Floodgate

Five

The old town of Amsterdam may well be unique in the attraction of its tree-lined winding canals, its medieval charm, its romance, its almost palpable sense of history, its nostalgic beauty. The city mortuary wasn’t like that at all. It didn’t possess a single attractive feature, it had no charm, medieval or modern, was totally and irredeemably ugly. It was clinical, functional, inhuman and wholly repellent. Only the dead, one would have thought, could have tolerated such a place: but the white-coated attendants, while not much given to whistling at their work, seemed no different from your average office worker, factory mechanic or farm labourer: this was their job and they did it in the best way they could.

Van Effen arrived to find de Graaf and a serious young man, who was introduced as Dr Prins, waiting for him. Dr Prins was attired in the regulation uniform of white coat and stethoscope. It was difficult to imagine what function a stethoscope played in a mortuary: possibly to check that incoming admissions were, in fact, dead on arrival: more probably, it was just part of the uniform. De Graaf was in a dark and sombre mood but this was not due to his surroundings for, over the long years, de Graaf had become more than accustomed to mortuaries: what he was not accustomed to was having to leave his fish course and a bottle of Chablis almost untouched on a restaurant table.

Dr Prins led them to a long, cavernous, tomb-like chamber, ‘the furnishings of which — exclusively in concrete, white tiles, marble and metal — accorded well with the chilled atmosphere. An attendant, seeing Prins approach, opened a metal door and pulled out a wheeled rack that ran smoothly on steel runners. A shrouded form lay on this. Dr Prins took the top comer of the sheet.

‘I have to warn you, gentlemen, that this is not a sight for weak stomachs.’

‘My stomach couldn’t possibly be in worse condition than it is,’ de Graaf said. Prins looked at him curiously — de Graaf hadn’t seen fit to make mention of the abandoned fish and wine — and pulled back the sheet. What lay revealed was indeed, as the doctor had said, not a sight for queasy stomachs. Dr Prins looked at the faces of the two policemen and felt vaguely disappointed: not by a flicker of expression did they display whatever emotions they might have felt.

‘Cause of death, doctor?’ de Graaf said.

‘Multiple, massive injuries, of course. Cause? An autopsy will reveal — ‘ ‘Autopsy!’ Van Effen’s voice was as cold as the mortuary itself. ‘I do not wish to be personal, doctor, but how long have you held this post?’ ‘My first week. ‘The slight pallor in his face suggested that Dr Prins was, himself, having some problems with his internal economy. ‘So you won’t have seen many cases like this. If any. This man has been murdered. He hasn’t fallen off the top of a high building or been run over by a heavy truck. In that case the skull or chest wall or pelvis or the femoral bones or tibia would have been crushed or broken. They haven’t. He’s been battered to death by iron bars. His face is unrecognizable, kneecaps smashed and forearms broken — no doubt when he was trying to defend himself against the iron bars.’

De Graaf said to the doctor: ‘He was, of course, wearing clothes when he was brought in. Anyone been through them?’

‘Identification, you mean, Colonel?’

‘Of course.’

‘Nothing that I know of.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ van Effen said. ‘I know who it is. I recognize that scar on the shoulder. Detective Rudolph Engel. He was shadowing a man known as Julius Caesar — you may remember Annemarie mentioning this character in La Caracha.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because I was the person who told Engel to do the shadowing. I also warned him that there was more than a degree of danger attached and that he was on no account to be in a position where he would find himself without people around. I reminded him what had happened to the two detectives who had trailed Agnelli. He forgot or disobeyed or was carried away by curiosity or enthusiasm. Whatever it is, it cost him Ws life.’ ‘But to murder him in this savage fashion?’ De Graaf shook his head. ‘Even to kill him at all. Well, it does seem an unbelievable instance of over-reacting.’

‘We’ll probably never know the truth, sir. But if we do we’ll probably find out that he wasn’t disposed of just for shadowing but because he’d found out something they couldn’t let him live to report. High stakes, Colonel.’

‘High indeed. It might help to have a word with this — ah — Julius Caesar.’

‘Probably couldn’t find him in the first place. He’ll have gone to ground, left Amsterdam for healthier climes or, most likely, shaved off his pepper-and-salt beard and got himself a wig for his bald pate and a pair of dark glasses to conceal his squint. Besides, even if we did pull him in, what have we got to charge him with?’

They thanked Dr Prins and left. As they were passing through the entrance hall a man at the desk called the Colonel and handed him a phone. The Colonel spoke briefly, handed back the phone and rejoined van Effen. ‘Not destined to be our afternoon, I’m afraid. Office. just heard from the hospital. One of our men there. Just been fished out of a canal, it seems.’

‘What’s he doing in hospital? You mean he’s not drowned?’ ‘No. Touch and go, it seems. We’d better have a look.’ ‘Identity?’

‘Not established. Still unconscious. No papers, no badge. But carrying a gun and a pair of handcuffs. So they guessed it was a cop.’ In the hospital they were led to. a private room on the first floor, from which a grey-haired doctor was just emerging. He saw de Graaf and smiled, ‘My old friend! You don’t waste time, I must say. One of your men has just had a rather unpleasant experience. A very close thing, very close, but he’ll be all right. In fact, he can leave in an hour or two.’ ‘So he’s conscious?’

‘Conscious and in a very bad temper. Name of Voight.’ ‘Mas Voight?’ van Effen said.

‘That’s him. Little boy saw him floating face down in the water. Luckily there were a couple of dock-workers close by. They fished him out and brought him here. Couldn’t have been. in the water more than a minute or so.’

Voight was sitting up-in bed and looking very disgruntled. After the briefest of courteous enquiries as to his health de Graaf said: ‘How on earth did you come to fall into that canal?’

‘Fall into the canal!’ Voight was outraged. ‘Fall into — ‘ ‘Shh!’ said the doctor. ‘You’ll just do yourself an injury.’ He gently turned Voight’s head: the blue and purple bruise behind the right ear promised to develop into something quite spectacular. ‘Must have run out of crowbars,’ van Effen said.

De Graaf frowned. ‘And what is that meant to mean?’ ‘Our friends are being active again. Detective Voight was keeping an eye on Alfred van Rees and

‘Alfred van Rees?’

‘You know. The Rijkswaterstaat man. Locks, weirs, sluices and what have you. Unfortunately it would seem that Detective Voight couldn’t watch van Rees and his own back at the same time. Last report, Voight, was that you had lost van Rees.’

‘A patrolman found him again. Gave me the address. I drove down and parked by the canal, got out

‘What canal?’ van Effen said.

‘The Croquiskade.’

‘The Croquiskade! And van Rees. You astonish me. Hardly the most salubrious part of our fair city.’

Voight rubbed his neck. ‘I didn’t find it very salubrious either. I saw van Rees and another man coming out of this doorway and then they went back in again. Why, I don’t know. I wasn’t in a police car and as far as I know they’ve never seen me, never suspected I was following them. And then — well, the next thing I knew I was in this bed. Never even heard a footstep behind me.’ ‘Did you get the house number?’

‘Yes. Thirty-eight.’

Van Effen picked up a bedside phone, told the switchboard it was police and urgent, gave them his office number and said to de Graaf. ‘I don’t suppose that anyone will still be at number thirty-eight. But we may find something there — if, that is, they didn’t see Detective Voight being fished out of the canal. If they did, it’ll be as clean as a whistle. Question of search warrant, sir?’

‘Damn the search warrant.’ De Graaf was obviously rather shaken that his old friend van Rees could be involved in illegal activities. ‘Effect an entry by any means.’

Van Effen was through to his office almost immediately, asked for a certain Sergeant Oudshoorn,got him in turn just as quickly, gave him the address and instructions and listened for a brief period. ‘No, Sergeant. Take four men. One at the front door, one at the back … No warrant. The Colonel says so. Yes. Take the damned door off its hinges if you have to. Or shoot the lock away. Detain anyone you find inside. Don’t leave there. Radio report to station and await instructions. ‘He hung up. ‘Sergeant Oudshorn seems to relish the prospect.’ They told Voight to cA home, have dry clothes brought, go home and rest and said goodbye. In the passageway de Graaf said: ‘It can’t be. Impossible. Man’s a pillar of society. Good heavens, I even put him up for my club.’

‘Could be a perfectly innocent explanation, sir. The state of Voight’s neck and his immersion in the canal seems to suggest otherwise. Remember, I suggested in Schiphol that perhaps he was a Jekyll by day and a Hyde by night. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe he’s a daylight Hyde.’ As they approached the hospital entrance van Effen stopped abruptly. De Graaf stopped also and looked at him curiously.

‘One rarely sees an expression of concern on your face, Peter. Something amiss?’

‘I hope not, sir. Something’s been nagging away at the back of my mind but I haven’t had time to think about it. Not until now. This call you got while you were lunching — at least, when you were about to have lunch — did it come from the station?’

‘Of course. Sergeant Bresser.’

‘Where did he get his information from?’

‘The hospital I presume. Bresser said he’d tried to find first you, then Lieutenant Valken and failing to find either he’d contacted me. Does it matter?’

‘This matters. Young Dr Prins at the mortuary is neither experienced nor very bright. For all he knew or suspected to the contrary, Engel might have fallen off the top of the Havengebouw, or been the victim of a street or industrial accident. The mortuary does not call in senior police officers unless they know or suspect that the victim did not meet a natural end. So the chances are that the call did not come from the hospital. Bresser’s a stolid unimaginative man. Thinking is not his forte. Was it your idea to call me up at Julie’s and ask me to come along?’

‘You’re beginning to get me worried now, too, Peter, although I don’t know why. Your name had been mentioned in the call but whether it was Bresser’s suggestion you come along or mine I’m not clear. Damn these lunches.’

‘Moment, sir.’ Van Effen went to the nearest telephone and dialled a number. He let it ring for perhaps fifteen seconds then dialled again while de Graaf watched him at first in perplexity, then in apprehension then with the sick dawning of understanding. He was at the front door and holding it open when van Effen replaced the phone and came running towards him.

Van Effen didn’t even bother to knock on Julie’s door, which he unlocked with the key he’d fished out coming up in the lift. The living-room appeared to be in perfectly normal condition, which meant nothing. Julie’s bedroom was also as it should have been but her bathroom told a different story. Thyssen, the guard, was lying on the floor, perfectly conscious and in apparent danger of suffering an apoplectic stroke, whether from rage or an effort to free himself from the ropes that bound wrists and ankles it was difficult to say. Perhaps he had been having difficulty in breathing through his gag. They freed him and helped him to his feet for he was unable to stand: if the blued hands were anything to go by the circulation of his feet must have been almost completely blocked off too. Whoever had tied him had worked with a will.

They helped him through to the living-room and into an armchair. Van Effen massaged circulation back into hand and feet — not a pleasant process if one were to judge by Thyssen’s repeated winces and screwing-shut of the eyes — while de Graaf brought him a glass of brandy. He had to hold it to the man’s lips as Thyssen had yet to recover the use of his hands. ‘Van der Hum,’ de Graaf said referring to the brandy. ‘A universal specific and, in the circumstances, despite regulations — ‘

Van Effen smiled. It wasn’t the strained smile of a man deliberately repressing emotion: he seemed quite remarkably unaffected by the turn of events. ‘The man who makes the regulations can break the regulations. It wouldn’t conic amiss, sir.’

They had barely sipped from their glasses when Thyssen recovered enough strength to seize his, lift his trembling hand to his mouth, and drink half the contents in one gulp: he coughed, spluttered, then spoke for the first time.

‘God, I’m sorry, Lieutenant! Most damnably sorry! Your sister — and that other nice lady.’ He drained his glass. ‘I should be taken out and shot.’ ‘I don’t think it will come to that, Jan,’van Effen said mildly. ‘Whatever happened is no fault of yours. What did happen?’

Thyssen was so overcome with anger, bitterness and self-reproach that his account was so disjointed and repetitive as to be at times incoherent. It appeared that he had been approached by a Dutch army major — who would ever have harboured suspicions about an Army major? — who had produced a pistol fitted with a most un-Army silencer, forced Thyssen to produce his key and open the door, pushed him inside, followed and advised the girls not to move. He had been followed into the room almost immediately by three furniture-removal men: at least, they were dressed in heavy leather aprons of the type much favoured by their profession: what was atypical about them was &.at they wore hoods and gloves. Beyond that Thyssen could tell them nothing: he had been taken into the bathroom and tied, gagged and left lying on the floor. Van Effen went into Annemarie’s bedroom — the one that had formerly been his — took one quick look around and returned.

‘There’s a pile of Annemarie’s clothes lying on the bed and a wardrobe missing. They were tied, gagged and carried out in it — to anyone watching an obvious case of legitimate furniture removing. They must have been keeping tabs on me, sir, about the time you made the call to me from the restaurant. They would have had a furniture van parked nearby and would have moved in as soon as they saw me departing. Very neat indeed. A most uncomfortable trip for the young ladies — but I suppose they must have been too terrified out of their wits to worry about discomfort. Ironic, isn’t it, sir, that both of them this morning were full of gloom and woe and foreboding — and prophecies of disaster. Feeling fey was what they called it. They were both convinced that the something terrible was going to happen to me: unfortunately for them they picked the wrong subject for concern.’

De Graaf, a second glass of Van der Hum in his hands, paced up and down. Even forty years in the police had left him without van Effen’s ability to mask his emotions: anger and worry fought for dominance in his face. ‘What are those devils up to? What did they want — and who did they want? Annemarie? Julie? Or both?’

‘Julie.’ Van Effen handed him the postcard he and Julie had looked at earlier in the afternoon. De Graaf took it, examined both card and envelope and said: ‘When did this arrive?’

‘Just after lunch. Julie was very upset but I just pooh-poohed it, laughed the matter off. Clever van Effen. Brilliant van Effen.’ ‘So your friends have returned, the Annecys back in Amsterdam. Lost no time in making their presence known and got at you in the very best way possible. God, I’m sorry, Peter.’

‘Feel sorry for the girls. Especially for Annemarie. It was just her fiendishly bad luck to be here when they came for Julie. It was that towering genius, van Effen, of course, who had insisted that she remain here for her own safety. The demands should be arriving quite soon. You will not have forgotten, Sir, that the Annecys were — and doubtless still are — specialists in blackmail.’ De Graaf shook his head and remained silent. ‘It’s kind of you not to say so, sir, but you will also not have forgotten that they are specialists in torture, which was the real reason I hunted them down.’

‘We haven’t been very clever so far,’ de Graaf said. ‘Things are uncommonly confusing.’

‘Kind of you to say “we” sir. You mean me.’ Van Effen refilled Thyssen’s glass, did the same for his own and sank into an armchair. After perhaps two minutes, de Graaf looked at him and said: ‘Well, surely there’s something we should be doing? Shall we start by making enquiries among the flat neighbours, the people living opposite?’ ‘To check on the modus operandi of the kidnappers? A waste of time, Colonel. We wouldn’t find out any more than we already know. We’re dealing with professionals. But even professionals can make mistakes.’ ‘I haven’t seen any so far.’ The Colonel was gloomy. ‘Nor have 1. I’m assuming that Julie was the target.’ Van Effen reached for the telephone. ‘With your permission, sir, I’ll find out. Vasco. Sergeant Westenbrink. He was the only one who knew where Annemarie lived. They — whoever “they” are — may have put a tail on him and found out by methods I don’t care to think about.’

‘You think it likely? Or possible?’

Van Effen dialled a number. ‘Possible, yes. Likely, no. I don’t think there’s anyone in Amsterdam who could follow Vasco without his being aware of it: by the same token I don’t think that there is anyone in the City who could be followed by Vasco and be aware of it. Vasco? Peter here. Anyone been taking an interest in you since you left this morning? … Talked to nobody? Annemarie and my sister Julie have been taken away … Within the past hour and, no, we have no idea.

Put on your best civilian suit and come round, will you?’ Van Effen hung up and said to de Graaf: ‘Julie it was. Nobody’s been banging Vasco with crowbars.’

‘Arid you’ve asked him to join you?’

‘Us, sir. He’s far too valuable a man to be lying low and doing nothing. And, with your permission, sit, I’d like to try to recruit George.’-

‘Your La Caracha friend? You said yourself he wasn’t very good at merging into backgrounds.’

‘That’s for Vasco. George, on the mental side as you saw for yourself, is very acute and knows the criminal mind probably better than anyone I know: on the physical side he’s a splendid insurance policy. So, progress. A very little, but progress nonetheless. I think it’s now fairly safe to say that the Annecy brothers and the would-be blowers-up of the royal palace are working in cahoots, or how else would the Annecys know that Rudolph Engel, who had been following all of the palace gang’s intermediaries, had been done in and delivered to the morgue?’ ‘The palace gang, as you call them, could have done the kidnapping. The Annecys could have told them.’

‘Two things, sir. What possible motive could Agnelli and his friends have in abducting Lieutenant van Effen’s sister? None. The Annecys have a very powerful motive. The second thing is that it doesn’t matter a damn whether the Annecys gave Agnelli this address or not: the point is that they sure as hell know each other.’

‘And how does this knowledge help us, Peter?’

‘At the moment, it doesn’t. And it may even actually put us at a disadvantage. They’re not clowns and may well have figured out that we have figured out and exercise extra precautions because of that — Precautions against what, I can’t imagine.’

‘Neither can 1. We’re doing nothing. There’s nothing, as far as I can see, that we can do.’

‘One or two small things, perhaps. Alfred van Rees, to start with.’ ‘What’s van Rees got to do with Agnelli and the Annecys?’ ‘Nothing. A s far as we know. But we would at least be doing something about something. I suggest two tails on van Rees. One to keep an eye on van Rees, the other to keep an eye on the first tail. just consider how lucky Mas Voight is to be still alive. Then I suggest we investigate van Rees’s bank statements.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘This pillar of the Rijkswaterstaat may be giving the dyke blowers information that they couldn’t get elsewhere. Selling, not giving. Could be, of course, that if he’s picking up some money that he shouldn’t, he might have it stashed away in another account under another name. But criminals — especially people who are not habitual criminals, and I assume van Rees is not — often overlook the obvious.’ ‘Can’t be done. Illegal. Man hasn’t even been charged, far less convicted of anything.’

‘They’ve got Julie and Annemarie.’

‘So. What connection do they have with van Rees?’

‘None. Again, as far as we know. Although I was just thinking of one of the last things Julie said to me, that how extraordinarily odd it was that the dyke-breakers, the palace bombers and the Annecy brothers should all happen along at the same tim.-. Could be a coincidence. Could be too much of a coincidence. Or nothing. Maybe I just hate the whole wide criminal world. Forget it, sir. just a suggestion.’ The phone ran,-, Van Effen picked it up, listened, said thank you and hung up. ‘This should cheer us all up. There’s going to be a radio broadcast of the FFF’s latest communiqué in about ten minutes.’ ‘Inevitable, I suppose. Your suggestion, Peter. Normally, I should dismiss it out of hand. But your suggestions have an extraordinary habit of turning up something.’ He smiled without any humour. ‘Maybe you share — what’s the word? — this precognition with your sister. We’ll put those two tails on van Rees — my God, the very idea of putting tails on van Rees — and have his liquid assets discreetly investigated. I shall probably be arraigned before Parliament for this. Drag you down with me, of course.’ He reached for the phone. ‘Let me handle this.’ After he had arranged matters in his customary imperious fashion and put the phone down, van Effen said: ‘Thank you.

Tell me, sir, do your linguistic friends at the University have all the tapes? Including the one I brought from the Hunter’s Horn?’ De Graaf nodded. ‘When do you expect them to be ready?’

‘When they’re ready, one supposes. Things move leisurely in the groves of Academe.’

‘Think you could hurry them up, sir? National emergency, something like that.’

‘I can but try.’ De Graaf called a number, spoke to someone he called Hector then, still holding the phone, turned to van Effen. ‘Six o’clock?’ ‘Five forty-five, if possible.’

De Graaf spoke briefly, hung up and said: ‘Very precise about our timing, aren’t we?’

‘Person coming round at six-thirty to the Trianon to give me the radio data for detonating this bomb in the palace cellars.’

‘First I heard of it. One finds it uncommonly difficult to keep up with your activities. One finds it rather droll, if I may say so, to find a police officer paying the courtesy of punctuality to a criminal.’ ‘Yes, sir. Do you know — personally, I mean — any plastic surgeons?’ ‘Plastic surgeons! What on earth do you want with — well, I should know better, you’ll have your reasons. But plastic surgeons? Do you think I know everyone in this city?’

‘To my knowledge, sir, yes. Or nearly everyone.’

‘I could talk to the police surgeon.’

‘De Wit is not a plastic surgeon, sir.’

‘Ah! I have it. My old friend Hugh. Outstanding. Professor Hugh Johnson.’ ‘Doesn’t sound like a Dutch surgeon to me. I mean, he’s not Dutch, is he?’ ‘English. Trained at East Grinstead. I’m told that’s the best plastic surgery unit in Europe, if not the world. Man’s a genius.’ De Graaf smiled. ‘Not as smart as the Dutch, though. Not, specifically, as clever as one Dutch lady, a native of Amsterdam, whom he met here on an exchange visit. Six months after they got married he found himself domiciled in this country. Still doesn’t know how it happened to him. The very man. ‘De Graaf cleared his throat in a delicate fashion. ‘If you could give me some slight indication as to what you ‘Want — ‘

‘Certainly. In the guise in which I meet Agnelli I have scars on my face and hands — remind me to tell you what I’ll look like tonight when we meet at the University otherwise you won’t recognize me. I want those scars to look even more realistic and, more important to be of such a nature that they can’t easily be pulled off, washed off or scrubbed off.’ ‘Ah. I see. I mean, I don’t see.’ De Graaf pondered briefly. ‘Don’t like this at all. You are referring, of course, to Agnelli and his friends and any suspicions they may harbour. I thought you were of the opinion that your bona fide status as an internationally wanted criminal was fairly secure.’

‘I increasingly believe so, sir. But they don’t sound like a lot with whom one can safely take any chances. Might even find a reason tonight to prove — without seeming to, of course — the genuineness and permanence of those scars.’

De Graaf sighed. ‘We live in a devious world, a very devious world. Without wishing to give offence, Peter, I must say you seem perfectly at home in it. See what I can do. Damned phone again.’ Van Effen picked it up, listened and said: ‘Send a man around with them, will you? Wait a minute.’ He turned to de Graaf. ‘Sergeant Oudshoorn. Says number thirty-eight is deserted. Neighbours say nobody has lived there for years. Most of the furniture is gone, too. Sergeant Oudshoorn — he’s young, enthusiastic, I told you he’d relish this assignment and we did give him a sort of carte blanche — has been investigating some locked cupboards and desk drawers.’

‘With the aid of crowbars and chisels, I suppose..’ ‘I imagine so. J also imagine that it’s extremely doubtful that we’ll ever have any complaints on that score. Thing is, he says he’s come across some odd-looking maps, charts and plans that he can’t make head or tail of. Probably of no importance whatsoever. But we’re in no position to overlook one chance in a thousand. I’ve asked Oudshoorn to have them sent round. Do you think that, en route, this messenger might pick up some knowledgeable lad from the City Surveyor’s office who might just be able to enlighten us about those maps?’

‘Chance in a thousand, as you say. Suppose you want me to do the dirty work?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He spoke into the phone. ‘Tell whoever it is that’s bringing the papers round to stop by the City Surveyor’s office and pick up someone who will accompany him here. The Colonel is arranging it.’ While de Grad was issuing his instructions over the phone — he never made requests — van Effen turned on the radio and kept the volume low. When the Colonel hung up the phone he still kept the volume low — the cacophonous racket of the latest number one on the hit parade was not to van Effen’s taste — but turned it up when the noise stopped. The modulated voice of an announcer took over.

‘We interrupt this programme with a special news bulletin. The FFF, about whose activities you must have all heard or read in the past forty-eight hours, have issued another statement. It reads as follows: ‘ “We promised to breach the North Holland Canal or the Hagestein weir. Or both. In the event, we chose to breach the canal. The reason we did not damage the Hagestein weir is that we have never been within fifty kilometres of it. In spite of this we have to admit that the turn-out of army, police, air-force helicopters and the experts from the Rijkswaterstaat was most impressive.

‘ “It should now not be in doubt that we can cause flooding, of a degree according to our choosing, wherever and whenever we wish and that we can do this with impunity: the possibility of detection does not exist. The country’s authorities, as we have pointed out before and have demonstrated again, are quite powerless.

‘ “We are sure that the people of the Netherlands do not wish this state of affairs to continue. Neither, quite frankly, do we. We have certain terms that we wish to be met and would like to discuss those with a responsible member of the government. We suggest that an arrangement for such a meeting, time this evening, location immaterial, be broadcast over TV and radio at 6 p.m. this evening. No negotiator below the level of cabinet minister will be considered.

‘ “We suggest that our negotiator should not be apprehended, held as hostage or subjected to any degree of restraint. Should any of the authorities be so misguided as to do this we would warn them that mines are already in position to the north and south of Lelystad. Precisely how far north and south we choose, in this instance, not to say. The mines, in this instance, are very much larger than on previous occasions and the repair of the breaches will be a matter of days if not weeks. If our negotiator does not return to us by a certain hour to be agreed, then large portions of Oostlijk-Flevoland will be inundated. No warning will be given as to the time of those breaches: they will be some time during the night. ‘ “We think it almost superfluous to point out that the responsibility for the safety of the Oostlijk-Flevo.land and its inhabitants ties exclusively with the government. We do not ask for a great deal — just to speak with a government representative.

‘Should the government ignore our small request and refuse to appoint a negotiator, we shall go ahead and flood the polder. After that, when next we make a similar request accompanied by a similar promise, we think ‘the government may deem it more prudent to be a degree rather more co-operative. We are sure that the citizens of the Netherlands would agree that for the government, motivated solely by affronted pride and stiff-necked outrage, to put this large area and those who live there at such risk, would be intolerable and unforgivable.

‘The time to co-operate is now, not when incalculable and avoidable damage has been done. “The mines are in position.” That is the message in its entirety. The government has requested us — not ordered, requested — not to pass comment on or discuss this outrageous demand until they have decided what course of action to adopt. It wishes to reassure the people of this country that the government is confident that it has the resources at its command to meet this or any other threat.’

Van Effen switched off the set. ‘God save us from politicians. The government, as is its wont, is talking through a hole in its collective hat. It’s been caught off-balance, hasn’t had time to think — one charitably assumes it can think — and can do no better than trot out old boring, meaningless platitudes. Confident, they say. Confident of what? God’s sake, they can’t possibly be confident of anything, far less of themselves. Trust us, they say. I’d sooner trust the inmates of a lunatic asylum.’

‘Treasonable talk, Lieutenant van Effen, treasonable talk. I could have you incarcerated for this.’ De Graaf sighed. ‘Trouble is, I’d have to incarcerate myself along with you, as I agree with every word you say. If the government honestly believes that the people will take their meaningless assertions at face value, then they’re in an even worse case than I thought. Which, I may add, I didn’t think was possible. They are in an impossible situation: do you think it even remotely possible that they don’t recognize this?’

‘They’ll recognize it all right. just as soon as they begin to think in terms of political survival. If they bury their heads in the sand they’ll be turfed out of power within a week. An acute concern about preserving the status quo — their status quo — can work wonders. They have already blundered by having the commentator say that they have been requested — not ordered — to discuss the affair. They have been ordered, not requested, otherwise the commentator, the news-reader, would not have used the term “outrageous demand”. There’s nothing outrageous in their demand. It’s the demands that will be made when the meeting takes place — as, of course, it will do — that will almost certainly be outrageous.’ ‘Any discussion about this matter can only be speculative,’ the Colonel said heavily. ‘So it’s not worth the speculation. We have other and more urgent matters to attend to.’

‘There’s a matter I should be attending to at this moment,’ van Effen said. ‘I have an appointment at the Trianon. Well, a kind of appointment. There’s a fellow there who will be expecting me but doesn’t know that I’m expecting him. One of Agnelli’s stake-outs. He’s expecting to see me in my full criminal regalia — he’s under the impression that I’ve been a sleep all afternoon, which might have been no bad thing — and I mustn’t disappoint him.’

The phone rang. De Graaf answered it and handed it to van Effen. ‘Yes. Yes, Lieutenant van Effen … I’ll wait … Why should I?’ He held the phone some inches from his ear. ‘Some clown advising me to avoid damage to my ear-drums and to — ‘ He broke off as a High-pitched scream, a feminine scream, not of fear but of agony, came from the earpiece. Van Effen jammed the phone against his ear, listened for a few seconds then hung up. De Graaf said: ‘What in God’s name was that?’

‘Julie. At least that’s what the man said. Well, his words were: “Your sister is a bit slow in co-operating. We’ll call again when she does. ”’ ‘Torture,’ the Colonel said. His voice was steady but his eyes were mad. ‘Torturing my Julie.’

Van Effen smiled faintly. ‘Mine, too, remember? Possibly. The Annecy brothers’ speciality. But it was just a shade too crude, too pat, too theatrical.’

‘God, Peter, she’s your sister!’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll remind the brothers of that when I meet them.’ Trace the call, man! Trace the call!’

‘No point, sir. I have good ears. I could just detect the faint overlay hiss of a recorder. That could have come from anywhere. And it’s what makes me think it’s a phoney put-together job.’

‘Then why the devil was the call made?’

‘Two reasons, perhaps, although I can only guess at the first. I don’t think they thought that I would even suspect that the call was not what it purported to be, that I would be so upset over my sister’s kidnapping that! would take anything in its connection at face value. Second thing, of course, is that they’re not after Julie, they’re after me. This — at least to their highly suspect way of psychological reasoning — is part of the softening-up process.’

De Graaf sat in silence, rose, poured himself another Van der Hum, returned to his seat, thought some more then said: ‘I hardly like to bring up this point, Lieutenant, but has it occurred to you that next time, or maybe the time after next, the Annecys may decide to abandon the psychological approach and say: “Surrender to us, Lieutenant van Effen, or your sister will cbe and we’ll see to it that she dies very very slowly.” ‘Would you do it-‘

‘Do what?’

‘Give yourself up to them?’

‘Of course. My appointment at the Trianon is overdue, sir. If there is any message for me, would you call me there. Stephan Danilov, if you remember. How long do you intend to re

here, sir?’

‘Until I see those maps or charts or whatever that Sergeant Oudshoorn found, and until I can get Lieutenant Valken here to take over. I’ll put him in the picture as L-r as I can.’

‘You have all the facts, sir.’

‘One would hope so,’de Graaf said rather enigmatically. When van Effen had gone, Thyssen said curiously: ‘I know it’s not my place to speak, sir, but would the Lieutenant really do that?’ ‘Do what?’

‘Give himself up.’

‘You heard the Lieutenant.’

‘But — but that would be suicide, ‘Thyssen seemed almost agitated. ‘That would be the end of him.’

‘It would be the end of someone, and that’s a fact.’ De Graaf didn’t seem overly concerned.

Van Effen returned, via the rear entrance, to his room in the Trianon, called the desk and asked for Charles.

‘Charles? Van Effen. Has our friend returned? … Good. He will, I know, be in a position to hear every word you say. Kindly say the following into the phone. “Certainly, Mr Danilov. Coffee immediately and not to be disturbed afterwards. Expecting a visitor at six-thirty.” Let me know when he’s gone.’

Some thirty seconds later Charles called to inform him that the lobby was now empty.

Van Effen had just completed his metamorphosis into Stephan Danilov when the phone rang. It was de Graaf, who was still at Julie’s flat. He said he had something of interest to show van Effen and could he, van Effen, step round. Ten minutes, van Effen said.

When van Effen returned to the flat he found Thyssen gone and his place taken by Lieutenant Valken. Valken was a short, stout, rubicund character, easy-going and a trencherman of some note, which may have accounted for the fact that although he was several years older than van Effen he was his junior in the service, a fact that worried Valken not at all. They were good friends. Valken was, at that moment, surveying van Effen and speaking to the Colonel.

‘A reversal to type, wouldn’t you say, sir? Cross between a con man and a white slaver, with just a soupcion of a Mississippi river-boat gambler thrown in. Definitely criminal, anyway.’

De Graaf looked at van Effen and winced. ‘Wouldn’t trust him within a kilometre of either of my daughters. I don’t even trust the sound of his voice.’ He indicated the pile of papers on the table before him. ‘Like to sift through all of those, Peter. Or shall I just call attention to the ones that interest me?’

‘Just the ones that interest you, sir.’

‘God, that voice.. Fine. Top five.’

Van Effen examined each in turn. They showed plans of what were clearly different levels of the same building: the number of compartments in each plan left no doubt that it was a very large building indeed. Van Effen looked up and said: ‘And where’s van Rees?’

‘Well, damn your eyes!’ de Graaf was aggrieved. ‘How the hell did you know those were the plans of the royal palace?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No I didn’t. ‘De Graaf scowled, which he did very rarely and with difficulty. ‘Not until that young architect or whatever from the City Surveyor’s office told me. You do rob an old man of his pleasures, Peter.’ De Graaf regarded himself as merely approaching the prime of his life.

‘I didn’t know. just guessed. As I shall be inside that building within three hours you can understand that my thoughts turn to it from time to time. Van Rees?’

‘My old and trusted friend.’ De Graaf, understandably, sounded very bitter indeed. ‘Put him up for my club, by God! Should have listened to you earlier, my boy, much earlier. And we should have expedited the examination of his bank account.’

‘No bank account?’

‘Gone. Gone.’

‘And so, one supposes, has van Rees.’

‘Four million guilders,’ de Graaf said. ‘Four million. Bank manager thought it a highly unusual step to take but — well — ‘ ‘One does not question the motives and the integrity of a pillar of the community?’

‘Blackballed,’ de Graaf said gloomily. ‘Inevitable.’ ‘There are other clubs, sir. Schiphol, I assume, is still not open for operations?’

‘You assume wrongly.’ The gloom remained in de Graaf’s face. ‘Heard ten-fifteen minutes ago. First plane out, a KLM for Paris, took off about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Van Rees, clutching his millions, relaxing in the first class?’ ‘Yes.’

‘And no grounds for extradition. No charges against him. In fact, no hard evidence against him. That we’ll get the evidence, I don’t doubt. Then I’ll go and get him. When all this is over, I mean.’ ‘Your illegal penchants are well known, Lieutenant.’ ‘Yes, sir. Meantime, I suggest that my penchants, your blackballing and the fact that van Rees is at the present moment probably entering French air space are not quite of primary importance. What does matter is that van Rees — who has by this time passed over to the dyke-breakers all they’ll ever want to know about sluices, weirs and locks so that they won’t even miss him now — was also tied in with the would-be palace bombers. And we are as convinced as can be that the Annecy brothers are in league with the bombers. It was Julie who first expressed the possibility of this idea, how too much of a coincidence can be too much of a coincidence, although I must say — with all due modesty and not with hindsight — that this possibility had occurred to me before.’

‘Your modesty does you credit, Lieutenant.’

‘Thank you, sir. Well, what we’re faced with now is the probability — I would put it as high as certainty — that we are faced not with three different organizations but only with one. That should make things much simpler for us and easier to cope with.’

‘Of course, of course.’ De Graaf gave van Effen the kind of look that stops a long way short of being admiring. ‘How?’ ‘How?’ Van Effen pondered. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Heaven help Amsterdam,’ de Graaf muttered.

‘Sir?’

De Graaf was saved from enlarging on his brief statement by a knock on the door. Valken opened it to admit a tall, lean gentleman with greying hair, rimless glasses and a faintly aristocratic air. De Graaf rose to his feet and greeted him warmly.

‘Hugh, my good friend. So kind of you to come and to come so quickly. At great inconvenience to yourself, I have no doubt.’ ‘Not at all, my dear chief, not at all. The patients of a plastic surgeon do not expire upon the spot if not attended to immediately. With a six-month waiting list one can squeeze in the odd patient here and there.’ De Graaf made the introductions. ‘Professor Johnson. Lieutenant van Effen. Lieutenant Valken.’

‘Ah. Lieutenant van Effen. The Colonel has explained your requirements to me. Rather unusual requirements, I may say, even in our at-times somewhat bizarre profession — we tend to be called upon to remove scars, not inflict them. However.’

He looked at the scar on van Effen’s face, produced a magnifying glass and peered more closely. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. You have quite an artistic bent, my dear fellow. Wouldn’t deceive me — not when you’ve spent all your life studying thousands of different scars of every conceivable variety. But a layman is not a plastic surgeon and I doubt very much whether any layman would question the authenticity of that scar. Let me see the dreadful wound concealed by that glove on your left hand.’ He did some peering. ‘By Jove, even better. You are to be congratulated. Very convenient to have it on your left hand, isn’t it? But a trifle suspicious to the nasty criminal mind, perhaps? You are, of course, right-handed.’

Van Effen smiled. ‘You can tell just by looking at me?’ ‘I can tell that left-handed persons don’t carry barely concealed pistols under their left armpit.’

‘Too late for a transfer now, sir. I’m already identified as being a left-hand-glove wearer.’

‘Yes. Well. I see. Your scars more than pass muster. The trouble, I suppose, is that you suspect that those scars might be subjected to some kind of test, such as with a scrubbing brush or even a hot soapy sponge?’ ‘A hot soapy sponge is all that is needed.’

‘Normally, you understand, the perfect non-removable scar would take some weeks to achieve. I gather, however, that time is not on your side. Ah, Colonel. Is that Van der Hum I see?’

‘It is indeed. ‘The Colonel poured a glass.

‘Thank you. We don’t generally advertise the fact, but members of our profession — well, before an operation, you understand?’ ‘Operation?’ said van Effen.

‘A trifle,’ Johnson said soothingly. He took some brandy, then opened a small metal case to reveal a gleaming array of surgical instruments, most. of them of a very delicate nature. ‘A series of subcutaneous injections with a variety of inert dyes. There will be no weals, no puffiness, I promise you. There will also be no local anaesthetic. Takes better that way.’ He looked very closely at the facial scar. ‘Must have the position, size and colour as before, you understand. Your left hand is unimportant. Nobody, I assume, has seen that scar. I can give you a much more satisfyingly horrific scar than you have now. Now, if I could have some hot water, sponge, soap.’

Twenty-five minutes later and Johnson was through. ‘Not my proudest achievement, but it will serve. At least, no one can puff or scrub those scars off. Have a look, Lieutenant.’

Van Effen went to a mirror, looked, nodded and came back. ‘First class, sir. A dead ringer for the one I had painted on.’

He surveyed his apparently horribly mangled left hand with melancholy admiration. ‘I’ve really been through it. After such a marvellous job, sir, it seems ungrateful to ask — but how permanent are those scars likely to be?’

‘Not permanent at all. Those dyes are of a completely different chemical composition from tattoo pigments. Absorption time varies — two to three weeks. I shouldn’t worry, Lieutenant — they’re really quite becoming.’

De Graaf and van Effen met Professor Hector van Dam, Professor Bernard Span and Professor Thomas Spanraft in the living-room of van Dam’s house. They didn’t look at all like professors or, more accurately, what professors are supposed to look like. They looked more like a combination of prosperous businessmen and solid Dutch burghers, all curiously alike, all overweight, all cheerful and all with slightly flushed cheeks which might have come from the overheated room or the large bottle of wine which circulated freely among them.

Van Dam spoke. ‘Well, gentlemen, we think we have the answers you seek. Not too difficult, really. We have in this country linguistic specialists, both occidental and oriental — especially oriental, we have had vast experience of dealing with Asiatic languages over the centuries — as you will find anywhere in Europe. Professor Spanraft has come up specially from Rotterdam. No oriental knowledge in this case. I may start, perhaps, with my own small contribution.’

He looked at van Effen. ‘This gentleman you met in some cafe with the unusual name of Helmut Paderiwski. He is not Dutch and he is most certainly not Polish. He is, specifically and unquestionably, southern Irish. Even more specifically, he is a Dubliner. My qualifications for making so confident an assertion? A year as visiting scholar and lecturer at Trinity, Dublin. Bernard?’

Professor Span made an apologetic gesture with his hands. ‘My contribution, even smaller than Hector’s, was pathetically easy. I am told that the other two gentlemen the Lieutenant met in the same cafe with the splendid, if slightly unlikely, names of Romero and Leonardo Agnelli are dark-haired, dark-eyed and of a rather Mediterranean cast of countenance. Gentlemen of such appearance are not exclusively confined to an area south of the Alps. They are even to be found, as you must know, in our own predominantly fair-haired and fair-complexioned society. The Agnelli’s are two such.’ ‘You are quite certain of that, sir?’ van Effen said. ‘I know Italy well and — ‘

‘Lieutenant van Effen!’ Professor van Dam was shocked. ‘If my colleague — ‘

Professor Span held up a placatory hand. ‘No, no, Hector, the Lieutenant’s query was a legitimate one. I gather that the enquiries in which’ 1i he and the Colonel are engaged are of a most serious nature.’ He smiled a deprecatory smile. ‘As a mere academic, of course — anyway, Lieutenant, rest assured that those gentlemen Pre as Dutch as you or I. My life on it. And at a guess — an educated guess, mark you — from Utrecht. You are amazed, perhaps, by my perspicacity? Please do not be. My qualifications? Impeccable. I’m a Dutchman. From Utrecht. Your turn, Thomas.’

Spanraft smiled. ‘My qualifications are strikingly similar to Hector’s. This lady who makes all those mysterious phone calls. Young, beyond a doubt. Educated. Perhaps even highly so. Northern Ireland, specifically Belfast. My qualifications? 1, too, have been a visiting scholar and lecturer. Queen’s, Belfast.’ He smiled. ‘Good heavens, I may even have taught the young lady.’

‘If you did,’ de Graaf said heavily, ‘you didn’t teach her the right things.’

De Graaf turned to van Effen, who was driving a Volkswagen that evening. As it was not impossible that he might be called upon to drive one or more of Agnelli’s group that evening it had been deemed more prudent not to use the Peugeot, where the presence of a police radio might have been inadvertently discovered. Car papers and insurance were, of course, made out in the name of Stephan Danilov.

‘What do you make of this his connection, Peter?’

‘I have no idea, sir. We know, of course, that petty criminals have in the past sold Russian and other eastern bloc weapons to the Irish Republican Army; but these, as I say, were petty criminals operating on a relatively petty scale. This, I feel, is something much bigger. The IRA never had any organization worth speaking of in this country. The FFF definitely have. Where can I contact you later on this evening, sir?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned that,’ de Graaf said gloomily. ‘Earlier, I had hoped to spend it in the bosom of my family. But now? If the government does decide to send an emissary to parley with the FFF — good heavens, Peter, we completely forgot to listen in to the six o’clock news — the broadcast, rather, that was to state when and where the government would hold this parley.’

‘We’ve only to lift a phone. It’s of no significance.’ ‘True. This emissary I mentioned. Who, do you think, is the logical choice?’

‘The Minister of Justice?’

‘No other. My lord and master whom you have frequently, actionably and accurately described as an old woman. Old women like, to have their hands held. Who do you think would best play the part of nursemaid?’ ‘You’d make an admirable choice. In fact, I’m happy to say that you would be the inevitable choice. Don’t forget to take an umbrella big enough for both of you.’ Rain had begun to fall and fall so heavily that the Volkswagen’s wipers failed adequately to cope with it. ‘You should consider yourself privileged, sir, to have a ringside seat at what may be, at least, a minor turning point in history.’

‘I’d rather have my own armchair by my own fireside.’ De Graaf reduced visibility even more by drawing heavily on his cheroot. ‘But whatever seat I’m in tonight it’ll be a damned sight safer and more comfortable than the one you’ll be in. Not that I would suppose for a moment that they have armchairs in the palace cellars.’ De Graff apparently concentrating on increasing the blue fug inside the car, lapsed briefly into silence then said: ‘I don’t like it, Peter. I don’t like it at all. Too many ifs, buts and question marks.’

‘I have to admit that I’m not all that madly keen on it myself.

But we’ve agreed — it’s our only way in. And there’s another thing I don’t like too much and makes me more than glad that your friend gave those scars a degree of permanence. I mean, they may have reservations about me that I didn’t suspect before.’

‘What makes you suspect now?’

‘A rather disquieting remark that one of those gentlemen let drop a few minutes_ ago — Professor Span, it was. He said he came from Utrecht. He is firmly of the opinion that the Agnelli brothers come from the same place.’

‘So?’

‘It may have escaped your memory, sir, but Vasco — Sergeant Westenbrink — also comes from Utrecht.’

‘Damn id’ De Graaf said softly. The implications had struck him immediately. ‘Oh, damn it all!’

‘Indeed. Cops and criminals generally have a working knowledge of each other. Two things may help, though. Vasco spent much of his time in Utrecht working under cover and he’s been in disguise — sort of — since he took up residence in Krakerdom. Imponderables, sir, imponderables.’ ‘Your continued existence would seem to me to be another imponderable,’ de Graaf said heavily. ‘There is no call — ‘

‘Yes, sir, I know, over and above the call of duty. Let’s just say in for a penny in for a pound, or, if you like, a calculated risk. By my calculations, the odds are on me.’ He pulled up outside de Graaf’s house. ‘I am glad that I’m not a betting man.’ He peered at his watch. ‘Six-seventeen. If I want to reach you in the next hour or so you will, of course, be in your room in the Trianon.’

‘Briefly only, sir. For about forty minutes, from, say, six forty-five onwards, I’ll be in La Caracha.’

‘The devil you will! La Caracha. I thought someone was delivering some data or whatever it is in the Trianon at six thirty and that you were going to study that?’

‘I don’t have to look at it. I know how to operate radio controlled detonations. When I explained to them at length the difficulties involved in radio detonation, that was for their benefit and my benefit. Their benefit, to convince them that I really was what I purported to be, a whizz-kid in explosives: my benefit, to find out how much they really knew about the subject, which appears to be singularly little. Work that one out, sir — why so highly organised a group is anything but organized in what would appear to be a very — if not the most — vital department. That’s one of the reasons why I said that by my calculations the odds are on me — I think they may really need me and be prepared to lean over just so slightly backwards to give me the benefit of the doubt.

‘But the real reason for whatever optimism I have lies in La Caracha. You may remember I asked Vasco to meet me in Julie’s flat. I changed my mind about that: I think that the further he and I — in any capacity of Danilov — keep away from the flat the better. So I’ve arranged to meet him in La Caracha. I also took the liberty of phoning George and asking him if he would be interested in giving me a little assistance. He said he would be more than pleased. I did not — I repeat not, sir — co-opt him in your name. I thought there were some things you’d rather not know about — officially, that is.’

‘I see. You have a point. I sometimes wonder, Peter, how many things I don’t know about, officially and unofficially, but now is not the time for brooding. I mean, you haven’t the time. And how do you propose to have those two help guarantee your continued existence?’ ‘They will, I hope, be keeping an eye on me. A close eye. Vasco, as I think I’ve mentioned, has no equal as a shadower. And George — well, he has other virtues.’

‘So I’ve noticed. May heaven help us all.’

Agnelli’s messenger arrived punctually at six-thirty, less than two minutes after van Effen had arrived back in his room at the Trianon. A man, van Effen reflected, ideally suited for his task — a small, drab, unremarkable nonentity of a man who could have been first cousin of the other nonentity who consumed so remarkably few jonge jenevers in the close vicinity of the reception desk in the lobby. He handed over a yellow envelope, said that someone would be around to pick him up at seven forty-five and left, less than twenty seconds after his arrival.

‘No,’ Sergeant Westenbrink said. He was seated with van Effen and George in a small private room in La Caracha. ‘I don’t know the Annecys — the two that you didn’t put in prison, that is.’

‘Do they know you?’

‘I’m sure they don’t. I never came into contact with them. They left for Amsterdam about three years ago.’

‘Ah, I’d forgotten. Either of you bear this broadcast that was supposed to be made to the FFF?’

‘It was made,’ George said. ‘Minister of justice’s house. 8 p.m. Guarantees of immunity — I assume the government believed in the threat to turn the Oostlijk-Flevoland into a new sea.’

‘Well, doesn’t concern us at the moment. You are sure you want to come in on this, George?’

George seemed to reflect. ‘Could be difficult, even dangerous. There might even be violence.’ He frowned, then brightened. ‘But one does get so tired of serving Rodekool met Rolpens.’

‘So. If you’ll be kind enough to have your car outside the Trianon — or, shall I say, in the discreet vicinity — by seventy forty. Might leave in my Volkswagen, might be in the car of whoever comes to pick me up. I don’t for a moment think you’ll lose us but, in any case, you know we’ll be heading in the general direction of the royal palace.’

George said: ‘Does our Chief of Police know about us — our plans?’ ‘He knows about you two and that you’ll be keeping a very careful watch — I hope — over me: The-rest, no. It would never do for us to go around breaking the law.’

‘Of course not,’ George said.

At precisely seven forty-five, no other than Romero Agnelli himself came to collect van Effen from the Trianon.