Floodgate

Seven

‘That’s an Esfahan rug you’re standing on,’ Colonel de Graaf said. ‘Very rare, very expensive.’

‘I’ve got to drip on to something,’ van Effen said reasonably. He was standing before the fire in the Colonel’s luxuriously furnished library, steam gently rising from his saturated clothing. ‘Not for me a door-to-door chauffeur-driven limousine. I have to cope with taxis that go home to roost when the first drop of rain falls and with people who seemed anxious to know where I was going. It didn’t seem clever to let them know that I was going to the house of the Chief of Police.’

‘Your friend Agnelli doesn’t trust you?’

‘Difficult to say. Oh, sure, it was Agnelli who had me followed — couldn’t have been anyone else. But I’m not sure that he’s suspicious of me — I think that, on principle, he just doesn’t trust anyone. Difficult character to read. You’d probably like him. Seems friendly and likeable enough — you really have to make an effort to associate him with anything like blackmail and torture — and even then you find it difficult to convince yourself. Which means nothing. I assume you had a comfortable evening, sir — that you didn’t have to cope with the elements or the thought that you might be shot in the back at any moment.’

De Graaf made a dismissive gesture which could have meant either that such considerations were irrelevant trifles or that they could not possibly apply to him in the first place. ‘An interesting meeting, but only to a limited extent. I’m afraid Bernhard wasn’t in a particularly receptive or co-operative frame of mind.’ Bernhard was Bernhard Dessens, the Minister of justice.

‘A dithering old woman, scared to accept responsibility, unwilling to commit himself and looking to pass the buck elsewhere?’ ‘Exactly. I couldn’t have put — I’ve told you before, Peter, that’s no way to talk about cabinet ministers. There were two of them. Names Riordan and Samuelson. One — person calling himself Riordan — could have been in disguise. The other had made no attempt at any such thing which can only mean that he’s pretty confident about something or other. Riordan had long black hair — shoulder-length, in fact, I thought that ludicrous style had gone out of fashion ten years ago — was deeply tanned, wore a Dutch bargee cap and sunglasses.’

‘Anything so obvious has to be a disguise. ‘van Effen thought for a moment. ‘He wasn’t by any chance very tall and preternaturally thin?’ De Graaf nodded. ‘I thought that would occur to you at once. The fellow who commandeered that canal boat from — who was it?’

‘At Schiphol? Dekker.’

‘Dekker. This must be the man Dekker described. And damned if I don’t agree with your bizarre suggestion that this fellow — Riordan or whatever — is an albino. Dark glasses. Heavy tan to hide an alabaster complexion. Black hair to hide white. Other fellow — Samuelson — had white hair, thick and very wavy, white moustache and white goatee beard. No albino, though — blue eyes. All that white hair would normally bespeak advanced years but his face was almost completely unlined. But, then, he was very plump, which may account for the youthful skin. Looked like a cross between an idealized concept of a US Senator and some bloated plutocrat, oil billionaire or something like that.’

‘Maybe he’s got a better make-up resin than Riordan.’ ‘It’s possible. Both men spoke in English, from which I assumed that Samuelson couldn’t speak Dutch. Both made a point of stating that they were Irish-Americans and I have no doubt they were. I don’t have to be Hector or one of his professorial friends to know that — the north-east or New York accent was very strong. Riordan did nearly all the talking- ‘

‘He asked — no, he demanded — that we contact the British government. More exactly, he demanded we act as intermediaries between the FFF ‘ and Whitehall on the basis that Whitehall would be much more likely to negotiate with another government than with an unknown group such as they were. When Bernhard asked what on earth they could possibly want to discuss with Whitehall they said they wanted to have a dialogue about Northern Ireland, but refused to elaborate further until the Dutch Government agreed to co-operate.’

De Graaf sighed. ‘Whereupon, alas, our Minister of justice, seething and fulminating, while at the same time knowing damn well that they had him over a barrel, climbed on to his high horse and said it was inconceivable, unthinkable, that a sovereign nation should negotiate on behalf of a band of terrorists. He carried on for about five minutes in this vein, but I’ll spare you all the parliamentary rhetoric. He ended up by saying that he, personally, would die first. ‘Riordan said that he very much doubted that Dessens would go to such extraordinary lengths and further said that he was convinced that fourteen million Dutchmen would take a diametrically opposite point of view. Then he became rather unpleasantly personal and threatening. He said it didn’t make the slightest damn difference to anything if he, Dessens, committed suicide on the spot, for the Oostlijk-Flevoland dyke in the vicinity of Lelystad would go at midnight if the government didn’t agree to talk terms by ten o’clock tonight. He then produced a paper with a list of places which, he said, were in immediate danger of going at any moment. He didn’t say whether or not mines had already been placed in those areas — the usual uncertainty technique.

‘Among the places he listed — there were so many that I forget half of them — were Leeuwarden, the Noordoost polder in the vicinity of Urk, the Amstclmeer, the Wieringermeer, Putten, the polder south of Petten, Schouwen, Duiveland and Walcheren — did we remember what happened to Walcheren during the war? Both the Eastern and Western Scheldt estuaries were on their list, he said — did we remember what happened there in February 1953 — while Noord and Sud Holland offered a positive embarrassment of riches. That’s only a representative sample. Riordan then started to make very sinister remarks about the weather, had we noticed how high the level of the North Sea had risen, how the strengthening wind had gone to the north and that the spring tides were at hand — while the levels of the Rhine, Waal, Maas and Scheldt were near an all-time low — so reminiscent of February 1953, didn’t Dessens think? ‘He then demanded that they talked to a minister or ministers with the power and courage to make decisions and not a snivelling time-server bent only on preserving his own miserable political career, which was, I thought, a bit hard on Bernhard.

‘Riordan then said that, to display their displeasure at this wholly unnecessary hiatus in negotiations, they would detonate one of several devices they had placed in public buildings in the capital. Here the two of them had a whispered conference and then Riordan announced that they had chosen the royal palace and defied anyone to find the explosives before they went off. No lives, he said, were at risk in this explosion, which would occur within five minutes of their departure. He added, almost as an afterthought, that any attempt to restrain them, hinder their departure or have them followed would inevitably mean that the Oostlijk-Flevoland dyke would go not at midnight but at nine o’clock this evening. On this happy note, they left. The palace explosion, as you may know, duly occurred.’

‘So I believe.’ It seemed the wrong moment to tell de Graaf that it was he, van Effen, who had, pressed the button. He shivered and moved to a less damp patch on the Esfahan. ‘I think I’m getting pneumonia.’ ‘There’s brandy.’ De Graaf waved a hand at once indicative of preoccupation and irritation that one should be unaware of the universal specifics against pneumococci. ‘Schnapps, scotch — ‘He broke off ‘as a knock came on the library door and a uniformed policeman admitted George and Vasco who were, if anything, even more saturated than van Effen had been. ‘Two more advanced cases, I suppose.’

George said: ‘I beg your pardon, Colonel?’

‘Pneumonia. Help yourselves. I must say I wasn’t expecting you gentlemen.’ ‘The Lieutenant said

‘I know. It just slipped his memory.’

‘I have a lot on my mind,’ van Effen said. ‘Well?’

‘We had a good look at them when they left the house to go to that small bus. Also had a good look at them in the Dam Square. Recognize them anywhere.’ George paused reflectively. ‘Seemed a very harmless bunch to me.’

‘Ever seen — or seen pictures of — the youthful assassins that made — up the Baader-Meinhof gang? All they lacked were harps and haloes. When I said “Well”, that wasn’t what I meant.’

‘Ah! That. Yes. Well. ‘George seemed slightly embarrassed. ‘When you left the house — we saw you go but didn’t approach you as you’d asked us not to in case you were being followed — you know you were followed?’ ‘Yes.’

‘We waited across the street for ten minutes then crossed to the lighted window. The rain! Talk about standing under Niagara Falls.’ He waited for sympathetic comment and when none came went on: ‘Waited another ten minutes. We could hear music and conversation.’

‘I’ll bet you could. So then, overcome by the rain, impatience or suspicion, you moved in. Light still on. Long-playing cassette on a recorder. Birds flown by the back door. Hardly original. So we still don’t know where they’re holed up. Not your fault — Agnelli’s obsessed by security.’

‘Still could have done better,’ Vasco said. ‘Next time The phone bell shrilled and de Graaf picked it up, listened for some time, said ‘Wait a minute, sit’ and cupped the mouthpiece. ‘Predictable, I suppose. Dessens. Seems the cabinet is a bit shaken about the palace explosion and are convinced that the Oostlijk-Flevoland dyke will go up at midnight. So they’re going to parley. They want me along and suggested i i p.m. I’d like you to be there. i i p.m.?’

‘Eleven-thirty possible sir? I have a couple of appointments.’ De Graaf talked some more then hung up. ‘You do seem to have a very crowded appointment book, Lieutenant. I can’t recall your mentioning any of this to me.’

‘I haven’t had a chance to. I have to be at the Trianon at ten o’clock to take a call from Agnelli. He’s a bit short of explosives and I’ve promised to supply him with some.’

‘Explosives. Of course. Naturally.’ De Graaf hardly spilled a drop as he poured himself a brandy. ‘Having already blown up the palace’ — it was an exaggeration but a pardonable one in the circumstances — ‘one could not expect you to rest on such trifling laurels. And where do you intend to find this explosive? I’m sure you won’t be wanting more than a few hundred kilos of TNT or whatever ii is.’

‘Me? Haven’t the time. Haven’t the authority, either. But I thought, perhaps, sir, if you would care to use your influence — ‘ ‘Me! The chief of police? To supply illegally-come-by explosives to a group of terrorists?’ De Graaf considered. ‘I suppose you would expect me to deliver it personally?’

‘Good heavens, no. That’s where George comes in. Sorry, George, haven’t had the chance to explain this or anything. Had a long talk this evening with Agnelli about you and Vasco. I’m afraid, Vasco, that I’ve blackened your character beyond all hopes of redemption. You’re a crooked cop, bent as a horseshoe, untrustworthy, unpredictable and only a couple of steps removed from a psychiatric ward. Agnelli was just that little bit too casual when asking questions about you. I’m certain he knows you are or were a cop. He comes from Utrecht too. Not that that should be any bar to his employing you — after we’ve made certain delicate alterations to your appearance and history — in the not-too-distant future.

‘George, you’re an arms dealer. Heaven knows there are enough of those around, but you’re something special. The king-pin. Mr Big. A Leopard tank? A sAm missile? Even a motor torpedo boat? George is your man. And being Mr Big means you’re important. You talk only to principals. No intermediaries, not even me. Face to face or no deal.’

‘I talk to this Agnelli?’ George smiled widely. ‘You want me on the inside?’

‘I have a feeling that I could do with a little help, sooner rather than later. I’ve no right to ask you, of course. There’s Annelise and your kids. Things might get a little difficult — ‘

‘A little difficult!’ De Graaf could put a nicely sarcastic edge to his voice when he had a mind to. ‘Difficult. I don’t say it’s crazy because nothing’s crazy if there’s a chance, but I don’t like it at all. It’s based on the assumption that they’re not on to you and that’s an unjustifiable assumption. Sure, they’ve gone along with you so far and you with them, but that’s only because, so far, it’s suited you both. But if they are on to you and they decide a time has come when you’re of no further use to them, then when the time comes to discard you it may be in a pretty permanent fashion. Have you we right to ask that of George?’ ‘I’ve just done that.’

The phone rang again and de Graaf picked it up. ‘Ah. Lieutenant Valken … Yes, yes.’ De Graaf ‘s face became very still as he listened. ‘Never mind if you’ve never heard it before. Wait till I get a piece of paper and pen.’ De Graaf wrote down a few words, told Valken goodbye and hung up. He reached for his glass.

Van Effen said: ‘Julie, Annemarie?’

‘Yes. How do you know?’

‘Valken, your face, brandy. Bad?’

‘Bad enough. Phone call from the brothers. They say the girls are as well as can be expected which can mean anything or nothing. They also say they’ve sent a telegram of condolences to Rotterdam.’ He’d picked up the piece of paper he’d scribbled on. ‘To David Joseph Karlmann Meijer.’ Van Effen sipped his brandy and said nothing. George and Vasco exchanged glances of incomprehension. At length George said: ‘And who might he be?’ ‘I forgot,’ de Graaf said. ‘You don’t know, of course. Anne’s — Annemarie’s — father.’

‘Yes,’ George said. ‘I mean no. I don’t understand, Colonel. What about Annemarie?’

De Graaf stared incredulously at van Effen. ‘You mean, you haven’t told them?’

‘I don’t believe I have.’

‘Good God!’ De Graaf shook his head. ‘The need-to-know principle, I suppose. One of those days, Peter, you’re going to forget to remind yourself of something and that will be the end of you.’ De Graaf looked from George to Vasco. ‘Annemarie and Julie — Lieutenant van Effen’s sister — have been kidnapped. The Annecy brothers.’ ‘The Annecy brothers.’ George was silent for a moment. ‘Those murderous fiends. You put two of them away for fifteen years.’ ‘Correction. Lieutenant van Effen put them away and the two that escaped have been threatening to get him ever since. They’ve gone one better. They’ve got Julie.’

‘I know Julie well. And what’s the significance of this message to Annemarie’s father?’

‘The significance lies in her father. You will find it hard to believe, George, but the father of that fearful frump who used to frequent La Caracha is one of the wealthiest men in the Netherlands. Maybe the wealthiest. And a very powerful man. He has the ear of the government. He’s in a position rather similar to Dassault, the plane maker, in France. There are some areas in which they don’t move without consulting him at first or, at least, listening to what he says. He has power and wealth and a daughter and now they have the daughter and may well turn his power and wealth to their own advantage. Anne Meijer is any criminal’s dream hostage come true.’

Van Effen put down his glass and looked at his watch. ‘It’s time, George.’

‘God in heaven! I don’t believe it. You look at your damned watch and say it’s time to go. Doesn’t it occur to you to wonder how in the hell they got that information about David Meijer.’

‘Some sort of persuasion, I suppose.’

‘Persuasion! Torture. They tortured the poor girl!’ ‘What poor girl?’

‘Are you all right, Lieutenant? Annemarie, of course.’ The shake of van Effen’s head was very positive. ‘No. Not Annemarie. The Annecy brothers — or at least the two we put away — never tortured without a reason, however twisted that reason might be. The reason was either revenge or to get information. Why should they revenge themselves on Annemarie — what has she ever done to anyone? And information — what information could they possibly get from her. They don’t know who she is, who her father is. Didn’t, rather. As far as they are concerned she’s only a friend of Julie’s and they took her along for no reason other than the fact that she happened to be there. If they tortured anybody — and I suspect it was only a threat of torture, to get information about me — it would have been Julie. My guess is that Annemarie volunteered that information about herself as a sop to the Annecys, to turn their minds to the thought of unlimited ransom money — maybe she even mentioned her father’s influence with the government although people like the Annecys would almost certainly have been aware of that anyway — anything to distract attention from Julie. Annemarie’s no fool — if she were, I wouldn’t have brought her up from Rotterdam. She knows that the Annecys of this world are above all pragmatists and that anything that would further their plans would be of a great deal more interest to them than hurting me by proxy.’ ‘Cold-blooded fish,’ de Graaf muttered.

‘Pardon, sir?’

‘You could be right or you could be wrong. Damage both ways. If you’re right the Annecys’ hands have been greatly strengthened and David Meijer’s pocket almost certainly lightened, or will be in the very near future. If you’re wrong, you’re putting your head in that charming hangman’s noose that the Annecy brothers put on their postcards. If you’re wrong she’d have talked of” many things, principally that Stephan Danilov is Peter van Effen. I can’t take the chance that you’re not wrong. My orders are that you are not to go through with this.’ George said: ‘Normally, Colonel, I wouldn’t dream of not complying with your wishes. But these aren’t normal circumstances. By refusing your request, I’m not stepping outside the law nor am I making the point that I’m no longer a policeman. I’m just going my own way.’ De Graaf nodded. ‘I can’t stop you. But I can

‘You can force him to go his own way, too,’George said. ‘By resigning. You’d never forgive yourself, Colonel.’

De Graaf scowled, refilled his glass, sank into an armchair and gazed into the fire. Van Effen nodded to Vasco and the three men left the room.

Van Effen and George returned to the Trianon to find that the usual watchdog was not in his usual place. But there was another and, if possible, even more insignificant character seated some distance from the desk and sipping beer instead of jonge jenever. Van Effen had no doubt that this was a replacement from the same stable. The manager called to them as they passed the desk.

‘This message has just come for you, Mr Danilov.’ He handed van Effen a slip of paper which read: ‘May I see you in your room? Two minutes.’ ‘Yes, of course. Thank you. ‘van Effen folded the paper into his pocket and led George to the lift. The promised two minutes later the manager arrived in van Effen’s room. He closed the door behind him, looked doubtfully at George and seemed to hesitate.

‘No problem,’ van Effen said. ‘My friend here is on the side of the angels. George, Charles. The manager. Charles, George. George is police.’ ‘Ah. A word of warning, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t use the back entrance tonight — somebody, a stranger to anyone round here — has taken up more or less permanent residence by the back door. He’s in an old DAF. And you will have noticed that your old looker-after in the lobby has been replaced by an even more obvious one. There’s another man who has just started a meal in the dining-room. He’s seated conveniently by the door so that he can see anyone who crosses the lobby. He knows the new shadow. No words exchanged, just a brief look and an even briefer nod. No risk in that, they must have thought — they have no reason to suspect my interest in them. That’s why I waited two minutes, to see if either of them made a move. No disappointment — our dining-room friend was at the public phone almost before the lift doors closed behind you. I waited until he finished his call to whatever person he was reporting your arrival. I was watching them from the mirror as the diner left the booth. Brief nod again, no words.’

‘When you go bankrupt, Charles, apply to me any time. I’ll watch the bogeymen.’ The manager left.

‘So,’ George said. ‘We can expect that phone call any minute now. The man in ‘the restaurant has tipped off Agnelli that Stephan Danilov has returned accompanied by George, the explosives expert and illegal arms supplier. One wonders what lions’ den or nest of cobras they’ve chosen for the rendezvous.’

‘I don’t wonder. There are no lions or cobras in ROOM 203, which is where we are. Charles tells us that Agnelli — it can only be Agnelli — has two other faithful but not very bright henchmen lurking around the place. Why? Surely it only required one stake-out, the one in the lobby, to advise him of our arrival. The other two are guards, parts of his insurance policy — don’t forget Agnelli has no reason to think that we know of their presence. There may even be others that Charles knows nothing about. This is the last place that we would think would be chosen as a meeting point — or so Agnelli must imagine — and so we wouldn’t think of arranging a reception committee here. And when he does call, you can be sure that he will announce that he will be here in a matter of minutes so that we can’t have the time to arrange one.’

Van Effen was right on both points. Agnelli called in person ta say that they would meet at the Trianon and that he and his friends would be there in under five minutes.

‘He’s bringing friends, plural,’ van Effen — said after he had hung up. ‘I don’t think Romero Agnelli trusts anyone.’

From the cordial, guileless expression Agnelli wore on his arrival, one could see that van Effen was wrong; here, patently, was a man one could trust anywhere. Agnelli had brought three men along with him. His brother Leonardo, looking, if that were possible, an even more genial member of the Mafioso than he had done the last time, and two others whom van Effen had never seen before. One of them, a burly, slightly florid, pleasant-featured character of indeterminate age — somewhere between forty and fifty, van Effen would have guessed, but it was difficult to be sure — was introduced as Liam O’Brien: from his accent, no less than from his name, he had to be Irish. The other, a handsome young man, dark and slightly swarthy, was introduced as Heinrich Daniken: he could have been of any nationality. Agnelli did not see fit to disclose what the function of either man was.

Introductions over, refreshments proffered and accepted, Agnelli said to George: ‘Do I call you George or do you have another name?’ ‘Just George.’ He smiled. ‘I’m an anonymous person.’ Agnelli surveyed the vast bulk before him. ‘You, George, are the least anonymous-looking person I’ve ever seen. Don’t you find it rather a drawback in your profession? Whatever that may be, of course.’ ‘Drawback? It’s a positive advantage. I’m a peace-loving who abhors violence but when you’re as big as I am no one ever offers it to you.’ George, van Effen thought admiringly, was as consummate and convincing a liar as he’d ever known. ‘And, of course, everybody, or nearly everybody — I think particularly of those who are sworn to uphold the law — think that everyone who is as big, fat, cheerful and harmless as I am, must be able to get by very well without being able to think. It’s a kind of law of nature. Well, I’m no Einstein, but I’m not yet ready to be locked away in;in institution for the retarded. But we haven’t met here to discuss personalities, Mr Agnelli, have we? Five questions. What do you want? How much or how many? When? Where? Price?’

The slipping of Agnelli’s good-humoured smile was so momentary that only the most alert or observant would have noticed it and even then it could have been as much imagined as seen. ‘You do get to the point rather quickly, don’t you, George? No time for the little business niceties, I see. Well, that’s the way I prefer it myself. Like you, I have no time for beating about the bush: like you, I regard myself as a business man.’ He produced a paper from an inside pocket. ‘Here’s my shopping list. Fairly comprehensive, is it not?’

George studied it briefly. ‘Fairly. Well within my limited capacities, I should think. Most of the items are straightforward, especially the explosives. The ground-to-ground wire-guided missiles — these will be anti-tank missiles, although you don’t say so — and the sAm ground-to-air missiles are also easily come by, as are the plastic mines, grenades and smoke-bombs.’ He paused, sipped some brandy and frowned. ‘Something here I don’t quite understand, don’t even like. I’m not talking about the fact that you seem to be preparing to wage a united war, even although only a defensive one: that’s none of my business.’ He handed the list over to van Effen. ‘Comment?’

Van Effen studied it for no longer a time than it had taken George then returned the list. ‘Specifications.’

‘Exactly. ‘George, not smiling, looked at the four men in turn then concentrated his gaze on Agnelli. ‘This is a lethal enough list as it is. But it could be dangerous in other ways, even suicidal, if it got. into the hands of whoever prepared this list.’

Agnelli wasn’t smiling either. He looked more than slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Then I’d better enlighten you. Specifications, as my friend Stephan has said. Explosives — no specifications. Missiles, ditto — and that applies to both types. What kind of primers? What kind of detonators? Fuses — you don’t even say whether wire or chemical, how slow-burning or fast-acting. No explosives expert ever composed this list. Some amateur did, some bungling incompetent. Who?’

Agnelli studied his glass for some time then said: ‘I’m the incompetent. But I did get some bungling help from my three associates here.’ ‘God help us all,’ van Effen said. ‘You’re not fit to be let loose with a box of kiddies’ fireworks. I have to ask you, not for the first time, where the hell are your experts?’

Agnelli smiled ruefully and spread out his hands. ‘I’ll be perfectly frank with you.’ Romero Agnelli, van Effen realized, was about to lie in his teeth. ‘We are temporarily embarrassed. The two men on whom we rely have been called away for other duties and won’t be back for a couple of days. But we thought — well, you gentlemen are both explosives experts and — ‘ ‘That’s no problem,’ George said. ‘We know what to get and can give you simple instructions on how to use them without blowing your silly heads off. The missiles are a different matter. Only a trained man can fire one of those.’

‘How long does that take?’

‘A week. Ten days.’ George was vastly exaggerating, van Effen knew, but the four men’s patent ignorance of all things military was so extensive that it was very likely a safe exaggeration. ‘And don’t ask us, we’re no military men, we’re no more skilled in those matters than you are.’ Agnelli was silent for some time then said abruptly: ‘Do you know of anyone who is. Skilled in such matters, I mean?’

‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I do.’ The way George said ‘I do’, in a tone just one degree short of impatience, made it clear that it was quite inevitable that he should know. ‘Who?’

George gave him a look of pity. ‘He hasn’t got a name.’ ‘You must call him something.’

‘The Lieutenant.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he is a lieutenant.’

‘Cashiered, of course.’

‘Certainly not. A cashiered lieutenant is no good to me. I thought you would appreciate that a person like myself can only operate at second or third hand. A middleman, if you like. Or two.’

‘Ah! I see. Your supplier?’

‘Mr Agnelli. You can’t possibly be so naive as to expect — me to answer so naive a question. I’ll see what can be done. Where do you want this stuff delivered?’

‘That depends on how soon you can deliver it.’

‘By noon tomorrow.’

‘Good heavens!’ Agnelli looked incredulous then smiled. ‘It looks as if I’ve come to the right shop. How will it be delivered?’ ‘By Army truck, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Agnelli looked slightly dazed. ‘This makes things a bit difficult. I thought it would be at least the day after tomorrow. Could I call up tomorrow to finalize time and place? And could you hold up delivery for at least a few hours?’

‘That can be arranged.’ George looked at van Effen. ‘Mr Agnelli can call here? to a.m., say?’ Van Effen nodded and

George smiled at Agnelli. ‘Can’t say yet, but somewhere between ten and twelve thousand dollars. We offer the best discount rates in Europe. Dollars, guilders or deutschmarks. More, of course, if our — ah — services are required.’

Agnelli stood up and smiled, his old relaxed and genial self again. ‘Of course. The price, I must say, doesn’t seem too exorbitant.’ ‘One thing,’ van Effen said pleasantly. ‘You are aware, aren’t you, Mr Agnelli, that if I moved to another hotel and registered there under another name, that the chances of your ever finding either of us, again would be remote?’

‘Remote? They wouldn’t exist.’ Agnelli was frowning. ‘Why ever should you mention such a thing?’

‘Well, a state of mutual trust does exist between us, doesn’t it?’ ‘Naturally. ‘The puzzlement still there.

‘Well, if it does, call off the watchdogs in the lobby, in the dining-room and outside.’

‘My watchdogs?’ From the expression on Agnelli’s face one could see that, far from being baffled, he was stalling for time.

‘If you don’t, we’ll throw them into the canal — suitably trussed of course — and then move on.’

Agnelli looked at him, his face for once expressionless. ‘You do play for keeps, don’t you? I really believe you would.’ He smiled and put out his hand. ‘Shame. Very well, watchdogs retired. Shame. But they really weren’t up to it.’

When they had gone, van Effen said to George: ‘You really should have taken up a life of crime. Too late now. Anyway, you’d have given Colonel de Graaf apoplexy years ago. I’ll bet Annelise has no idea quite how splendid a liar you are. You have Agnelli hooked, outfoxed, outgunned and demoralized, not to say dependent: at least, let’s hope so. Will you talk to Vasco later this evening and tell him that you’ve got an offer of employment for him in the capacity of an army lieutenant — after, of course, he’s made suitable alterations to his appearance? We mustn’t forget that Agnelli has had the opportunity of studying Vasco at close range.’

‘There’ll be no problem.’ George handed over Agnelli’s shopping list. ‘I’d give a great deal to see the Colonel’s face when he sees what he’s got to go shopping for in the morning. You’ll be seeing him, I take it, in an hour or so. Has it occurred to you that Agnelli might very well be there along with Riordan and this fellow Samuelson?’ ‘It’s an intriguing thought and, yes, it has occurred.’ ‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘Well, what, he asks. We know that Agnelli is Annecy.’ ‘We’re ninety-nine per cent certain. Don’t forget that I never saw either of the two Annecy brothers that we didn’t manage to catch and put away.’ ‘The fact that you don’t know him doesn’t mean he doesn’t know you, of course he does — he must have seen your picture in the papers many times during the period of the arrest and trial. How do you think he’s going to react when he sees before him not only the dreaded Lieutenant van Effen but the dreaded lieutenant whose sister he’s got tucked away in some dungeon, the sister who, for all you know, he spends his leisure time with, testing out the latest model in thumb-screws?’ ‘Should be interesting.’

‘Colonel de Graaf was right,’George muttered. ‘You belong a hundred fathoms down. Just a cold-blooded fish.’

‘“Your ten cents will help to kill a British soldier. It’s a bargain at the price — the best bargain you’ll ever get.” That’s what the collectors say when they go around rattling their damn tin cans in the Irish bars in the United States. Especially in the Irish bars in the north-east states. Especially in New York. Most especially of all in the borough of Queens where the Irish are thickest on the ground. Ten cents. That’s all they ask, just ten cents. And, of course, they rattle their cans whenever they hold Irish nights, Irish dances, Irish raffles, Irish whatever you like.

‘If you’ve never heard that there are charitable organizations — charitable they call themselves — which collect for arms, then you live in another century or with your head in the sands. They claim that the millions of dollars that they’ve collected over the years have gone to support the widows and orphans of the IRA members foully shiin by the murderous British. Support widows and orphans! The founder of one such evil organization once made the mistake of telling the truth when he said: “The more British soldiers that are sent back from Ulster in their coffins, the better.” Jack Lynch, a former Irish premier, has gone on record as saying that the money is intended for one purpose only — to make widows and orphans. British widows and orphans.’ Riordan, an abnormally tall, abnormally thin man, blackhaired, deeply tanned and dressed in a near-ankle-length black raincoat which served only to heighten the looming angularity of the man, was literally shaking with rage as he stood facing his audience, his fists ivory-knuckled on the table before him. His sincerity and outrage were unquestionable, his intensity almost terrifying.

‘God knows it’s bad enough that the contributions to these infamous organizations should come from honest, God-fearing, intensely religious Catholics who are duped into thinking they are contributing to a worthy cause instead of some damnable crew-who make Murder Incorporated look like innocent children playing in a kindergarten. The money goes directly to dedicated IRA operatives. Some of it is used to buy guns at black-market sales in New York itself, auctions usually held in razed areas or empty car parks, always by night, nearly always in the Bronx, Queens or Brooklyn. Guns, gentlemen, are rather easily come by in the fair city of New York.’ In the depth of his bitterness, Riordan almost spat the words out. ‘The rest of the money is used by other operatives who openly travel to the southern and mid-western states where gun permits do not exist. Wherever the guns come from, they all end up in the New York area from where they are shipped out, almost always from New Jersey or Brooklyn, with the warm encouragement and complicity of the stevedore unions and the upright US customs, many of whom are first or second generation Irish and feel blood-brothers to the murderous IRA. As the Customs Service is controlled by the US Treasury Department, it is logical to suppose that those dealers in death operate with the cognisance if not the connivance of the US Government. The Irish influence in Congress is as well known as it is remarkably powerful.’

‘A moment, Mr Riordan, if you would.’ The interruption came from Aaron Wieringa, the Minister of Defence, a big, florid, blue-eyed and very calm man, a man immensely respected throughout the country and one who would very likely have become premier quite some years ago if he had not been cursed with the unfortunate and crippling handicap, for a politician, of total incorruptibility. ‘One appreciates — one can hardly fail to appreciate — that you are a very angry man. We are not, I assure you, nineteenth-century ostriches and I think it would be true to say that there is not a man in this room who does not understand that your fury is totally justifiable. I would not go so far as to concur in your condemnation of Washington and Congress, but that, in the current and particular circumstances, is by the by. Your opinion, as distinct from your recital of verifiable facts, is not of immediate concern. ‘What is of immediate concern is why your wrath has seen fit to focus itself on our unfortunate country in general and the city of Amsterdam in particular. I cannot, at the moment, even begin to fathom the reason for it, although I am certain we will not be left in ignorance for long. But nothing you have said so far begins to justify your attempt to blackmail us into acting as intermediary between you and the British Government. I appreciate that you may have, and very probably do have, very powerful reasons for wanting all British troops to withdraw from Northern Ireland, but how you can possibly imagine that we have the ability to persuade Britain to accede to your preposterous demands quite passes my understanding. No conceivable reason exists why they should so accede.’

‘A totally conceivable reason exists. Human tskrian motives. tarian motives on your part and on theirs.’

‘Our respective governments would be reluctant to see the Netherlands flooded and countless thousands — maybe hundreds of thousands — drowned in those floods? Before even considering such matters, an answer to my question, please. Why us? Is it that, because of our particular geographical situation, we are peculiarly susceptible to threats of genocide?’

‘You have been chosen because Amsterdam is the linchpin in the whole lethal gun-running operation. It is the gun-running centre of Northern Europe and has been for years, just as it has been the heroin centre of Northern Europe. This knowledge is in the public domain, and the continued existence of those two evil practices can only bespeak a deep level of corruption in both government and law-enforcement levels.’ An indignant looking Mr Wieringa made to interrupt but Riordan imperiously gestured him to silence. ‘There are, it is true, other towns engaged in gun-running, notably Antwerp, but, compared to Amsterdam, Antwerp operates in a minor league.’

This time Mr Wieringa, speaking in almost a shout which was unknown for him, would not be gainsaid. ‘You mean you would find it impossible to flood Belgium.’

Riordan carried on as if he had heard nothing. ‘Not all the guns passing through Amsterdam go to Eire, of course. Some go to the RAF. Others go to — ‘

‘The RAFV’ It was, almost inevitably, Bernhard Dessens, the Justice Minister, who rarely if ever contributed anything of significance to any discussion. ‘You suggest that the British Air Force is supplied — ‘ ‘Be quiet, you idiot.’ Riordan, it seemed, could descend below the rhetorical level he usually set for himself. ‘I refer to the Red Army Faction, the inheritors of the bloody mantle of the Baader-Meinhof gangsters of the early seventies. Some go to the Sicilian-controlled Mafia-type criminal organizations that are springing up all over Western Germany. But the bulk goes to Eire.

‘Do you know what it’s like in Northern Ireland, Mr Minister?’ Nobody bothered to follow his line of vision to know that he was addressing the Minister of Defence and not the Minister of Justice. ‘Can you imagine the hellish conditions that exist there, the hideous tortures practised by both the IRA and UVF, the homicidal insanity that has ruled there for fourteen years? A country ruled by fear that is tearing it to pieces. Northern Ireland will never be governed by representatives of the two communities, Protestant and Catholic working together, because they are far too bitterly divided by religion and, to a lesser extent, race. There are one and a half million people living together in a small area, but in spite of their divisions ninety-nine point nine per cent on either side have never harmed anyone or ever wished to. That ninety-nine point nine per cent on either side are united in only one thing — in abhorring terrorism and in their desire to live only in peace. It is a desire that, as matters stand, can never be realized. Conventional politicians, with all the faults and frailties of their kind, are still those who observe the conventions. In Ulster, conventional politicians are an extinct breed. Moderation has ceased to exist. Demagogues and gunmen rule. The country is ruled by a handful of crazed murderers.’

Riordan paused for the first time, probably as much for breath as anything else, but no one seemed inclined to take advantage of the hiatus.

‘But murderers, even crazed murderers, must have their murder weapons, must they not?’ Riordan said. ‘And so the murder weapons are shipped from Amsterdam, usually, but not always, inside furniture. The weapons are sealed in containers, of course, and if the Amsterdam customs are unaware of this they must be the worst, the blindest, or the most corrupt and avaricious in Europe. Nine times out of ten, the ships unload in Dublin. How they — the containers, I mean — get past the Dublin customs I don’t profess to know but I don’t think there’s any question of collusion — if there were the customs wouldn’t have turned up a million dollars’ worth of illegally imported arms destined for the IRA four years ago. But most of the guns do get through. From Dublin the arms containers variously labelled, but popularly as household goods, are trucked to a warehouse in County Monaghan and from there to a horticultural nursery in County Louth. Don’t ask me how I know but it would be rather difficult not to know: the people thereabouts know but don’t talk. From there the weapons are taken to Northern Ireland, not smuggled over the border in the middle of the night by daredevil IRA members, but brought in during daylight hours in cars driven by women, mostly young, surrounded by laughing kids. All very innocuous.

‘It’s a long, long way from where a machine-pistol is purchased in a mid-Western state until it’s in the hands of some maniacal killer crouched in the shadows of some back street in Belfast or Londonderry. A long way. But in that long way the vital stage, the focal point, the nodal point, the venturi in the funnel, is Amsterdam. And so we have come to Amsterdam.’ Riordan sat down.

The breaking of the ensuing silence was far from immediate. There were, altogether, eight men in Dessen’s luxurious lounge. Three men had accompanied Riordan to the Minister of justice’s house — Samuelson, whom de Graaf had described to van Effen, O’Brien, who had come to the Trianon, and Agnelli, the man who George had forecast would be there. Samuelson and O’Brien probably thought there was nothing they could profitably add to what Riordan had said and Agnelli had probably yet to recover his full powers of speech. When he had entered the room and seen van Effen, appearance returned to normal, sitting there, his eyes had momentarily widened, his lips momentarily parted and a slight but noticeable amount of colour had left his checks, and not momentarily either. Almost certainly van Effen was the only person who had noticed the fleeting sea-change that had overcome Agnelli, but, then, probably, van Effen had been the only person who had been looking for it. There were also four men on the other side of the negotiating table; the two ministers, de Graaf and van Effen, and they had nothing to say either, and this for two excellent reasons: there was nothing they could immediately say that would be in any way helpful and all had to admit to themselves that Riordan had expressed his viewpoint with a certain degree of logical persuasion, however unreasonable, threatening and preposterous his accompanying demands might have been. It was Aaron Wieringa, glancing in turn at each of his three companions, who broke the silence.

‘Before I speak, gentlemen, have any of you any comment to make?’ Van Effen said: ‘I have.’

‘Lieutenant?’

‘Mr Riordan has been surprisingly reticent about one thing. He hasn’t said why he wants all British influence removed from Northern Ireland. If we are to negotiate on his behalf I think we should have the right to know something of his motivation, his intentions. It may be that his intentions are so awful, so appalling, that we would risk any disaster-to our country sooner than comply with his wishes. We have, of course, no reason to believe that Mr Riordan wW tell us the truth.’ ‘The point is well taken,’Wieringa said. ‘Well, Mr Riordan?’ ‘There’s no point in swearing that IT tell the truth, because any liar would say the same.’ Riordan had again risen to his menacing height, he seemed to find talking easier that way. ‘I have talked about the ninety-nine point nine per cent of good and decent people in that war-torn country who are utterly dominated by the point one per cent of those maniacal killers. Our sole objective is to eliminate this point one per cent and enable the people of Ulster to resolve their own future in an atmosphere of calm and peace and quiet and hope.’ ‘Elimination?’Wieringa said cautiously. ‘What precisely do you mean by that?’

‘We will exterminate the evil bastards on both sides. We will excise the cancer. Is that blunt enough for you?’ Riordan sat down. ‘It sounds like a high purpose,’ van Effen said. He made no attempt to disguise the contemptuous disbelief in his voice. ‘Noble and humane. Let them resolve their own future. Hardly ties in, does it, with your earlier statement that Northern Ireland will never be governed by representatives of the two communities? Has it not occurred to you that if the most conceivably rabid IRA leader were sitting in that chair he would talk exactly as you are talking now, in order to achieve the same end as you are seeking — to get the British out of Northern Ireland at all costs. What assurance do we have that you are not, in fact, that rabid IRA leader?’

‘You have none.’ This time Riordan had riot risen from his chair and his voice was remarkably calm. ‘I can do no more. If you cannot see that I detest the IRA and all its manifestations, you must be blind. I am so appalled at the suggestion that I cannot easily find words to counter it.’ There was another and even longer silence, then Wieringa said: ‘I believe one calls this an impasse.’

‘Impasse, as you say,’ Riordan said. He was still seated, the time for rhetoric had apparently passed. ‘But surely there are certain salient factors that should resolve the impasse. Oostlijk — Flevoland, for instance. Leeuwarden. The Noordoost polder. Wieringermeer, Putten, Petten, Schouwen, Walchcren and others. And I did mention that we have the Royal Palace mined?’

‘The Palace?’ Wieringa said. He didn’t seem particularly overcome. ‘Tonight’s little demonstration was just that. A little demonstration. just to prove how pathetically easy it is to circumvent your alleged security precautions.’

‘Save your breath, Riordan.’ Wieringa’s voice was curt. No ‘Mr’ this time. ‘The time for threats is past. Only moral considerations remain.’ ‘Fifty-fifty,’ van Effen said.

Wieringa looked at him for some moments, then nodded. ‘My way of thinking, too. Thank you, Lieutenant. It is difficult to decide to drown one’s country on the basis of a gamble.’ He looked at Riordan. ‘I am empowered to make decisions. I will call the British ambassador. He will call the Foreign Office in London. We shall make a radio announcement — worded in a suitably cautious fashion, you understand. Those three things I can promise. The outcome of the negotiations, of course, are not for me to predict or influence. That is understood?’

‘That is understood. Thank you, Minister.’ There was no hint of triumph, not even satisfaction, in Riordan’s voice. He stood. ‘Your integrity is a byword throughout Europe. I am content. Goodnight, gentlemen.’ No one wished him goodnight in return.

After the departure of Riordan and his associates there was silence in the room until Wieringa had put through his; telephone call. When he had replaced the receiver, he sipped delicately from “, brandy glass, smiled and said: ‘Comments, gentlemen?’He was a remarkably calm ‘It’s outrageous, disgraceful and dastardly,’ Dessens said, loudly and predictably. Now that the need for action and decision-making was over, he was all fire and fury. ‘The good name, the honour of the Netherlands lies in the dust.’

‘Better, perhaps, than that its citizens should lie under the floodwaters,’Wicrinp said. ‘Colonel?’

‘You had to consider the balance of probabilities,’ de Graaf said. ‘Your decision, sir, was not only the correct one: it was the inevitable one.’ ‘Thank you, Colonel. Lieutenant?’

‘What can I usefully add, sir?’

‘Quite frankly, I don’t know. But, according to the Colonel — and it is, I must say, a most handsome admission on his part — you are closer to those villains than anyone else in Amsterdam.’ He smiled. ‘I do not, of course, use the word “closer” in a pejorative sense.’ ‘Thank you, sir. I’d hoped not.’

‘You’re not really very forthcoming, are you, Lieutenant?’ ‘A certain uncharacteristic diffidence, sir. I may be the senior detective-lieutenant in the city, but I’m pretty junior in this exalted company. What do you want me to be forthcoming about, sir?’ Wieringa regarded the roof and said, almost inconsequentially: ‘I had to make a pretty important decision there.’ He dropped his gaze and looked at van Effen. ‘Did you believe Riordan?’

Van Effen picked up his glass and considered it without drinking from it. He was obviously marshalling his thoughts. Then he said: ‘Four points, Minister. There are two things I believe about Riordan, one point I’m not sure whether to believe or disbelieve and a fourth where I definitely disbelieve.’

‘Ah! Hence your cryptic remark fifty-fifty?’

‘I suppose. First, I believe he is definitely not IRA.’

‘You do, Lieutenant? In that case, am I not entitled to ask why you pushed him?’

‘Confirmation. But I was sure before. That speech of his — that impassioned and violent denunciation of the IRA and all its methods. You’d have to be an exceptional actor to get that amount of hatred into your voice: but you’d have to be an impossibly good one to have a pulse beat like a trip-hammer in your throat.’

‘I missed that.’ Wieringa said. He looked at de Graaf and Dessens. ‘Either of you gentlemen — ‘ He broke off at their mute headshakes. ‘Secondly,’ continued van Effen, ‘I believe that Riordan is not the leader, the driving force, the man in charge. Why do I believe that?. I can’t give a shred of evidence, of proof. But he’s too fiery, too unbalanced, too unpredictable to be a general.’

‘You wouldn’t fight under him, van Effen?’ Wieringa was half-smiling, half curious.

‘No, sir. There’s someone else. I’m certain it’s not Agnelli. I would take long odds it’s not O’Brien — he’s got sergeant-major written all over him. I’m not saying it’s Samuelson. He’s an enigma, a mystery. But his presence is totally unexplained and when any presence is as inexplicable as that then a very big explanation would seem to be called for. ‘Where I’m uncertain whether to believe his story or not, is about Northern Ireland. Riordan said his only aim was to eliminate the monsters. His voice did carry what might have been regarded as the authentic ring of sincerity and, as I’ve said, I don’t believe he’s all that good an actor.’ Van Effen sighed briefly, shook his head and sipped his brandy. ‘I know this is all rather confusing, gentlemen. Let me put it this way. I believe that he believes what he says, but I don’t believe that what he believes is necessarily true. It’s one of the reasons why I’m convinced he’s not the king-pin. Two things. He was caught outright in a flat contradiction yet appeared to be unaware that any such contradiction existed. Then he seems to be unaware that there could be three sets of fanatics around — the extremist Protestants, the extremist Catholics and the Mediators. That’s them. The Mediators could be the most irresponsibly dangerous of all. To achieve the final solution, the Mediators are prepared to drown a million. One could imagine what the final solution would be like in Ulster. No. Let me rephrase that. I can’t imagine that.’ ‘The same thought was in my mind.’ Wieringa spoke very slowly. ‘The very same. Although not so clearly formulated. In my mind, I mean.’ He smiled. ‘Well, that should be enough for a day — but you did mention that there was something you didn’t believe.’

‘Yes, sir. I don’t believe his threats. His immediate threats, that is. His long-range threats are a different matter. But the ones he mentioned here tonight — and the ones outlined to Colonel de Graaf earlier this evening — I do not believe, with the exception of the threat to Helystad in Oostlijk-Fllevoland. The rest I believe to be bluff. Especially the threat to destroy the Palace.’

‘If you say that, Lieutenant,’Wieringa said, ‘I’m damned if I don’t believe you. Why do you say that?’

‘Because I don’t believe they have any mines laid inside the Palace. They were concerned that the explosion inside the Palace tonight would be heard over a considerable area to convince you that they had, indeed, the ability to carry out their promise.’

Wieringa regarded him with a puzzled expression. ‘You sound fairly sure about this, Lieutenant.’

‘No, sir. I’m certain.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I have inside information.’

Wieringa looked at him in a speculative fashion but said nothing. Not so Dessens. He had been totally out of his depth all evening but now he thought he was on secure and known footing and that it was time to assert himself.

“What were the sources of your information, Lieutenant?’ ‘That’s confidential.’

‘Confidential!’ Whether the source of Dessens’ immediate anger was due to the reply or the fact that van Effen had omitted the mandatory ‘minister’ or ‘sir’ was difficult to say: he probably didn’t know himself. ‘Confidential!’

‘I’m trying to be discreet, sir, that’s all. I don’t want to divulge my sources because it may cause acute and unnecessary embarrassment. Surely you can understand that — it’s so commonplace in the police world that it’s hardly worth the mentioning. Why don’t you just take my word for it?’

‘Understand it! Commonplace! Take your word!’ Dessens’ mottling complexion was rapidly assuming the hue of a turkey wattle. ‘You arrogant — you arrogant — you — ‘He made a visible effort to ward off the onset of apoplexy. ‘I would remind you, Lieutenant’- he put a heavy accent on the word ‘Lieutenant’ ‘that I am the Minister of Justice’- he put a very heavy accent on that, too — ‘whereas you are only a junior officer in the force which I personally — ‘

‘That’s unfair, sir.’ De Graaf’s voice was impersonal. ‘Next to me, van Effen is the senior police officer in the city of — ‘ ‘Keep out of this, de Graaf.’ Dessens tried to let ice creep into his voice but his temperature control had slipped. ‘Van Effen! You heard me.’ ‘I heard you,’ van Effen said, then added ‘sir’ almost as an afterthought. ‘I know what I’m talking about because I’m the person who placed that charge in the cellars of the Royal Palace.’ ‘What! What!’ Dessens’ complexion would now have made any turkey-cock look to his laurels. ‘Good God! I can’t believe it.’ He was halfway out of his chair. ‘My cars deceive me!’

‘They don’t. Sir. I was also the person who pressed the button that detonated the explosives.’

Dessens said nothing, not immediately. The shocked horror of this threat to the safety of the royal family, this dreadful majesty, held him in thrall. Van Effen returned to his brandy and made no attempt to keep his opinion of the Minister of Justice out of his face. ‘Arrest this man, de Graaf,’ Dessens shouted. ‘This moment’ ‘On what charges, sir?’

‘On what charges! Have you gone mad as well as — as well as — Treason, man, treason!’

‘Yes, sir. This raises problems.’

‘Problems? Your duty, man, your duty!’

‘Problems, sir. I’m the city’s Chief of Police. All other policemen in Amsterdam are junior to me.’ Every century of de Graaf’s aristocratic lineage was showing. ‘Nobody in Amsterdam has the authority to arrest me.’

Dessens stared at him, his anger gradually changing to bewilderment. He shook his head and said nothing.

‘What I mean is, sir, that if Lieutenant van Effen is to be locked up on a treason charge, then you’d have to lock me up, too, because I’m as much a traitor as he is.’ De Graaf considered. ‘More, I would say. I am, after all, his superior; moreover, I personally authorized and approved every action the Lieutenant has undertaken. ‘Inconsequentially, it seemed, but probably to give Dessens time to readjust, de Graaf turned to van Effen and said: ‘You forgot to tell me that you personally had detonated those explosives.’

Van Effen shrugged apologetic shoulders. ‘You know how it is, sir.’ ‘I know,’ de Graaf said heavily. ‘You have so much on your mind. You seem to have told me that before.’

‘Why have you stepped outside the law, Colonel?’ There was no reproof in Wieringa’s voice, only a question. Wieringa had remained remarkably unperturbed.

‘We did not step outside the law, sir. We are doing and have done everything in our power to uphold the law. We — Lieutenant van Effen — have gained the entree — and a highly dangerous entree it is — into the ranks of the FFF. I think it is more than dangerous, it’s close to suicidal. But Lieutenant van Effen has persuaded me — and I most reluctantly agree with him — that it’s our last best hope. Our only hope.’

Dessens looked at the two policemen dazedly but his mind was beginning to function again, at least after a fashion. ‘How is this possible? Van Effen’s face must be known to every criminal in Amsterdam.’ He had forgotten how junior van Effen had been only moments ago. ‘It is. But not the van Effen you see before you. All appearance, voice and personality have changed to such a remarkable extent that I’d wager my pension that neither of you would recognize Stephan Danilov, which is the pseudonym he has temporarily and conveniently adopted.’ He might have wagered something else, van Effen reflected; de Graaf was so wealthy that his pension was a matter of total indifference to him. ‘Whether the FFF have uncritically accepted Stephan Danilov at his face value, we have no means of knowing. It seems incredible to me that, so far, they appear to have done. If they have not done or will not do so the city of Amsterdam will be requiring a new senior detective-lieutenant. They will also be requiring a new police chief, which the Lieutenant will probably regard as a trifling matter, because I shall have to resign. The Netherlands, of course, will be looking for a new Minister of Justice, because you, Mr Dessens, are also a party to this. Only Mr Wieringa can look forward to a safe tenure.’ Dessens looked stricken. ‘I haven’t said that I’m a party to anything.’ Wieringa took him gently by the arm. ‘Bernhard, if you would, a word in your ear.’ They walked away to a distant comer of the lounge, which was fortunately as large as it was luxurious, and began to converse in low terms. Wieringa appeared to be doing most of the conversing. Van Effen said: ‘What weighty matters do you think our revered cabinet ministers are discussing?’

De Graaf forgot to reproach van Effen for his unseemly and unconstitutional levity. ‘No prizes for guessing that. Mr Wieringa is explaining to Mr Dessens the principle of Hobson’s choice. If Dessens doesn’t go along, the Netherlands is still going to be looking for a new Minister of Justice. If Dessens hadn’t forced you to divulge your confidential information he wouldn’t have found himself in the impossible situation he does now. Hoisted, to coin a phrase, on his own petard.’ De Graaf seemed to find it a moderately entertaining thought. He settled himself comfortably in his chair, sighed and reached out for the brandy bottle. ‘Well, thank heaven everything’s over for the day.’ Van Effen considerately let de Graaf pour himself some brandy and sip it before producing Agnelli’s shopping list. ‘Not quite complete, I’m afraid, sir. There’s this little item.’

De Graaf read through the list, his face stunned, then read through it again. His lips were moving, but at first no sound came. He had just got around to muttering: ‘This blue item, this little item,’ when Wieringa and Dessens returned. Wieringa looked his normal imperturbable self, Dessens like a Christian who had just been given his first preview of the lions in the Roman arena.

Wierinva said: ‘What little item, Colonel?’

‘This.’ De Graaf handed him the paper, put his elbow on the arm of his chair and his hand to his forehead as if to hide hi s eyes from some unspeakable sight.

‘High explosives,’ Wieringa read out. ‘Primers. Detonators. Grenades. Ground-to-ground missiles. Ground-to-air missiles.’ He looked at van Effen consideringly but with no signs of consternation on his face. ‘What is this?’

‘A shopping list. I was going to ask the Colonel to get it for me.’ Desserts, who had adopted precisely the same attitude as de Graaf, made a slight moaning sound. ‘As you are the Minister of Defence, the Colonel would have had to approach you anyway. I’d also like to borrow an Army truck, if I may. With a little luck I may ever, be able to return it.’ Wieringa looked at him, looked at the paper in his hand, then back at van Effen again. ‘Balanced against this shopping list, as you call it, the loan of the odd army vehicle seems an eminently reasonable request. All this I can obtain without any great difficulty. I have heard a considerable amount about you, van Effen, and I have learnt a great deal more tonight. I would hesitate to question your judgement.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I think I would question my own first, so I don’t question yours. No doubt it’s just idle curiosity on my part, but it would be nice to know why you require those items.’ ‘The FFF seem to be short of explosives and offensive weapons, so I have promised to supply them with some.’

‘Of course,’ Wieringa said. ‘Of course.’ The Defence Minister appeared to be virtually unshockable; certainly, nothing showed in his eyes. Nothing was to be seen in the eyes of de Graaf or Dessens either, but that didn’t mean that they were shock-proof. their shading hands still cut their eyes off from the dreadful realities of the harsh world outside.

‘They also seem to be short of explosive experts, so I volunteered my services.’

‘You know something about explosives?’

De Graaf reluctantly uncovered his eyes. ‘He knows a great deal about explosives. He’s also a bomb disposal expert. I wish,’ he said bitterly, ‘that this was something simple, like defusing a ticking 500-kilo bomb.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ Van Effen was addressing de Graaf now. ‘I’ve also recruited George and Vasco, George as another person versed in the way of explosives and Vasco as a trained missile launcher. You will understand that I did not have time to consult you on those matters.’ ‘You can’t think of everything,’ de Graaf said dully. He discovered, to his apparent astonishment, that his brandy glass was empty and set about rectifying this.

‘Nothing illegal about recruiting those two men, Mr Wieringa. They’re police sergeants. And they weren’t recruited — they volunteered. They know the dangers. There’s nothing to be done about the explosives, sir, but if you could have an amourer deactivate the missiles I’d be very grateful.’

De Graaf lowered his glass. ‘So would I. So would L’ Not much in the way of life had come back into his voice.

Wieringa said: ‘I suppose I’m just being idly curious again but why are you and your two friends taking these appalling risks?’ ‘Calculated risks, sir. I hope. The reason is simple. The Colonel has said that we have gained an entree into the FFF. That’s not quite accurate. We have been accepted — or appear to have been accepted — on the fringes. We’re just on the outer strand of the spider’s web. We don’t know where the spider is. But if we deliver the requested items, we’ll find out. They’re not likely to leave missiles and missile launchers in a safe deposit box in the Central Station.’

‘Impeccable logic, van Effen, impeccable logic. Except, of course, for one tiny little flaw.’

‘Sir?’

‘The spider may gobble you up. The scheme is mad, quite mad — which is the only reason it might just succeed. I’d be intrigued to know where and when you arranged this.’

‘About an hour and a half ago. Over a drink with Agnelli.’ For the first time, Wicringa’s monolithic calm cracked. ‘Over a drink with Agnelli? Agnelli? Agnelli! One of those men who have just left?’

‘I was Stephan Danilov then. Well, can’t think of anything else so, with your permission, I’ll be on my way. The weather forecast should be interesting tonight — latest reports say flood level danger inside the next forty-eight hours might even exceed that of February 1953. That will be the time for our friends — and it doesn’t leave a great deal of time for negotiations with the British Government. You will remember that I said I didn’t believe in Riordan’s short-range threats: I’m convinced that the long-range threat, the massive flooding of the country, has been arranged and is totally real. One small point, Colonel. Riordan’s allegations against the integrity of our customs. They’re ludicrous. I know that. You know that. The world doesn’t. I’m convinced that the transfers are taking place in the lisselmeer, Waddenzee or the open see. It’s a Navy job. God knows we’ve got a bad enough name already as a gun-running entrepot: I wonder what it will be like when all this is over.’ Van Effen smiled. ‘Still, it’s not a job that can be handled by a junior police officer: only the ministries of Defence and Justice can cope. Goodnight, gentlemen.’ ‘Moment, Peter, moment.’ It was de Graaf and his distress was apparent. ‘Surely there’s something we can do to help?’

‘Yes, sir. There is. Do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Any attempt to help us will probably help us into our graves. Those are clever and desperate men so please, please, don’t try anything clever and desperate yourselves. Don’t have the truck followed, not in any way, no matter how clever you think you are, nothing. No helicopters, no blind barrel-organist, nothing. And nothing so futile and puerile as fitting a concealed location transmitter bug to the truck — unless they’re mentally retarded, it’s the first thing they’d look for. Nothing. Do nothing.’ ‘We take your point,’ Wieringa said drily. ‘Nothing.’ His tone changed. ‘But from what you’ve just said, Lloyd’s of London wouldn’t insure you for a ninety-nine per cent premium. But you go. For the last time — why?’

‘You heard what. Mr Dessens said — the good name and honour of the Netherlands in the dust, and you with its citizens full fathom five. We can’t have that, can we?’

‘Your sister?’

‘What about my sister?’

The Colonel told me tonight. God only knows how you carry on as you do. I couldn’t. Kidnapped.’

‘She’s part of it.’

I would not care to be the unfortunate man who abducted her when you meet up with him.’

‘I’ve already met up with this unfortunate man.’

‘What? For the second time Wieringa’s self-control deserted him, but he recovered quickly. ‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

“Where?’

Here. Agnelli.’

‘Agnelli!’

‘I should have shot him full of holes? There’s a law against it. I’m a policeman. I’m supposed to uphold the law. Sworn to it, in fact.’ He left. Wieringa said: ‘I begin to believe some of the stories about van Effen. The not-so-nice ones. God, Arthur, that’s his sister. No blood in his veins. None. Ice.’

Yes, sir. Let’s hope Agnelli has not hurt Julie.’

What do you mean?’

‘Then he’s a dead man. Sure, sure, van Effen’s sworn to uphold the law — but only in front of witnesses.’

Wieringa stared at him, then nodded slowly and reached for his glass.