Floodgate

Two

Bakkeren and Dekker were the names of the two boat-owners who had been involuntarily deprived of their vessels during the previous night. As it turned out, they were brothers-in-law. Bakkeren was phlegmatic about the borrowing of his beat and not particularly concerned by the fact that he had not yet been allowed to examine his boat to see what damage, if any, had been done to it. Dekker, by contrast and understandably, was seething with rage: he had, as he had informed de Graaf and van Effen within twenty seconds of their arrival at his suburban home, been rather roughly handled during the previous evening.

‘Is no man safe in this godforsaken city?’ He didn’t speak the words, he shouted them, but it was reasonable to assume that this was not his normal conversational custom. ‘Police, you say you are, police! Ha! Police! A fine job you do of guarding the honest citizens of Amsterdam. There I was, sitting in my own boat and minding my own business when those four gangsters — ‘

‘Moment,’ van Effen said. ‘Were they wearing gloves?’ ‘Gloves!’ Dekker, a small dark, intense man, stared at him in outraged disbelief. ‘Gloves! Here am I, the victim of a savage assault, and all you can think of —‘

‘Gloves.’

Something in van Effen’s tone had reached through the man’s anger, one could almost see his blood pressure easing a few points. ‘Gloves, eh? Funny, that. Yes, they were. All of them.’

Van Effen turned to a uniformed sergeant. ‘Bernhard.’ ‘Yes, sir. I’ll tell the finger-print men to go home.’ ‘Sorry, Mr Dekker. Tell it your way. If there was anything that struck you as unusual or odd, let us know.’

‘It was all bloody odd,’ Dekker said morosely. He had been, as he had said, minding his own business in his little cabin, when he had been hailed from the bank. He’d gone on deck and a tall man — it was almost dark and his features had been indistinguishable — had asked him if he could hire the boat for the night. He said he was from a film company and wanted to shoot some night scenes and offered a thousand guilders. Dekker had thought it extremely odd that an offer of that nature should have been made at such short notice and with night falling: he had refused. Next thing he knew, three other men had appeared on the scene, he’d been dragged from the boat, bundled into a car and driven to his home.

Van Effen said: ‘Did you direct them?!

‘Are you mad?’ Looking at the fiery little man it was impossible to believe that he would volunteer information to anyone.

‘So they’ve been watching your movements for some time. You weren’t aware that you were under surveillance at any time?’

‘Under what?’

‘Being watched, followed, seeing the same stranger an unusual number of times?’

‘Who’d watch and follow a fishmonger? Well, who would think they would? So they hauled me into the house

‘Didn’t you try to escape at any time?’

‘Would you listen to the man?’ Dekker was justifiably bitter. ‘How far would you get with your wrists handcuffed behind your back?’ ‘Handcuffs?’

‘I suppose you thought that only police used those things. So they dragged me into the bathroom, tied my feet with a clothes line and taped my mouth with Elastoplast. Then they locked the door from the outside.’ ‘You were completely helpless?’

‘Completely.’ The little man’s face darkened at the recollection. ‘I managed to get to my feet and a hell of a lot of good that did me. There’s no window in the bathroom. If there had been I don’t know of any way I could have broken it and even if I bad there was no way I could shout for help, was there? Not with God knows bow many strips of plaster over my mouth. ‘Three or four hours later — I’m not sure how long it was — they came back and freed me. The tall man told me they’d left fifteen hundred guilders on the kitchen table — a thousand for the hire of the boat and five hundred for incidental expenses.’

‘What expenses?’

‘How should I know?’ Dekker sounded weary. ‘They didn’t explain. They just left.’

‘Did you see them go? Type of car, number, anything like that?’ ‘I did not see them go. I did not see their car, far less its number.’ Dekker spoke with the air of a man who is exercising massive restraint. ‘When I say they freed me, I meant that they had unlocked and removed the handcuffs. Took me a couple of minutes to remove the strips of Elastoplast and damnably painful it was, too. Took quite a bit of skin and my moustache with it too. Then I hopped through to the kitchen and got the bread knife to the ropes round my ankles. The money was there, all right and I’d be glad if you’d put it in your police fund because I won’t touch their filthy money. Almost certainly stolen anyway. They and their car, of course, were to hell and gone by that time.’ Van Effen was diplomatically sympathetic. ‘Considering what you’ve been through, Mr Dekker, I think you’re being very calm and restrained. Could you describe them?’

‘Ordinary clothes. Raincoats. That’s all.’

‘Their faces?’

‘It was dark on the canal bank, dark in the car and by the time we reached here they were all wearing hoods. Well, three of them. One stayed on the boat.’

‘Slits in the hoods, of course.’ Van Effen wasn’t disappointed, he’d expected nothing else.

‘Round holes, more like.’

‘Did they talk among themselves?’

‘Not a word. Only the leader spoke.’

‘How do you know he was the leader?’

‘Leaders give orders, don’t they?’

‘I suppose. Would you recognize the voice again?’

Dekker hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Well, yes, I think I would.’ ‘Ah. Something unusual about his voice?’

‘Yes. Well. He talked funny Dutch.’

‘Funny?’

‘It wasn’t — what shall I say — Dutch Dutch.’

‘Poor Dutch, is that it?

‘No. The other way around. It was very good. Too good. Like the news-readers on TV and radio.’

‘Too precise, yes? Book Dutch. A foreigner, perhaps?’ ‘That’s what I would guess.’

‘Would you have any idea where he might have come from?’ ‘There you have me, Lieutenant. I’ve never been out of the country. I hear often enough that many people in the city speak English or German or both. Not me. I speak neither. Foreign tourists don’t come to a fishmonger’s shop. I sell my fish in Dutch.’

‘Thanks, anyway. Could be a help. Anything else about this leader — if that’s what he was?’

‘He was tall, very tall.’ He tried his first half-smile of the afternoon. ‘You don’t have to be tall to be taller than I am but I didn’t even reach up to his shoulders. Ten, maybe twelve centimetres taller than you are. And thin, very very thin: he was wearing a long raincoat, blue it was, that came way below his knees and it fell from his shoulders like a coat hanging from a coat-hanger.’

‘The hoods had holes, you say, not slits. You could see this tall man’s eyes?’

‘Not even that. This fellow was wearing dark eye-glasses.’ ‘Sunglasses? I did ask you to tell me if there was anything odd about those people. Didn’t you think it odd that a person should be wearing a pair of sunglasses at night?’

‘Odd? Why should it be odd? Look, Lieutenant, a bachelor like me spends a lot of time watching movies and TV. The villains always wear dark glasses. That’s how you can tell they’re villains.’

‘True, true.’ van Effen turned to Dekker’s brother-in-law. ‘I understand, Mr Bakkeren, that you were lucky enough to escape the attentions of those gentlemen.’

‘Wife’s birthday. In town for a dinner and show. Anyway, they could have stolen my boat any time and I would have known nothing about it. If they were watching Maks here, they would have been watching me and they’d know that I only go near my boat on weekends.’

Van Effen turned to de Graaf. ‘Would you like to see the boats, sir?’ ‘Do you think we’ll find anything?’

‘No. Well, might find out what they’ve been doing. I’ll bet they haven’t left one clue for hard-working policemen to find.’ ‘Might as well waste some more time.’

The brothers-in-law went in their own car, the two policemen in van Effen’s, an ancient and battered Peugeot with a far from ancient engine. It bore no police distinguishing marks whatsoever and even the radio telephone was concealed. De Graaf lowered himself gingerly into the creaking and virtually springless seat.

‘I refrain from groaning and complaining, Peter. I know there must be a couple of hundred similar wrecks rattling about the streets of Amsterdam and I appreciate your passion for anonymity, but would it kill you to replace or re-upholster the passenger seat?’

‘I thought it lent a nice touch of authenticity. But it shall be done. Pick up anything back in the house there?’

‘Nothing that you didn’t. Interesting that the tall thin man should be accompanied by a couple of mutes. It has occurred to you that if the leader, as Dekker calls him, is a foreigner then his henchmen are also probably foreigners and may very well be unable to speak a word of Dutch?’ ‘It had occurred and it is possible. Dekker said that the leader gave orders which would give one to understand that they spoke, or at least understood, Dutch. Doesn’t necessarily follow, of course. The orders may have been meaningless and given only to convince the listener that the others were Dutch. Pity that Dekker has never ventured beyond the frontiers of his own homeland. He might — I say just might — have been able to identify the country of origin of the owner of that voice. I speak two or three languages, Peter, you even more. Do you think, if we’d heard this person speaking, we’d have been able to tell his country?’ ‘There’s a chance. I wouldn’t put it higher than that. I know what you’re thinking, sir. The tape-recording that this newspaper sub-editor made of the phone call they received. Chances there would be much poorer — you know how a phone call can distort a voice. And they don’t strike me as people who would make such a fairly obvious mistake. Besides, even if we did succeed in guessing at the country of origin, how the hell would that help us in tracking them down?’

De Graaf lit up a very black cheroot. Van Effen wound down his window. De Graaf paid no attention. He said: ‘You’re a great comforter. Give us a few more facts — or let’s dig up a few more — and it might be of great help to us. Apart from the fact, not yet established, that he may be a foreigner, all we know about this lad is that he’s very tall, built along the lines of an emaciated garden rake and has something wrong with his eyes.’ ‘Wrong? The eyes, I mean, sir? All we know for certain is that he wears sunglasses at. night-time. Could mean anything or nothing. Could be a fad. Maybe he fancies himself in them. Maybe, as Dekker suggested, he thinks sunglasses are de rigueur for the better class villain. Maybe, like the American President’s Secret Service body-guards, he wears them because any potential malefactor in a crowd can never know whether the agent’s eyes are fixed on him or not, thereby inhibiting him from action. Or he might be just suffering from nyctalopia.’

‘I see. Nyctalopia. Every schoolboy knows, of course. I am sure, Peter, that you will enlighten me at your leisure.’

‘Funny old word to describe a funny old condition. I am told it’s the only English language word with two precisely opposite meanings. On the one hand, it means night-blindness, the recurrent loss of vision after sunset, the causes of which are only vaguely understood. On the other hand, it can be taken to day-blindness, the inability to see clearly except by night, and here the causes are equally obscure. A rare disease, whatever meaning you take, but its existence has been well attested to.

The sunglasses, as we think of them, may well be fitted with special correctional lenses.’

‘It would appear to me that a criminal suffering from either manifestation of this disease would be labouring under a severe occupational handicap. Both a house-breaker, who operates by daylight, and a burglar, who operates by night, would be a bit restricted in their movements if they were afflicted, respectively, by day or night blindness. just a little bit too far-fetched for me, Peter. I prefer the old-fashioned reasons. Badly scarred about the eyes. Cross-eyed. Maybe he’s got a squint. Maybe an eye whose iris is streaked or parti-coloured. Maybe wall-eyed, where the iris is so light that you can hardly distinguish it from the white or where the pupils are of two different colours. Maybe a sufferer from exophthalmic goitrc, which results in very protuberant eyes. Maybe he’s only got one eye. In any event, I’d guess he’s suffering from some physical abnormality by which he would be immediately identifiable without the help of those dark glasses.’

‘So now all we’ve got to do is to ask Interpol for a list, world-wide, of all known criminals with eye defects. There must be tens of thousands of them. Even if there were only ten on the list, it still wouldn’t help us worth a damn. Chances are good, of course, that he hasn’t even got a criminal record.’ Van Effen pondered briefly. ‘Or maybe they could give us a list of all albino criminals on their books. They need glasses to hide their eyes.

‘The Lieutenant is pleased to be facetious,’ de Graaf said morosely. He puffed on his cheroot, then said, almost wonderingly: ‘By Jove, Peter. You could be right.’

Ahead, Dekker had slowed to a stop and now van Effen did also. Two boats were moored alongside a canal bank, both about eleven or twelve metres in length, with two cabins and an open poop deck. The two policemen joined Dekker aboard his boat: Bakkeren boarded his own which lay immediately ahead. Dekker said: ‘Well, gentlemen, what do you want to check first?’ De Graaf said: ‘How long have you had this boat?’

‘Six years.’

‘In that case, I don’t think Lieutenant van Effen or I will bother to check anything. After six years, you must know every comer, every nook and cranny on this boat. So we’d be grateful if you’d do the checking. just tell us if there is anything here, even the tiniest thing, that shouldn’t be here: or anything that’s missing that should be here. You might, first, be so good as to ask your brother-in-law to do the same aboard his boat.’

Some twenty minutes later the brothers-in-law were able to state definitely that nothing had been left behind and that, in both cases, only two things had been taken: beer from the fridges and diesel from the tanks. Neither Dekker nor Bakkeren could say definitely how many cans of beer had been taken, they didn’t count such things: but both were adamant that each fuel tank was down by at least twenty litres. ‘Twenty litres each?’ van Effen said. ‘Well, they wouldn’t have used two litres to get from here to the airport canal bank and back. So they used the engine for some other purpose. Can you open the engine hatch and let me have a torch?’

Van Effen’s check of the engine-room battery was cursory, seconds only, but sufficient. He said: ‘Do either of you two gentlemen ever use crocodile clips when using or charging your batteries — you know, those spring-loaded grips with the serrated teeth? No? Well, someone was using them last night. You can see the indentations on the terminals. They had the batteries in your two boats connected up, in parallel or series, it wouldn’t have mattered, they’d have been using a transformer, and ran your engines to keep the batteries charged. Hence the missing forty litres.’

‘I suppose,’ Dekker said, ‘that was what that gangster meant by incidental costs.’

‘I suppose it was.’

De Graaf lowered himself, not protesting too much, into the springless, creaking passenger seat of the ancient Peugeot just as the radio telephone rang. Van Effen answered then passed the phone across to de Graaf who spoke briefly then returned the phone to its concealed position. ‘I feared this,’ de Graaf said. He sounded weary. ‘My minister wants me to fly up with him to Texel. Taking half the cabinet with him, I understand.’

‘Good God! Those rubber-necking clowns. What on earth do they hope to achieve by being up there? They’ll only get in everyone’s way, gum up the works and achieve nothing: but, then, they’re very practised in that sort of thing.’

‘I would remind you, Lieutenant van Effen, that you are talking about elected Ministers of the Crown.’If the words were intended as a reprimand, de Graaf’s heart wasn’t in it.

‘A useless and incompetent bunch. Make them look important, perhaps get their name in the papers, might even be worth a vote or two among the more backward of the electorate. Still, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, sir.’ De Graaf glowered at him then said hopefully: ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come, Peter?’

‘You don’t suppose quite correctly, sir. Besides, I have things to do. ‘

‘Do you think I don’t?’ De Graaf looked and sounded very gloomy. ‘Ah! But I’m only a cop. You have to be a cop and a diplomat. I’ll drop you off at the office.’

‘Join me for lunch?’

‘Like to, sir, but I’m having lunch at an establishment, shall we say, where Amsterdam’s Chief of Police wouldn’t be seen dead. La Caracha it’s called. Your wife and daughters wouldn’t approve, sir.’ ‘Business, of course?’

‘Of course. A little talk with a couple of our friends in the Krakers. You asked me a couple of months ago to keep a discreet, apart from an official, eye on them. They report occasionally, usually at La Caracha.’ ‘Ah! The Krakers. Haven’t had much time to think of them in the past two months. And how are our disenchanted youth, the anti-everything students, the flower men, the hippies, the squatters?’

‘And the drug-pushers and gun-runners? Keeping a suspiciously low profile, these days. I must say I feel happier, no that’s not the word, less worried when they’re heaving iron bars and bricks at our uniformed police and overturning and burning the odd car, because then we know where we are: with this unusual peace and quiet and uncharacteristic inactivity, I feel there’s trouble brewing somewhere.’ ‘You’re not actually looking for trouble, Peter?’

‘I’ve got the nasty feeling I’m going to find it anyway. Looking will be quite unnecessary. Yesterday afternoon, when that call came from the FFF, I sent two of our best people into the area. They might come across something. An off-chance. But the crime in Amsterdam is becoming more and more centralized in the Kraker area. The FFF would you say qualify as criminals?’

‘Birds of a feather? Well, maybe. But the FFF seem like pretty smart boys, maybe too smart to associate with the Krakers, who could hardly be called the intellectual Titans of crime.’

‘The FFF. So far we’ve got a pretty tall fellow, with maybe something wrong with his eyes and maybe of foreign extraction. We’ve practically got it all wrapped up.’

‘Sarcasm ill becomes you. All right, all right, no stone unturned, any action is better than nothing. What’s the food like at La Caracha?’ ‘For that area, surprisingly good. I’ve had a few meals — ‘ He broke off and looked at de Graaf. ‘You are going to honour us at the table, sir?’ ‘Well, I thought, I mean, as Chief of Police

‘Of course, of course. Delighted.’

‘And no one will know where I am. ‘De Graaf seemed cheered at the prospect. ‘That damned radio phone can ring its head off for all I care. I won’t be able to hear it.’

‘Nobody else will be able to hear it either. That damned phone, as you call it, will be switched off the moment we park. How do you think the dockland citizens are going to react when they hear a phone go off in this relic?’ They drove off. By and by de Graaf fit another cheroot, van Effen lowered his window and de Graaf said: ‘You have, of course, checked up on the proprietor of La Caracha. What’s he called?’

‘He prefers to be known just as George. I know him moderately well. He’s held in high regard among the local people.’

‘A kindly man? A do-gooder? Charitable? An upstanding citizen, you would say?’

‘He’s reputed to be a ranking member of three, perhaps four, successful criminal organizations. Not drugs, not prostitution, he despises those and won’t touch them: robbery, it is said, is his forte, usually armed, with or without violence according to the amount of resistance offered. He, himself, can be extremely violent. I can testify to that personally. The violence, of course, was not directed at me: you have to be out of your mind to attack a police lieutenant and George is very far from being out of his mind.’

‘You do have a genius for picking your friends, associates, or whatever you call them, Peter.’ De Graaf puffed at his cheroot and if he was ruffled in any way he didn’t show it. ‘Why isn’t this menace to society behind bars?’ ‘You can’t arrest, charge, try and convict a man on hearsay. I can’t very well go up to George with a pair of handcuffs and say: “People have been telling me stories and I have to take you in.” Besides, we’re friends.’ ‘You’ve said yourself that he can be excessively violent. You can pull him in on that.’

‘No. He’s entitled to eject any person who is drunk, abusive, uses foul language or is guilty of causing an affray. That’s the limit of George’s violence. Ejection. Usually two at a time. The law says he can. We are the law.’

‘Sounds an interesting character. Unusual, one might say. Two at a time, eh?’

‘Wait till you see George.’

‘And how do you propose to introduce me?’

‘No need to emphasize the police connections. Just Colonel de Graaf. This is, shall we say, a semi-official visit.’

‘I may be recognized.’

‘Colonel, there isn’t a self-respecting criminal in this city who wouldn’t recognize you at a distance of half a kilometre. When their kids are misbehaving they probably whip out your picture, show it to their offspring and tell them if they don’t mend their ways — the bogeyman will come and get them.’

‘Extremely witty. You’re not exactly unknown yourself, Peter. I’d be curious to know what the — ah — criminal element hereabouts think about you.’

‘You don’t have to be curious. They think I’m bent.’ The unprepossessing entrance to La Caracha was located halfway down a lane so narrow that not even a car could enter it. The cracker plaster of the tiny entrance porch, the fading and peeling paint belied the bar room that lay beyond. This was well lit and clean, with gleaming knotted-pine walls, half-a-dozen tables, each with four small armchairs instead of the usual metal or plastic seats, a semi-circular bar flanked by fixed stools and, beyond the bar, the barman. When one looked at him one forgot about the rest of the room.

He was huge. Very tall and very broad he probably weighed in about a hundred and thirty kilos. He wore a rather splendid Mexican sombrero — one assumed there was some connection between the barman’s headgear and the vaguely Latin American name of the restaurant — a white shirt, a black string tie, an open black waistcoat and black leather trousers. The absence of a gun-belt and a holstered Peacemaker Colt struck a discordant note. The eyes were dark, the bushy eyebrows black and the equally black moustache, equally bushy, luxuriant and dropping down past the corners of his mouth, perfectly complemented the spectacular sombrero. The craggy face appeared to have been hacked from granite by an enthusiastic but ungifted stone-mason. He was the epitome of all those ‘wanted’ portraits that used to adorn the walls of nineteenth century western American saloons.

‘That’s George?’ Van Effen didn’t bother. to answer the superfluous question. ‘When he ejects them two at a time I assume he uses only one hand.’

George caught sight of them and hurried round the corner of the bar, a wide, welcoming smile revealing startlingly white teeth. The nearer he approached, the bigger he seemed to become. His hand was outstretched while he was still quite some distance away.

‘Welcome, Peter, my friend, welcome. And Colonel van de Graaf. My word, this is indeed an honour.’ He pumped the Colonel’s hand as if he were a twin brother he hadn’t seen for twenty years.

De Graaf smiled. ‘You know me then?’

‘If there is anyone in the city who doesn’t recognize our Commissioner of Police he must either be blind or never read newspapers or magazines. Peter, as of this moment, my reputation is made.’ He looked at de Graaf and dropped his voice. ‘Provided, of course that this is not an official visit.’

‘Purely unofficial,’ de Graaf said. ‘Regard me as the Lieutenant’s guest.’

‘It is my pleasure to celebrate this auspicious occasion,’ George said. ‘Borreltje, jonge jenever, whisky, beer, wine — La Caracha has an excellent wine cellar. No better in Amsterdam. But I recommend my bessenjenever, gentlemen. Ice just beginning to form on the top.’ He touched his lips. ‘Incomparable.’

So it proved, and in the quantities that George supplied it the bessenjenever — red-currant gin — was as formidable as it was incomparable. George remained with them for a few minutes, discoursing freely on a variety of subjects but mainly and inevitably about the dyke breach that had brought back into existence the long-vanished Haarlem lake.

‘No need to look for the perpetrators of this crime among the professional criminals of the Netherlands.’ George sounded very positive. ‘I use the word “professional” because one would have to exclude the pitifully amateurish criminals among the Krakers, hot-headed madmen capable of any atrocity, no matter how many innocents suffer, in the name of their crazy and woolly ideals, totally amoral lunatics, mindless idiots who love destruction for destruction’s sake. But they are not Dutchmen, though they may have been born in this country: they’re just members of a terminally sick sub-culture that you’ll find in many other countries.

‘But I don’t think they’re responsible for the Schiphol flooding. However much one may deplore the action of the saboteurs one has to admire the clear-headed intelligence that lies behind it. Nobody with a clear-headed intelligence would ever dream of associating with the retarded morons who make up the Krakers, though that’s not to say the Krakers couldn’t be employed in some subordinate capacity where they wouldn’t be allowed to know enough to do any damage. But no Dutchman, however criminally minded, would or could have been responsible. Every Dutchman is born with the belief, the certain knowledge, that our dykes are inviolable: it is an act of faith. I am not — what is the word, gentlemen? — I am not xenophobic, but this is a foreign-inspired ideaing carried out by foreigners. And it’s only the beginning. There will be further atrocities. Wait and sec.’

‘We won’t have to wait long,’ de Graaf said. ‘They’re going to breach the Texel sea dyke at four-thirty this afternoon.’

George nodded, as if the news had come as no surprise to him. ‘So soon, so soon. And then the next dyke, and then the next, and the next. When the blackmail demands come, as come they must, for nothing other than blackmail can lie behind this, they will be horrendous.’ He glanced towards his bar where a group of men were making urgent signals that they were dying of thirst. ‘You will excuse me, gentlemen.’ ‘An extraordinary fellow,’ de Graaf said. ‘He would have made a splendid politician — he could hardly be accused of being at a loss for words. Strange type to be a criminal alleged to be associated with violence — he’s an intelligent and clearly well educated man. So, on the other hand, were a number of famous — notorious, rather — and highly successful criminals in the past. But I find him especially intriguing. He seems well into the criminal mind but at the same time he thinks and speaks like a cop. And he got on to the possibility that those criminals might come from another country in a fraction of the time that it took us to arrive at the possibility — and, unlike us, he had nothing to help or guide him towards that conclusion. Maybe you and I are fractionally less clever than we like to think we are.’

‘Maybe you should hire George, on an ad hoc basis, substantive rank of sergeant, as a dyke-breach investigator. Rather a fine title, don’t you think?’

‘The title is fine, the idea is not. Set a thief to catch a thief — the idea never did work. Do not jest with your superior in his hour of need. Speaking of need, when do we eat?’

‘Let’s ask.’ George had returned with fresh supplies of besssenjenever. ‘We’d like lunch, George.’

‘The Colonel will eat here? La Caracha is doubly honoured. This table will do?’

‘I’m expecting Vasco and Annemarie.’

‘Of course. ‘George picked up the drinks tray and led the way up four steps into a dining room, bright, cheerful and so small that it held only two tables. George produced a menu. ‘Everything is excellent. The Rodekool met Rolpens is superb.’

‘Shall we have the superb, Peter?’ de Graaf said.

‘Fine. And, George, as our chief of police is with us, I think the expense account could stand a bottle of reasonable wine.’

‘Reasonable? Do I believe my ears? A superb wine to go with a superb dish and strictly on La Caracha. A Chateau Latour, perhaps? I have said that there is no better cellar than mine in the city. Equally beyond dispute is the fact that I have far the best Bordeaux cellar.’ George handed them their aperitifs. ‘Sharpen your appetites, gentlemen. Annelise, I promise, will excel herself.’

When George left de Graaf said: ‘Who’s Annelise?’

‘His wife. Less than half his size. He’s terrified of her. A wonderful cook.’

‘She is aware of his, what shall we say, extracurricular activities?’ ‘She knows nothing.’

‘You mentioned a Vasco and an Annemarie. Those, I assume, are your informants. George seems to know about them.’

‘He knows them pretty well. They’re friends.’

‘Does he also know that they’re working undercover for you?’ Van Effen nodded and de Graaf frowned. ‘Is this wise? Is it politic? Is it, dammit, even professional?’

‘I trust George.’

‘Maybe you do. I don’t have to. To say you have the best Bordeaux cellar in Amsterdam is to make a pretty large claim. That would cost money, a great deal of money. Is he into the highjacking and smuggling rackets too or does he earn enough from his extracurricular activities to buy honestly on the open market?’ ‘Look, sir, I never said George was a rogue, thief, crook, gangster or whatever. I was only quoting the neighbourhood opinion of him. I wanted you to make up your own mind about him. I do think you already have, only you still have reservations owing to the fact that you have a nasty, devious, suspicious mind which is why, I suppose, you’re the city’s Chief of Police. Annelise knows nothing about George’s extracurricular activities, as you call them, because there are none. George has never earned an illegal guilder in his life. He’s totally straight and if every man in Amsterdam were as honest as he is you’d join the unemployed by nightfall. I was certain you’d caught on to this when you said he thought and spoke like a cop. He is — or was — a cop, and a damned good one, a sergeant in line for his inspectorate when he decided to retire last year. Phone the Chief of Police in Groningen and find out who he’d give a bag of gold for to have back on his staff.’

‘I am staggered,’ de Graaf said. He didn’t look staggered, he just sat placidly puffing his cheroot and sipping his bessenjenever as if van Effen had been discussing the weather or crops. ‘Different. Yes, different.’ He didn’t say what was different. ‘Might have given me some kind of warning, though.’

‘Thought you’d guess, sir. He’s got cop written all over him. At least he had until he grew his moustache after retirement.’ ‘Any specialities?’

‘Drugs and counter-terrorism. I should have said drugs then counter-terrorism.’

‘Drugs? The only drug in the province of Groningen comes out of a gin bottle. Here’s the place for him. Or, if I take you rightly, was. Why was he taken off. Who took him off?’

‘Nobody. Nature took him off. To be a successful drugs cop you have to be able to merge unobtrusively into your background. You’ve seen him. He wasn’t built to merge into anything.’

‘What’s more, they’ve never even seen a terrorist up north.’ ‘They’re not all that thick on the ground down here either, sir. Maybe that’s why George resigned — no challenge, nothing left for him to do.’

‘A waste. An intelligence like that devoting its life to serving up superfluous calories to already overweight Amsterdamers. Could be useful. Maybe there’s something to your idea of ad hoc recruitment. In an emergency, could always have him co-opted.’

‘Yes, sir. I thought that to co-opt anyone you required a committee, a quorum.’

‘There’s only one committee and quorum in the Amsterdam police force and I’m it. If you think he could be of help, just ask me. In fact, don’t bother to ask me. I’m hungry.’

‘Ah, yes. George normally serves up hors d’oeuvre. Maybe he thought there was no urgency.’ He surveyed de Graaf’s ample frame. ‘Superfluous calories. However…’He rose, opened a wooden cupboard door to reveal a refrigerator, opened this and said: ‘Half a smoked salmon. Smoked trout. Mountain Ham. Gouda, Edam, and a few other odds and ends.’ ‘There are no limits to the heights you might reach, my boy.’ Some time later, the first sharp edge of his appetite temporarily blunted, he said: ‘If you’re too busy or too cowardly to accompany me to Texel, may one ask what you intend to do.’

‘Depends on what I learn from Annemarie and Vasco. If, of course, anything. On balance, however, I think I’ll go and do what poor George couldn’t, merge unobtrusively among the Krakers in their garden suburb.’ ‘You! You’re mad. The unchallenged bite noire of Krakerdom. Two minutes after your arrival all activity and conversation will wither on the vine.’

‘I’ve been there more than once in the past and the vine has remained unaffected. I don’t wear this rather nice pin-stripe you see before you or my official uniform. I wear another uniform. My Kraker uniform. I don’t think I’ve ever discussed my wardrobe with you before.’ Van Effen sipped some more bessenjenever. ‘I’ve a sealskin jacket with lots and lots of tassels and a coonskin hat with a wolverine’s tail attached to the back. Rather dashing, really.’ De Graaf closed his eyes, screwed them tightly shut and then opened them again. ‘The trousers are made of some other kind of skin, I don’t know what it is, with lots of little leather strips down the sides. Moccasins, of course. Those were a mistake. The moccasins, I mean. They leak. Then my hair and my moustache are blond, not platinum, you understand, that would attract too much attention.’ ‘The rest of your outfit doesn’t?’

‘The dye is impervious to any rainstorm. Have to use a special detergent to get it off. A painful process. Then I wear half a dozen rings, solid brass, on my right hand.’

‘That the hand you hit people with?’

‘Among other things I’m a Green Peace, anti-nuclear, environmental pacifist. I also have a multicoloured bead necklace, double chain, and an earring. Only one earring. Two are passé

‘This, some day, I must see.’

‘I can get you one like it, if you like.’ De Graaf closed his eyes again and was saved further comment by the arrival of George with lunch. George served the Rodekool met Rolpens, opened the ChAteau Latour with a suitably reverential air and departed. The meal was a simple one, red cabbage, rolled spiced meat and sliced apple, but, as George had promised, splendidly cooked: as was customary in Amsterdam there was enough food for four. The wine, also as George had promised, was superb. They had just finished when George brought in coffee. ‘Annemarie is outside.’

‘Bring her in, please.’

Annemarie was a young lady of undeniably striking appearance. She wore a roll-necked pullover of indeterminate colour which had once, perhaps, been white. It was about four sizes too large for her, a defect she had tried to remedy by hauling a three-inch studded belt tightly about her midriff. As she had a rather slender waist, the effect was incongruous in the extreme: she resembled nothing so much as a potato bag that had been tied around the middle. The faded and patched blue jeans were fashionably frayed at the cuffs and she teetered, rather than walked, into the room on a pair of stained short leather boots with ludicrously pointed high heels. The condition of her streaky blonde hair showed that she regarded combs as an unnecessary luxury. The jet-black mascara had been applied with a heavy hand, as had the turquoise eye-shadow. The ghastly pallor of her face, which could only have been caused by an over-enthusiastic application of some cheap powder, was in stunning contrast to the two circular red patches on her cheeks, which equally owed nothing to nature. The lipstick was purple and the blood-red nail varnish, which showed to advantage when she removed the cigarette holder from between her stained teeth, was chipped and flaking. The nose-wrinkling smell of her cheap perfume suggested that she had been bathing in it, although the impression was overwhelming that she hadn’t bathed in anything for a very long time. Her brass earrings tinkled as she teetered.

Van Effen looked at de Graaf, but de Graaf didn’t look at him: he was either mesmerized or petrified by the apparition before him. Van Effen cleared his throat, loudly.

‘This is Annemarie, sir.’

‘Yes,yes, Annemarie.’ De Graaf was still staring at her, and it was by a visibly conscious effort of will-power that he turned his head to look at van Effen. ‘Of course, of course. Annemarie. But there are one or two things I haven’t had the opportunity yet to discuss with you and — ‘ ‘I understand, sir. Annemarie, my dear, would you mind for a few minutes — I’m sure George will give you something.’ She blew a long puff of smoke, smiled and tottered from the room.

‘Annemarie, my dear.’ De Graaf sounded and looked appalled. ‘Annemarie, my dear. You in your Kraker uniform and that — that creature, what a couple you would make. Level headed, I’d always thought you, eminently sensible — this must be some kind of joke. Where on earth did you pick up that hussy, that harlot, that harridan, that ghastly spectacle? God, that make-up, that bordello perfume!’

‘It’s not like you, sir, to go by appearances. Snap judgements — ‘ ‘Snap judgements! Those preposterous shoes. That filthy jersey that was built for — for a gorilla — ‘

‘A very practical jersey, sir. That way no one would suspect the existence of the Beretta automatic she carries strapped beneath her waist.’

‘A Beretta! That creature, that spectacle — she carries an automatic? That — that caricature of a human being carries a gun? You must be mad.’ He drew deeply on his cheroot. ‘No, you’re not mad. I’m not complaining, Peter, but it’s been a shock to my system.’

‘I can see that, sir. Should have warned you, I suppose. She does have rather an effect on people who-make her acquaintance for the first time. That awful harridan is in fact a rather lovely young lady, or would be if she soaked in a bath for about an hour. She’s very nice, charming really, intelligent, speaks four languages, is a university graduate and is also a lady policewoman from Rotterdam. Don’t you see, sir, I’m making a point. If she can fool the Chief of Police, who has become Chief of Police by, among other things, being fooled by fewer people than anyone else around, she can fool anyone.’

‘How did you come by this paragon?’

‘Exchange basis. Not a very fair exchange, really. I knew she’d spent six months underground in Rotterdam, and we had no one comparable up here. It wasn’t easy but my opposite number down there is a friend of mine.’:Why wasn’t I informed of this?’

Because you gave me a free hand, remember. I would have informed you if there had been anything to report. So far there has been nothing. Didn’t want to bother you with trifles.’

De Graaf smiled. ‘I doubt whether the young lady would care to be called a trifle. Have her in, would you?’

Van Effen did so and de Graaf waved her courteously to a seat. ‘Sorry you were kept waiting. You know who I am?’

‘Of course. Colonel van de Graaf. My boss.’ The slightly husky voice was low and pleasant, at complete variation with her appearance. Lieutenant van Effen told you?’

He didn’t have to, sir. I work for him and I know he works for you. And I’ve seen your picture dozens of times.’

‘That outfit you’re wearing, Annemarie. Don’t you feel it makes you look rather conspicuous?’

‘Among the people I’m supposed to be investigating? I can assure you, sir, that compared to some of the clothes worn there, mine are low key, positively understated. Isn’t that so, Peter?’ ‘Ah! Peter, is it? A lowly ranker addresses my senior Lieutenant by his given name?’

‘On orders, sir. We’ve been out a couple of times together ‘Among your — ah — friends?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I wish I had seen that.’

‘We do form rather a striking couple. I told Annemarie that it would be unwise to call me Lieutenant in such company but to call me Peter and always think of me as Peter. That way you don’t make mistakes. Someone drummed this into me years ago.,

‘I was the drummer. I understand that you carry a gun, young lady. You can use it?’

‘I was trained at the police range.’

‘Ever used it?’

‘No. And I must admit I hope I never have to.’

‘Would you use it?’

‘I don’t know. If it was to stop someone from killing a person, well, perhaps, yes. But I couldn’t kill a person. I don’t like guns. I’m afraid I’m not very brave, sir.’

‘Nonsense. Your sentiments do you credit. Feel exactly the same way myself. And it takes a brave girl to venture into Krakerland.’ She half-smiled. ‘That’s where the roll-neck comes in so useful. They can’t see the pulse in my neck.’

‘Rubbish. How are things among your friends? Anything untoward or exciting afoot.’

‘They’re not a very exciting lot, sir. Rather dull, really. Most of them are not the social rebels and anti-authority stormtroopers they would like to be thought to be. Of course, there are the drug-pushers and drug-users, and there is a hard core that trade in armaments, selling Russian small-arms to the Irish Republican Army and other disaffected elements. But Peter has told me not to bother about the arms-running side.’

‘Disaffected elements? I rather like that. So, Peter, the young lady does not concern herself with gun running. Why?’

‘You ask me, sir? America, Russia, Britain, France trade in arms — legally — to the tune of billions of dollars yearly. The Israelis do it, as do the Iranians, Libyans and God knows how many other countries. All with their government’s blessings. Who are we to become all God-fearing, moralistic and holier than-thou when private enterprise move in on a tiny scale? Anyway, I know you’re not really interested in that side, and that the only things you really are interested in are drugs and those mysterious and increasing threats to the Royal family and members of the Government.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Anything interesting to report on any of these fronts?’

Annemarie shook her head. ‘Vasco — you’ve heard of Vasco?’ ‘Yes. Never met him, though. Supposed to meet him today. In fact I thought I was meeting him with you.’

‘I thought so, too. We’d arranged to meet in a cafe close by here almost an hour ago. No signs, which is most unlike Vasco.’ ‘This friend of yours — he’s a dyed-in-the-wool true-blue Kraker?’ ‘Well, he seems to be but he can’t be, can he? They have some kind of leaders, nobody with any personality or charisma, a kind of loose council, and Vasco appears to be a member or close to it. But he says he’s basically against them and I believe him. After all, he works for you. Sort of.’

‘But you’re in two minds about him?’

‘My intelligence, if I have any, says that — well, I’m ambivalent about him. My instincts trust him.’

‘Peter?’

‘Her instincts are right. He’s a cop. Detective sergeant.’ ‘A policeman.’ Annemarie’s lips were compressed, her eyes angry. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

‘Don’t be childish,’ van Effen said. ‘You told him you were a policewoman?’

She didn’t answer and de Graaf said hastily: ‘It’s the need-to-know principle, my dear. He didn’t even tell me. I take it he thinks I didn’t need to know. You were about to say something about Vasco?’ ‘Yes. Could be important. I don’t know. He told me late last night that he thought he had a lead. He said he had been approached by one of the council, a person who knew that he, Vasco, moved quite often about the outside world — to them, everything beyond their suburban boundaries is the outside world. He said he was being taken to a meeting about midnight to meet someone important. I don’t know who the person was.’ Van Effen said: ‘Who was the person who approached him? Can you describe him?’

‘I can describe him, all right. Short, balding, pepper-and-salt beard and a bad squint in his right eye.’

De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘Another eye disorder, but this one for real. This person have a name?’

‘Julius.’

‘Julius what?’

‘Just — ‘ She hesitated. ‘Julius Caesar. I know it’s crazy, but then they’re crazy. Nobody out there ever uses his real name. Right now, as far as names are concerned, they’re going through an historical phase. That’s the kind of follow-my leader sheep they are. We’ve got Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Charlemagne, Lord Nelson, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra — I could go on. They go for macho men or beautiful women, everything that they’re not. Anyway, Julius Caesar.’

Van Effen said: ‘And that’s all you know? No indications as to what kind of lead it was?’

‘No.’ She pursed her lips. ‘That’s not to say that he didn’t know.’ ‘An odd comment to make,’ de Graaf said. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Nothing. I just don’t know whether he knows or not.’ ‘Lieu me.’ De Graaf studied her quizzically. ‘You don’t trust your fellow officer?’

‘He doesn’t trust me.’

‘Well, once again, dear me. This does make for a happy relationship in the field.’

Van Effen said: ‘Sergeant Westenbrink doesn’t distrust her. It’s just that three years working undercover tends to make you secretive, a loner.’ ‘Westenbrink, is it. I thought I knew all my sergeants.’

‘He’s from Utrecht, sir.’

‘You cast a wide net. Lieutenant van Effen, Annemarie, works on the same principle as Vasco, whose name, I feel quite certain, is not Vasco. The need to know. How can you be hurt when you see me being treated in this cavalier fashion?’

George entered, apologised, picked up a phone set from a side table and placed it in front of Annemarie. She lifted the receiver, listened to the crackling voice for all of two minutes, said: ‘Thank you. Five minutes,’ and hung up.

Van Effen said: ‘The Hunter’s Horn, I presume. What’s the message from Vasco?’

‘The Hunter’s Horn.’ De Graaf frowned. ‘I trust that’s not the Hunter’s Horn that — ‘

‘There’s only one — ah — establishment of that name in Amsterdam. Beggars can’t be choosers. Apart from La Caracha it’s our only safe house in Amsterdam. A private connection, Colonel. The fair name of the Amsterdam police department remains unbesmirched.’

‘Not to know,’ de Graaf muttered. ‘Not to know.’

‘You’re half right,’ Annemarie said, almost reluctantly. ‘It was the Hunter’s Horn. But it wasn’t Vasco.’

‘Never said it was. I said “What’s the message from Vasco?” It was Henri, Henri, sit, is the owner. Vasco is under observation but whoever is tailing him didn’t know, wasn’t to know, that it’s virtually impossible to follow Vasco without Vasco being aware of it. So he couldn’t come here. The person or persons following him would have raised their eyebrows if they saw you here: they’d have gone into shock if they’d found me, which would have been a small disaster for us and the end of the usefulness of both Vasco and yourself. So the only place left for Vasco was the Hunter’s Horn. Even there he couldn’t use the telephone for he would still be being watched. So he wrote a small note for Henri who did the telephoning. You’re to ask me a question and you’re to give Henri my answer inside five minutes.’

Annemarie sighed. ‘Did you have to spoil it for me?’ Then she brightened. ‘But you didn’t get it all, did you?’

‘I’m brilliant at deducing the obvious. I’m not clairvoyant.

The rest, what I didn’t get, can wait, including the reasons why Vasco is going to call me back.’

‘I didn’t say that?’

‘Henri did. The message.’

She made a moue. ‘It went like this. Two tails. Understand can’t ditch. Meet two-‘

De Graaf interrupted. ‘What was that meant to mean?’ ‘Westenbrink’s shorthand, I imagine,’ van Effen said. ‘Only two ways of getting rid of his tails. He could throw them into the nearest canal, which he’s perfectly capable of doing or he could easily have lost them which he is again perfectly capable of doing. Either course of action would have ended any connection he’s succeeded in making.’ Annemarie went on: ‘Meet two, three men four-thirty Hunter’s Horn.’ She pushed across a piece of paper.

‘Stephan Danilov,’ van Effen read. ‘Pole. Radom. Explosives expert. Oil well fires. Texas. Clear enough. Interesting, sir?’ ‘It is indeed. How do you feel about blowing up banks?’, Should be interesting to see the law from the other side. They’ll bring along a Polish speaker, of course.’

Annemarie said: ‘You think this is a Polish criminal group.’ ‘No. just to check on me.’

‘But if they speak to you in

‘If they speak to him in Polish ‘ my dear,’de Graaf said, ‘He’ll answer in Polish, in which language he’s very fluent. Your friend from Utrecht, Peter, of course knew this.’

Annemarie said: ‘But — but you’ll be recognised. Everybody in that — that ghetto knows you, I mean, knows who you are.’

‘Ninny. Sorry, but, please. If you think I’m going to present myself as Lieutenant van Effen you can’t be feeling too well. I shall, in the best traditions as befits the circumstances, be heavily disguised. I shall put on about twenty kilos — I have a suit and shirt designed to cope with the excess avoirdupois — fatten my cheeks, tint hair and moustache, wear a sinister scar and a black leather glove. That’s to disguise the fearful scars and burns I sustained when — let me see, yes, of course — when I was putting out this oil fire in Saudi Arabia or wherever. It’s remarkable what a single black glove does. It becomes the focal point for identification in nearly everyone’s mind and if you’re not wearing it, you’re not you, if you follow me. And don’t call Krakerdom a ghetto — it’s an insult to decent Jews.’

‘I didn’t mean to — ‘

‘I know. I’m sorry. Call Henri, tell him it’s OK and to let a few minutes pass before giving Vasco the nod.’

She made the call and hung up. ‘Everything seems all right. A few minutes. ‘She looked at van Effen. ‘You already have all the details you want. Why have Vasco make the call?’

‘Why have Vasco make the call?’ Van Effen tried to look patient. ‘Vasco goes back every afternoon to this empty block of flats that they’ve taken over under so-called squatters’ rights. He’s been under surveillance since his meeting with the council or whatever they call themselves since last night and it’s a safe assumption that he’ll remain under surveillance until the time of the meeting in the Hunter’s Horn. How’s he supposed to have communicated with me to arrange this meeting? Telepathy?’

De Graaf cleared his throat and looked at Annemarie. ‘You must forgive our Lieutenant his old-world gallantry. Do you go back to the dreadful place now?’

‘Very soon.’

‘And you stay there overnight?’

She gave a mock shudder. ‘There are limits, sir, to my loyalty to the police force. No, I don’t sleep there at nights.’

‘No raised eyebrows among the fraternity?’

‘Not at all, sir. I have a gentleman friend who comes calling for me every evening. The Krakers; understand this sort of thing.’ ‘And you go back in the morning?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She put her hand to her mouth to cover a smile but de Graaf had seen it.

‘You are amused, young lady.’ His tone had lost some warmth. ‘Well, yes, I am a little, sir. Your voice and expression of disapproval and disappointment. This friend is really a very gallant gentleman. Especially as he’s married.’

‘Inevitably.’ De Graaf was not amused.

‘He takes me to his cousin’s house, leaves me there and comes for me in the morning. That’s why he’s gallant, because he’s very much in love with his own wife. His cousin, Colonel de Graaf, is a lady.’ De Graaf said: ‘The Chief of Police is in his usual condition, namely, out of his depth.’ He was noticeably relieved. ‘You will, of course, Peter, have carried out a check on this cousin, this lady?’ ‘No I have not.’ Van Effen spoke with some feeling. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ De Graaf frowned briefly then leaned back and laughed. ‘Behold our intrepid Lieutenant, Annemarie. He’s terrified of his young sister. So you’re staying with Julie?’

‘You know her then, sir?’

‘My favourite lady in all Amsterdam. Except, of course, for my wife and two daughters. I’m her godfather. Well, well.’

The phone rang. Van Effen picked it up and listened for perhaps half a minute then said: ‘Can anyone overhear my voice if I speak?’ Apparently nobody could for van Effen said: ‘Say that you’ll give me half a minute to think it over.’ At the end of that period van Effen spoke again: ‘Say to me: “Stephan, I swear to you it’s no police trap. My life on it. And if it were a police trap what would my life be worth then? Don’t be silly.”’ A few moments later van Effen said: ‘That was fine. Will you be coming with them? Fine? Be sure to tell whoever comes with you — I’m sure it won’t be the gentlemen who have you under surveillance at the moment — that I have a police record in Poland and have a United States extradition warrant out against me. I shall be wearing a black leather glove.’ He hung up. ‘Nice touch about the police record and extradition warrant,’ de Graaf said. ‘Nice criminal touch and two statements they have no way of checking on. You will be carrying a gun, I assume?’

‘Certainly. It would be expected of me and I’ll have it in a shoulder holster that should make it obvious to even the most myopic that I am armed.’

Annemarie said doubtfully: ‘Perhaps they will take it off you before discussions start. just as a precaution, I mean.’

‘One must take a chance about those things. I shall be brave.’ ‘What Peter means,’ de Graaf said drily, ‘is that he always carries a second gun. It’s like his single glove theory, that people only concentrate on one thing at a time. It’s in that book of his, I’m sure. If a person finds a gun on you he’s got to be almost pathologically suspicious to start looking for another.’

‘It’s not in the book. I don’t put thoughts like those in criminal minds. Curious, sir, that we’ll both be engaged in something interesting at exactly four-thirty — you and the Minister, schnapps in hand, peering down at the Texel sea dyke from the safety of your helicopter seats while I am entering the lion’s den.’

‘I’d switch with you any time,’ de Graaf said morosely. ‘I should be back from Texel by six — damn all I can do up there anyway. Let’s meet at seven.’

‘Provided we both survive — you the schnapps, me the lions. The 444 would be in order, sir?’

De Graaf didn’t say that the 444 would be in order: on the other hand he didn’t say it wouldn’t.