sort of thing, you will follow close behind and your police car will follow close behind you. You have this consolation, Sergeant Druckmann. If you’re vaporized, we’re all vaporized.’ The time was 9.27 a.m.

At precisely 9.27 a.m. Daniken touched down outside another isolated windmill-cum-farmhouse, considerably larger than the one they had so recently left. Two men and two women, umbrellas in hand, came hurrying out to meet them. It was clear that Samuelson and his friends, judging from the smiles on the faces of the four, were not only known and welcome but also expected. With the power shut off the interior of the gunship was almost deathly quiet. Van Effen said to Agnelli: ‘Well, yes, you do have a certain gift for organization.’

Agnelli smiled and said nothing.

The living-room of the windmill, which had a similar veranda outside, was considerably larger and even more luxurious than the one they had left behind, There were ten people in the room — Samuelson and the Agnelli brothers, van Effen and his friends and the four girls. Daniken, van Effen guessed, was presumably parking — and concealing — his helicopter in a nearby barn. Riordan had gone upstairs, no doubt to indulge in another bout of meditation and prayer.

Samuelson, relaxed in an armchair before a crackling wood fire, sighed like a man well content with himself.

‘Clockwork, my friends, just clockwork. The penultimate stage successfully completed. I know it’s still relatively early in the morning, but, then, we shall be having an early lunch. Something in the nature of a soupfon of jonge jenever, I think.’

‘An early lunch?’ van Effen said. ‘We are moving on?’ ‘Just after two o’clock.’ Samuelson gestured towards a TV set. ‘After we’ve seen what happens in the Markerwaard.’

‘I see.’ Van Effen made it abundantly clear that he didn’t see at all. ‘Well, wherever.’ He shrugged. ‘How many of those establishment do you own in the Netherlands?’

‘None. The owners of this house, for instance, are presently basking in the sunshine of the Bahamas. The Golden Gate pays well. This, as you are aware, is the dead season for farming. A local farmer, also well rewarded, looks after the cattle and sheep. There are no problems. Do you know where you are, Mr Danilov?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ Long experience had taught van Effen to he with total conviction: he knew exactly where he was.

‘After so short a flight, still somewhere in Holland. Does it matter?’ ‘You are a singularly incurious person. We are in the vicinity of Middelharnis. You know of it?’

‘Middelharnis?’ Van Effen frowned then said: ‘Over Flakkee.’ Samuelson smiled, nodded and said nothing.

Van Effen set down the glass that Leonardo had just given him. His face was stonily bleak and his eyes very cold.

‘The Haringvliet,’ he whispered. ‘You’re after the Haringvliet.’ He had been well aware of this for some quite considerable time. The Haringvliet dam was variously referred to as the valve or the sluice gate of Holland. It blocked the entry to the Haringvliet estuary and many waterways beyond. In the late spring and early summer, when the snows in the Alps, Germany and France melted, — it diverted the waters from the swollen Rhine, Waal and Maas rivers past Rotterdam and into the New Waterway which joined the North Sea at Europort simply by keeping its massive hydraulically operated, electrically powered gates closed. It could also, when the level of the river water rose too high, and the level of the North Sea was considerably lower, release water directly into the North Sea simply by opening as many of its gates as was deemed necessary. At this time of the year, however, with the river water shrunk to its lowest level, its main task was to keep out the North Sea except at the very latest of neap tides. The flooding, the damage and the deaths that would inevitably result from the destruction of the sluice gate of Holland were incalculable.

‘Yes, Mr Danilov.’ Samuelson must have been convinced that his life was in danger, but he remained outwardly calm. ‘I am, as you say, after the Haringvliet.’

Van Effen nodded just once, briefly. ‘Hence the nuclear weapons. I hope to God they detonate en route and blast Ylvisaker and his friends into outer space.’

‘A most uncharitable wish, to say the least.’ Samuelson sipped his drink: if he was perturbed, he hid the fact uncommonly well. ‘I see you are wearing your Smith and Wesson, Mr Danilov. I have no doubt your friends are similarly armed. Romero, Leonardo and I carry no arms — it’s a point of principle with us. If you choose to shoot me, there’s nothing I can do about it. But wouldn’t you consider it rather unfair to shoot a man merely because you’re labouring under a vast misapprehension?’ Samuelson seemed to be positively enjoying himself. ‘Go on.’

‘The nuclear devices are most definitely not intended for use on the Haringvliet dam and this for three reasons. Firstly, I don’t relish the prospect of vaporizing myself. Secondly I want the sluice gates to remain intact and in perfect working order. Thirdly, I intend to take over the dam.’

Van Effen sipped his drink in silence for a few moments, as if to take time out for thinking. Not only had he known that the Haringvliet was Samuelson’s target, he’d been equally convinced that Samuelson had had no intention of destroying it.

‘How very ambitious. And how do you intend to set about this takeover?’ ‘It’s already half done. About forty hours ago a skilled electrician carried out a very delicate and ail but undetectable job of sabotaging three turbo-generators.’

‘The devil he did. He was an employee?’

‘Naturally.’

‘And Dutch?’

‘Yes. Twenty thousand dollars, I’ve always found, has a most profound influence on even the most patriotic of souls. Besides, he had no idea what we had in mind. He, of course, was given the opportunity to trace the source of those faults and when he failed they called in experts from Rotterdam. Those four are currently lodged m a cellar beneath us. They are being well fed and cared for as you can see for yourself any time you wish.’

‘That will not be necessary. And then, of course, you sent in your own four experts.’

‘Yes. Alas, all four have criminal records and have served prism sentences but they have the saving virtue that they are probably the four best safe-crackers in the country. They also have a considerable knowledge of electrics.’

‘Such men could not have been easy to come by,’ van Effen said. He paused then said: ‘Wrong. They could have been easily come by.’ He looked at Romero Agnelli. ‘Your brothers in prison, of course. They must have the names and track records of every outstanding — by their standards — criminal in the country.’

‘They are very able men,’ Samuelson said, ‘but better at safe-cracking; than electrics.’

‘Their purpose being, of course,’ van Effen said, ‘to locate and deactivate all the alarm systems in the dam — pressure pads, rays, panic buttons and whatever, Also to discover the location of both on-duty and off-duty guards.’

‘Not to deactivate. Not yet. Might not even be necessary,’ Agnelli said. ‘The rest, yes. There were one or two points about which they were uncertain so they asked permission to bring in the best turbo-generator experts in the country.’

Van Effen nodded. ‘And, of course, they got the best expert in a totally different field. O’Brien. Very clever, I must admit.’ Samuelson waved a hand. ‘All Romero’s work. He would have made an excellent divisional officer. Has O’Brien returned, by the way?’ Leonardo left the room and returned with an O’Brien who was totally unlike his real self owing to the fact that he had acquired a beard and a moustache.

‘Sorry about this,’ O’Brien said. Wincing more than slightly he tore off both moustache and beard. ‘As I’m going aboard with you, I thought the sudden transformation of a civil= engineer into a Dutch army sergeant-major might have caused some eyebrow raising.’ Samuelson said: ‘How is everything?’

‘Ready to go,’ O’Brien said.

‘One point,’George said. ‘How are we to recognize those four — ah — colleagues you have on the dam. We don’t want to point guns at the wrong people.’

‘A good point,’Agnelli said. ‘All four are dressed in very light blue overalls.’

‘And carrying only tools in their tool-bags?’

‘The odd pistol. A few gas grenades. Useful things like that.’

‘I’d like some of those,’ van Effen said. ‘Gas grenades, I mean. In a small satchel or suitcase. Like Mr Samuelson, I’m averse to unnecessary violence and the people on the dam are, after all, my adopted countrymen. If it’s necessary to restrain any of them I’d much rather do it with a whiff of gas rather than a bullet.’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ Samuelson said. ‘You shall have them.’ ‘One further point,’ van Effen said. ‘How are you going to account for the presence of two civilians in an army group?’

‘Aha!’ Samuelson smiled broadly. ‘Civilians, but not just ordinary civilians. You are two senior members of the Amsterdam police specialist anti-terrorist squad. That should fit the bill rather nicely, don’t you think?’

‘That’s nice,’ van Effen said. ‘I always wanted to be a policeman. How do you propose to gain entrance to the dam, Mr Samuelson?’ ‘Nothing simpler. We land on the roadway on the dam. First, of course, we send a radio message to the dam to the effect that there is a suspicion, nothing more, that the FFF may be thinking of making an attack on the dam either from the sea or from the river side and that patrol boats will be approaching from the river side and a destroyer from the sea side. We, of course, shall be there first — it’s only a few minutes flying time from here. They will be ordered to maintain complete radio silence — no transmissions, no receptions.’

“Me simplicity of true genius,’ van Effen said. ‘You have your nerve. The young ladies, of course, remain behind?’

‘Most certainly not. I wouldn’t have Kathleen and Maria miss this splendid denouement for all the world. The rear of the helicopter will be screened off and the four ladies will remain in hiding until we have taken over.’ ‘It has occurred to you that the other two girls might scream for help or attempt to overpower Kathleen and Maria?’

‘They find it difficult to scream for anything when they’re gagged and difficult to attack anyone when their hands are tied behind their backs. As an additional precaution, Joop will be with them. Joop is very useful with a gun.’

‘You think of everything,’ van Effen said. He hoped Joop wasn’t too useful, for then Joop would have to die.

Samuelson rose, went to a desk and brought out two sheets of paper. ‘These are the ground and elevation plans of the Haringviiet dam. Leonardo, go and bring the others here. I want every man to know exactly what to do, to know exactly where every guard will be on duty, where the off-duty guards and workers are, and where each man on duty may reasonably be expected to be. There will be no slip-ups.’

Daniken returned just as Leonardo left. In seconds only Leonardo returned, bringing with him Joop, Joachim and the two nameless RAF youths that had been at the other windmill, four older men in their thirties and forties whom van Effen had not seen before and two of the guards he had seen before. The last six looked very tough, very competent. They all crowded round the table, followed by van Effen, Vasco, George, Samuelson, Romero Agnelli, Daniken and O’Brien. Only two men were missing — Willi, who was locked up in a cellar somewhere and Riordan, who was presumably above such mundane and secular matters.

Although it was Samuelson who had called the meeting it was Romero Agnelli who conducted the meeting. His organizational abilities were indeed quite remarkable. He pointed out to each man exactly where he was to go and what was expected of him. He also insisted that they co-ordinate their watches so that each — an should know exactly what time he should be at any given place. This took about five minutes. He then started it all over again. When he started a third time van Effen, accompanied by George and Vasco, headed resolutely towards the bar. Samuelson, smiling, came after them and moved behind the bar.

‘You get easily bored, Mr Danilov?

‘I don’t have to be told the same thing twice, far less three ‘You have a point. Maybe I am overdoing it a bit. ‘He looked at his watch. ‘I find this a bit worrisome. I should have thought the truck would have been hem by this time.’

‘Ylvisaker struck me as being a pretty competent character,’ van Effen said. ‘Engine trouble, heavy traffic, burst tyre, anything. Anyway, you can soon find out. You’ve said you have a radio transmitter here. The Lieutenant is an expert operator — and, of course, he knows the frequency of the truck.’

‘Would you, Lieutenant? Thank you.’ Samuelson pointed across the room. ‘There.’

Vasco seated himself at the transceiver, adjusted his headphones and started transmuting. After two minutes he took off the headphones and returned to the bar.

‘Nothing, Mr Samuelson. Can’t raise him.’

Samuelson pursed his lips. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure.’ Vasco spoke with just a faint trace of irritation. ‘I know what I’m doing. If you don’t believe me, let Daniken try. He knows what he’s doing too.’

‘No, no. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Worried, you know.’ ‘Two things may have happened,’ Vasco said. ‘He may have had an accident. That’s the more serious and less likely happening. What’s more probable is that the on-off switch is in the off position.’

Samuelson’s brow cleared slightly but only slightly. ‘If he’s late, why doesn’t he call us?’

‘Does he know how to operate the radio?’

Samuelson’s brow cleared even more. ‘Quite honestly, I don’t know.’ He looked up as an aproned maid approached him.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like to know that there is to be a government broadcast in two minutes. Less.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’ Samuelson hurried round the bar, gestured to Agnelli to end the lecture and switched on the TV set. Within half a minute, the announcer appeared on the screen, a much younger one than previously, but one who had clearly been trained in the same mortician’s school.

‘The government have three announcements to make. The first is that the British government and Stormont have agreed to withdraw all British troops to barracks. As the troops arc scattered all over Northern Ireland this is expected to take several hours but the process is already under way. Although no statement to this effect has been made, this is taken to be indicative of London’s intentions.’

Samuelson beamed in satisfaction. At that moment, Ylvisaker was the last thing in his mind.

‘The second is that the British Foreign Minister, Defence Minister, the chief of the Imperial General Staff and the First Sea Lord are en route to Amsterdam in a VC10 to witness the detonation of this nuclear device in the Markerwaard at 2 P.M.

‘The third is that the government have offered an amnesty to the two as yet unnamed prisoners whose release has been demanded by the FFF. ‘We will, of course, be back on screen at 2 P.m.’

‘Well,’ van Effen said, ‘it looks like wholesale surrender.’ ‘Matters are certainly proceeding quite satisfactorily,’ Samuelson said modestly. ‘We will each take a minimum of luggage with us. This can be concealed in the rear of the helicopter — soldiers on active duty do not carry suitcases around with them. Lunch will be at twelve-thirty, so we have about two and a half hours to wait till then. I do not think it would be a good idea to indulge in any more jonge jenevers so I suggest we rest. Although we are not returning tonight we have quarters prepared for you, to which you will be shown. Tell me, Lieutenant, do you intend to have a snooze?’

‘No’

‘Then perhaps you would be kind enough to come down, say, every twenty minutes, and try to contact Ylvisaker?’

‘If you think it’s worth trying, certainly. I’ll go upstairs, have a wash, pack what little equipment I have to pack and be down in twenty minutes. After that, I might as well stay down. ‘Vasco smiled. ‘No furtive trips to the bar, I promise you.’

The room to which van Effen and his companions were shown was almost a duplicate of the one they had left in the other windmill. Vasco carried out his usual meticulous search and pronounced the room clear. Van Effen said: ‘Samuelson is rather concerned about the non-arrival of Ylvisaker and his friends who, I think we may take it, are at present being detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure.

More importantly, Samuelson seems to think that it’s all over bar the shouting. The possibility of failure doesn’t now exist for him. That’s a very dangerous state of mind to be in — dangerous for him, I mean.’ George said: ‘And what do you think he’ll do when he gets to the dam.’ ‘Take it over. I can’t see that giving him any trouble. Then he’ll tell the government that he has done just that. Coming so soon after the nuclear explosion in the Markerwaard, it should have a devastating effect on the government who will all too clearly appreciate the implications and realize that the FFF has the nation by the throat.’ ‘And then,’ Vasco said, ‘they blow a few bits of concrete off the dam just to show they mean business.’

‘Nothing like that,’ van Effen said. ‘Nothing so crude. The explosives are Agnelli’s idea. Apart from being a first-class organizer, Agnelli is a very prudent fellow. I believe that the explosives are for back-up purposes only, just in case something should go wrong. ‘What I do believe is that O’Brien knows as much about the controls of the hydraulic gates as the man who designed them. They just open the sluices.’

‘And if the authorities cut off the power from the mainland, if you can call it that?’ Vasco said. ‘Then, perhaps, the explosives?’ ‘There have to be standby generators, O’Brien will have checked on that. As far as the safety of the country is concerned, the sluice gates of the Haringvliet are the most vital installations in the country. Imagine the sluice gates being open at low tide and a major power failure occurs? They simply cannot afford to rely on a single source of power. ‘For the moment, however, and much more importantly, Samuelson and Agnelli have been kind enough to provide us with a detailed outline of their plans.’

George rubbed his hands. ‘And now we make our own plans.’ ‘Now we make our own plans.’

Some forty minutes after Vasco had gone down to the living room he was joined by Samuelson. Vasco, sitting on the radio chair and idly leafing through a magazine, looked up at his entrance.

‘Any luck, Lieutenant?’

‘None. I’ve called four times-every ten minutes, not twenty, as you asked. Nothing.’

‘Good God, good God!’ Unmindful of his own admonitions, Samuelson went behind the bar and brought back two jonge jenevers. ‘Ylvisaker is wildly overdue. What on earth can have happened to him?’

‘I’ve been thinking, Mr Samuelson. He hasn’t blown himself to pieces or the news would be all over the country by now. Let’s assume he’s had an accident or had a breakdown. Let’s further assume he doesn’t know how to operate the radio. What would you have done, sir?’ ‘Gone to the nearest phone and informed us. It’s difficult to move far in any direction in this country without coming across a house with a phone or a public call box.’

‘Exactly. Does Ylvisaker know the telephone number of this place?’ Samuelson stared at him then said: ‘Ylvisaker has never been here. Wait.’ He hurried from the room and returned within a minute, his face grim. ‘The consensus of opinion is that Ylvisaker does not know this number.’ ‘But you know the precise route he was taking?’

‘Of course. Two men, a fast car. Bound to intercept. Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m glad to see that there are some minds still working around these parts.’

‘Shall I keep on trying, Mr Samuelson?’

‘It’s a faint chance, isn’t it?’

Vasco shrugged. ‘Very faint. But nothing else for me to do.’ ‘Thank you.’ Samuelson brought him another jonge jenever. ‘Another trifle like this is not going to hurt a mind as clear as yours.’ ‘That is kind. I think I’ll have it on the veranda, if I may. It is a bit overheated in here.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Samuelson hurried from the room.

The car was a tan-coloured BMW with Antwerp number plates. Vasco watched the car and its two occupants disappear round a comer, finished his drink in a thoughtful manner, then returned inside. He went to the radio, switched wave-band and wavelength and said softly in Flemish: ‘Record.’ He spoke for no more than twelve seconds, then switched back to the previous wave-band and length. He tried again for Ylvisaker and was answered by the some silence. He refreshed his drink at the bar, resumed his radio chair, glanced through a magazine and again called the missing truck with the same lack of response. He tried twice more in the next twenty minutes with the same lack of response. He was still trying to make contact when Samuelson returned. He looked at Vasco, went behind the bar and returned with two more drinks. ‘Breaking my own rules, I know, but you’ve earned it and I feel the need for it. Nothing?’

‘Dead. I know Mr Danilov makes a point of being incurious about everything but I’m a serving army officer. just how important are those nuclear devices to you?’

‘Almost entirely psychological. If necessary, I would have used them to blow off both the northern and southern approaches to the Haringvliet dam.’ ‘Whatever for? No senior military commander in the Netherlands would dream of attacking the Haringvliet dam. Bombers? Never. Fighter planes? Never. Not only is your gunship more than a match for any fighter, not only do you have ground-to-air missiles, you will have a large number of hostages whose lives they would never imperil. Destroyer? Torpedo boats? Ground to-ground missiles are heat-seeking. They’re lethal.’

‘Not bombers?’

‘What would happen if they breached the Haringvliet darn?’ ‘Of course. Well, no point in trying any longer. Perhaps we should both have a brief rest before lunch.’

Vasco gave van Effen and George a brief resume of what had happened.

Van Effen said: ‘So you’ve convinced Samuelson of his total invulnerability and ensured that we will have two fewer hard men to cope with abroad the dam. Whom did you notify?’

‘Rotterdam police.’

‘I think, George, that we may make a policeman of him yet. Well, another hour or so before lunch.’

‘Snooze for me,’ Vasco said. ‘Four jonge jenevers in succession are too much for my delicate constitution.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Dutch hospitality. You know what it’s like.’

Lunch was more than adequate but less than convivial. Samuelson tried to maintain a cheerful facade but he was deeply worried about the fate of his nuclear devices and his worry was palpable with the result that the last half hour of the meal was consumed in almost total silence.

Over coffee, Samuelson said to van Effen: ‘Do you think it possible that Ylvisaker and his men could have been seized by the authorities, army or police?’ I unlikely. I don’t see how they could have been. Your is total. Even if they had been, the question is, would Ylvisaker his men have talked?’

‘About the Haringvliet dam? No. Until we got here today only Riordan, Agnelli, Daniken and O’Brien were privy to the plans.’ Samuelson smiled faintly. ‘Your famous need-to-know maxim, Mr Danilov.’ ‘One does not want to sound cynical or callous, but what the hell are you worrying about, then?’

‘As you can see,’ the TV announcer said, ‘the weather is as atrocious as ever with correspondingly poor visibility, such as one would expect as dusk approaches. The rain is extremely heavy and the wind, between Force eight and nine, has backed to the north-west. We have four cameras in position — one near Hoorn and one near Volendam, on the west side of the Markerwaard and one on the opposite shore near Helystad. This one, I’m afraid, is virtually useless: in spite of its lens hood the rain is driving straight into the lens. We have a fourth camera in a helicopter and we understand they are having a very rough time indeed. The time is 1.58. Our first shots will be taken from the helicopter.’ A white-capped, storm-tossed sea appeared on the screen. Detail was blurred and shifting, because the helicopter was being, it was clear, severely buffeted about, hence making it impossible to maintain a steady camera direction. Another voice took over from the studio announcer.

‘Helicopter camera here. I can assure you that my friend in the studio was not exaggerating. The conditions are abominable and I have to confess that the only person who is not sick is, most fortunately, the pilot. We are flying at seven hundred metres, give or take fifty metres every time this damn machine is going up or down, which we hope is a safe height if the nuclear explosion and its accompanying water spout should occur, which God forbid, directly beneath us. It is now precisely 2 p.m. and — his voice rose almost by an octave — there goes! There it goes! Me and my big mouth.

It is directly beneath us!

The camera lens had been extended to maximum zoom. The surface of the Markerwaard boiled whitely and erupted a great column of water climbing vertically skywards toward s the helicopter’s camera.

‘Would you look at that?’ the excited voice went on. ‘Would you just look at that?’ It seemed rather a superfluous question, as, unquestionably, almost every eye in the Netherlands was looking at nothing else. ‘And the air is full of spray. Our pilot is moving as quickly as possible to the north-west — we want to get out of this area as quickly as possible. We are making poor time in this north-west gale, but he is clearly hoping that that same gale will blow the spout and spray away from us. So do Van Effen looked at Samuelson. He appeared to have gone into some kind of trance. The only sign of movement came from his hands. His fingers were interlocked but his thumbs were revolving slowly around each other. The studio announcer appeared. ‘I am afraid the helicopter’s lenses are clouded by that spray. We regret that none of the other three cameras are in visual contact. The detonation appears to have occurred almost exactly in the centre of the Markerwaard.’ The helicopter commentator’s voice came again. ‘Sorry about that. What with the spray and rain we are at the moment quite blind. We are still moving steadily north-west. Wait a minute, wait a minute. We have eyes again.’ The spout was collapsing on itself. The camera, zoom half retracted, was only momentarily on the spout, then began panning the surrounding area. A circle of water could be seen moving steadily outwards from the centre. ‘That,’ the commentator said ‘must be the expected tidal wave. Doesn’t look much like a wave to me, but, then, from this altitude it is impossible to gauge the height of the water.’

The picture faded to be replaced by the studio announcer. ‘We are trying to — wait, wait, we have Volkendam.’

A camera, at full zoom, showed a swell of water, little more than a ripple, it seemed, rapidly approaching the shore-line. A commentator said: ‘I agree with my colleague in the helicopter. This is hardly my idea of a tidal wave. However, I understand those tsunami tend to increase in height as the water shallows. We shall see.’

There wasn’t, in fact, much to sec. With the wave less than a hundred metres from land, the commentator estimated its height as just under a metre, which was pretty much in accordance with the scientists’ predictions. Samuelson gestured for the set to be switched off. ‘A few wet feet, no more,’ he said. ‘And not a life lost. An impressive performance, wouldn’t you say, Mr Danilov?

‘Most impressive.’ True, probably not a life had been lost. Not that day. But the years to come might well record a different story: the radio-active fall-out would have fallen or would be falling over the already flood-beleaguered Flevolands. But it hardly seemed an appropriate moment to point this out to Samuelson.

Samuelson said: ‘Romero, radio the message to the Haringvliet dam. Emphasize the need for absolute radio silence. Where the devil are those two who went in search of Ylvisaker and his friends?’Nobody knew where the devil they were. ‘Five good men lost to me. Five!’

‘It’s annoying, Mr Samuelson,’ Vasco said. ‘And worrisome. But it can have no effect on the outcome. We have seventeen men. With the element of total surprise in our favour I could guarantee to take the Haringvliet with only four men.’

Samualson smiled. ‘That’s a comfort. We leave in twenty minutes.’

They left in twenty minutes. All the soldiers were armed, all carried either rucksacks or satchels. Neither van Effen nor George were armed, at least not visibly, but they, too, carried satchels, both crammed with gas grenades. In addition, van Effen had taken the precaution of taking his Yves Saint Laurent aerosol,

As they climbed aboard the gunship, van Effen said to Samuelson: ‘Gas, not guns?’

‘Gas, not guns.’