Читать книгу Floodgate - Alistair MacLean, Alistair MacLean, John Denis - Страница 9

The Chinook helicopter, a big, fast experimental model on demonstration loan from the US Army of the Rhine, suffered from the same defect as other, smaller and less advanced models in that it was extremely noisy, the rackety clamour of the engines making conversation difficult and at times impossible. This wasn’t helped by the fact that it had two rotors instead of the customary one.

The passengers were a very mixed bag indeed. Apart from de Graaf and his Justice Minister, Robert Kondstall, there were four cabinet ministers, of whom only the Minister of Defence could claim any right to be aboard. The other three, including, incredibly, the Minister of Education, were aboard only because of the influence they wielded and their curiosity about things that in no way concerned them. Much the same could have been said about the senior air force officer, the brigadier and rear-admiral who sat together behind de Graaf. Flight evaluation purposes had been their claim. The evaluation tests had been completed a week ago: they were along purely as rubber-neckers. The same could be said of the two experts from the Rijkswaterstaat and the two from the Delft Hydraulics laboratory. Superficially, it would have seemed, their presence could be more than justified, but as the pilot had firmly stated that he had no intention of setting his Chinook down in floodwaters and the experts, portly gentlemen all, had indicated that they had no intention of descending by winch or rope ladder only to be swept away, it was difficult to see how their presence could be justified. The handful of journalists and cameramen aboard could have claimed a right to be there: but even they were to admit later that their trip had hardly been worthwhile.

The Chinook, flying at no more than two hundred metres and about half a kilometre out to sea, was directly opposite Oosterend when the sea dyke broke. It was a singularly unspectacular explosion—a little sound, a little smoke, a little rubble, a little spray—but effective enough for all that: the Waddenzee was already rushing through the narrow gap and into the polder beyond. Less than half a kilometre from the entrance to the gap an ocean-going tug was already headed towards the breach. As the pilot turned his Chinook westwards, presumably to see what the conditions were like in the polder, de Graaf leaned over to one of the Rijkswaterstaat experts. He had to shout to make himself heard.

‘How bad is it, Mr Okkerse? How long do you think it will take to seal off the break?’

‘Well, damn their souls, damn their souls! Villains, devils, monsters!’ Okkerse clenched and unclenched his hands. ‘Monsters, I tell you, sir, monsters!’ Okkerse was understandably upset. Dykes, the construction, care and maintenance of, were his raison d’être.

‘Yes, yes, monsters,’ de Graaf shouted. ‘How long to fix that?’

‘Moment.’ Okkerse rose, lurched forwards, spoke briefly to the pilot and lurched his way back to his seat. ‘Got to see it first. Pilot’s taking us down.’

The Chinook curved round, passing over the waters flooding across the first reaches of the polder and came to hover some fifteen metres above the ground and some twenty metres distant. Okkerse pressed his nose against a window. After only a few seconds he turned away and gave the wave off signal to the pilot. The Chinook curved away inland.

‘Clever fiends,’ Okkerse shouted. ‘Very clever fiends. It’s only a small breach and they chose the perfect moment for it.’

‘What does the time of day matter?’

‘It matters very much. Rather, the state of the tide matters. They didn’t pick high tide, because that would have caused heavy flooding and great destruction.’

‘So they can’t be all that villainous?’

Okkerse didn’t seem to hear him. ‘And they didn’t pick low tide because they knew—how, I can’t even guess—that we would do what we are just about to do and that is to block the gap with the bows of a vessel. Which is what we are about to do with the bows of that ocean-going tug down there. At low water the tug probably wouldn’t have found enough water to get close to the dyke.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t like any of this.’

‘You think our friends have inside information?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I suggested that to your friend Jon de Jong. That those people have either an informant in or somebody employed in the Rijkswaterstaat.’

‘Ridiculous! Impossible! In our organization? Preposterous!’

‘That’s more or less what Jon said. Nothing’s impossible. What makes you think your people are immune to penetration? Look at the British Secret Service where security is supposed to be a religion. They’re penetrated at regular intervals and with painful frequency. If it can happen to them with all their resources, it’s ten times more likely to happen to you. That’s beside the point. How long to seal the breach?’

‘The tug should block off about eighty per cent of the flow. The tide’s going out. We’ve got everything ready to hand—concrete blocks, matting, divers, steel plates, quick-setting concrete. A few hours. Technically, a minor job. That’s not what worries me.’

De Graaf nodded, thanked him and resumed his seat beside Kondstaal. ‘Okkerse says it’s no problem, sir. Straightforward repair job.’

‘Didn’t think it would be a problem. The villains said there would be minimal damage and they seem to mean what they say. That’s not what worries me.’

‘That’s what Okkerse has just said. The worry is, of course, that they can carry out their threats with impunity. We’re in an impossible situation. What would you wager, sir, that we don’t receive another threat this evening?’

‘Nothing. There’s no point in wondering what those people are up to. They’ll doubtless let us know in their own good time. And there’s no point, I suppose, in asking you what progress you’ve made so far.’

De Graaf concentrated on lighting his cheroot and said nothing.

Sergeant Westenbrink wore an off-white boiler suit, unbuttoned from throat to waist to show off a garishly patterned and coloured Hawaiian shirt, a Dutch bargee’s cap and a circular brass earring. Compared to those among whom he lived and had his being, Vasco, van Effen thought, looked positively under-dressed but was still outlandish enough to make himself and the two men sitting opposite him across the table in the booth in the Hunter’s Horn look the pillars of a respectable society. One of them, clad in an immaculately cut dark grey suit, was about van Effen’s age, darkly handsome, slightly swarthy, with tightly-curled black hair, black eyes and, when he smiled—which was often—what appeared to be perfect teeth. Any Mediterranean country, van Effen thought, or, at the outside, not more than two generations removed. His companion, a short, slightly balding man of perhaps ten or fifteen years older than the other, wore a conservative dark suit and a hairline moustache, the only really and slightly unusual feature in an otherwise unremarkable face. Neither of them looked the slightest bit like a bona fide member of the criminal classes but, then, few successful criminals ever did.

The younger man—he went, it seemed, by the name of Romero Agnelli, which might even have been his own—produced an ebony cigarette-holder, a Turkish cigarette and a gold inlaid onyx lighter; any of which might have appeared affected or even effeminate on almost any man: with Agnelli, all three seemed inevitable. He lit the cigarette and smiled at van Effen.

‘You will not take it amiss if I ask one or two questions.’ He had a pleasant baritone voice and spoke in English. ‘One cannot be too careful these days.’

‘I cannot be too careful any day. If your question is pertinent, of course I’ll answer it. If not, I won’t. Am I—ah—accorded the same privilege?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Except you can ask more what you consider pertinent questions than I can.’

‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘Just that I take it that we’re talking on a potential employer employee relationship. The employer is usually entitled to ask more questions.’

‘Now I understand. I won’t take advantage of that. I must say, Mr Danilov, that you look more like the employer class yourself.’ And indeed, van Effen’s over-stuffed suit and padded cheeks did lend a certain air of prosperity. It also made him look almost permanently genial. ‘Am I mistaken in thinking that you carry a gun?’

‘Unlike you, Mr Agnelli, I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of patronizing expensive tailors.’

‘Guns make me nervous.’ The disarming smile didn’t show a trace of nervousness.

‘Guns make me nervous, too. That’s why I carry one in case I meet a man who is carrying one. That makes me very nervous.’ Van Effen smiled, removed his Biretta from its shoulder holster, clicked out the magazine, handed it to Agnelli and replaced his pistol. ‘That do anything for your nerves?’

Agnelli smiled. ‘All gone.’

‘Then they shouldn’t be.’ Van Effen reached below the table and came up with a tiny automatic. ‘A Lilliput, a toy in many ways, but lethal up to twenty feet in the hands of a man who can fire accurately.’ He tapped out the magazine, handed this in turn to Agnelli and replaced the Lilliput in its ankle holster. ‘That’s all. Three guns would be just too much to carry about.’

‘So I should imagine.’ Agnelli’s smile, which had momentarily vanished, was back in place. He pushed the two magazines across the table. ‘I don’t think we’ll be requiring guns this afternoon.’

‘Indeed. But something would be useful.’ Van Effen dropped the magazines into a side pocket. ‘I always find that talking—’

‘Beer for me,’ Agnelli said. ‘And for Helmut, too, I know.’

‘Four beers,’ van Effen said. ‘Vasco, if you would be so kind—’ Vasco rose and left the booth.

Agnelli said: ‘Known Vasco long?’

Van Effen considered. ‘A proper question. Two months. Why?’ Had they, van Effen wondered, been asking the same question of Vasco.

‘Idle curiosity.’ Agnelli, van Effen thought, was not a man to indulge in idle curiosity. ‘Your name really is Stephan Danilov?’

‘Certainly not. But it’s the name I go by in Amsterdam.’

‘But you really are a Pole?’ The elder man’s voice, dry and precise, befitted his cast of countenance which could have been that of a moderately successful lawyer or accountant. He also spoke in Polish.

‘For my sins.’ Van Effen raised an eyebrow. ‘Vasco, of course.’

‘Yes. Where were you born?’

‘Radom.’

‘I know it. Not well. A rather provincial town, I thought.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘You’ve heard? But you lived there.’

‘Four years. When you’re four years old a provincial town is the centre of the world. My father—a printer—moved to a better job.’

‘Where?’

‘Warsaw.’

‘Aha!’

‘Aha yourself.’ Van Effen spoke in some irritation. ‘You sound as if you know Warsaw and are now going to find out if I know it. Why, I can’t imagine. You’re not by any chance a lawyer, Mr—I’m afraid I don’t know your name?’

‘Paderiwski. I am a lawyer.’

‘Paderiwski. Given time, I would have thought you could have come up with a better one than that. And I was right, eh? A lawyer. I wouldn’t care to have you acting for my defence. You make a poor interrogator.’

Agnelli was smiling but Paderiwski was not. His lips were pursed. He said brusquely: ‘You know the Tin-Roofed Palace, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Dear me. What have we here. The Inquisition? Ah. Thank you.’ He took a glass from a tray that a waiter, following Vasco, had just brought into the curtained booth and lifted it. ‘Your health, gentlemen. The place you’re so curious about, Mr—ah—Paderiwski, is close by the Wista, on the corner of the Wybrzeze Gdanskie and the Slasko-Dabrowski bridge.’ He sipped some more beer. ‘Unless they’ve moved it, of course. Some years since I’ve been there.’

Paderiwski was not amused. ‘The Palace of Culture and Science.’

‘Parade Square. It’s too big.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Too big to have been moved, I mean. Two thousand, three hundred rooms are a lot of rooms. A monstrosity. The wedding-cake, they call it. But, then, Stalin never did have any taste in architecture.’

‘Stalin?’ Agnelli said.

‘His personal gift to my already long-suffering countrymen.’ So Agnelli spoke Polish, too.

‘Where’s the Ethnographic Museum in Warsaw?’

‘It’s not in Warsaw. Mlociny, ten kilometres to the north.’ Van Effen’s voice was now as brusque as Paderiwski’s had been. ‘Where’s the Nike?You don’t know? What’s the Nike? You don’t know? Any citizen of Warsaw knows it’s the name given to the “Heroes of Warsaw” monument. What’s Zamenhofa Street famous for?’ An increasingly uncomfortable Paderiwski made no reply. ‘The Ghetto monument. I told you you’d make a lousy lawyer, Paderiwski. Any competent lawyer, for the defence or the prosecution, always prepares his brief. You didn’t. You’re a fraud. It’s my belief that you’ve never even been in Warsaw and that you just spent an hour or so studying a gazetteer or guide-book.’ Van Effen placed his hands on the table as if preparatory to rising. ‘I don’t think, gentleman, that we need detain each other any longer. Discreet enquiries are one thing, offensive interrogation by an incompetent, another. I see no basis here for mutual trust and, quite honestly, I need neither a job nor money.’ He rose. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’

Agnelli reached out a hand. He didn’t touch van Effen, it was just a restraining gesture. ‘Please sit down, Mr Danilov. Perhaps Helmut has rather overstepped the mark but have you ever met a lawyer who wasn’t burdened with a suspicious, mistrustful mind? Helmut—or we—just happened to choose the wrong suspect. Helmut, in fact, has been in Warsaw but only, as you almost guessed, briefly and as a tourist. I, personally, don’t doubt you could find your way about Warsaw blindfolded.’ Paderiwski had the look of a man who wished he were in some other place, any place. ‘A blunder. We apologize.’

‘That’s kind.’ Van Effen sat down and quaffed some more beer. ‘Fair enough.’

Agnelli smiled. Almost certainly a double-dyed villain, van Effen thought, but a charming and persuasive one. ‘Now that you’ve established a degree of moral ascendancy over us I’ll reinforce that by admitting that we almost certainly need you more than you need us.’

Not to be outdone, van Effen smiled in turn. ‘You must be in a desperate way.’ He lifted and examined his empty glass. ‘If you’d just poke your head round the corner, Vasco, and make the usual SOS.’

‘Of course, Stephan.’ There was an unmistakable expression of relief in his face. He did as asked then settled back in his seat.

‘No more interrogation,’ Agnelli said. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. Your friend Vasco tells me that you know a little about explosives.’

‘Vasco does me less than justice. I know a great deal about explosives.’ He looked at Vasco in reproof. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you would discuss a friend—that’s me, Vasco, in case you’ve forgotten—with strangers.’

‘I didn’t. Well, I did, but I just said it was someone I knew.’

‘No harm. Explosives, as I say, I know. Defusing bombs I know. I’m also fairly proficient in capping well-head oil fires but you wouldn’t be approaching me in this fashion if that was your problem. You’d be on the phone to Texas, where I learnt my trade.’

‘No oil fires.’ Agnelli smiled again. ‘But defusing bombs—well that’s something else. Where did you learn a dangerous trade like that?’

‘Army,’ van Effen said briefly. He didn’t specify which army.

‘You’ve actually defused bombs?’ Agnelli’s respect was genuine.

‘Quite a number.’

‘You must be good.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re here.’

‘I am good. I’m also lucky, because no matter how good you are the bomb you’re trying to defuse may be your last one. Peaceful retirement is not the lot of a bomb disposal expert. But as I assume you have no more unexploded bombs than you have oil wells, then it must be explosives. Explosives experts in Holland are not in short supply. You have only to advertise. That I should be approached in a clandestine fashion can only mean that you are engaged in activities that are illegal.’

‘We are. Have you never been? Engaged, I mean?’

‘All depends upon who defines what is illegal and what is not and how they define it. Some people hold definitions which are different from mine and wish to discuss the matter with me. Very tiresome they can be, those alleged upholders of justice. You know what the British say—the law is an ass.’ Van Effen considered. ‘I think I put that rather well.’

‘You’ve hardly committed yourself. May one ask—delicately, of course—whether this discussion you are avoiding has anything to do with your vacationing in Amsterdam?’

‘You may. It has. What do you want me to blow up?’

Agnelli raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, well, you can be blunt. Almost as blunt as you can be, shall we say, diplomatic’

‘That’s an answer? An explosives expert is good for only one thing—exploding things. You wish me to explode something? Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two things. Banks, boats, bridges, anything of that kind I’ll blow up and guarantee a satisfactory job. Anything that involves injury, far less death, to any person I won’t have any part of.’

‘You won’t ever be called upon to do any such thing. That’s also a guarantee. The second thing?’

‘I don’t seek to flatter you when I say that you’re an intelligent man, Mr Agnelli. Highly intelligent, I should think. Such people are usually first-class organizers. To seek the help of a last minute unknown to help you execute some project that may have been in the planning stage for quite some time doesn’t smack to me of preparation, organization or professionalism. If I may say so.’

‘You may. A very valid point. In your position I would adopt the same disbelieving or questioning attitude. You have to take my word for it that I am a member of a highly organized team. But, as you must well know, the best-laid plans etc. An unfortunate accident. I can explain to your satisfaction. But not just at this moment. Will you accept our offer?’

‘You haven’t made one yet.’

‘Will you accept an offer of a job in our organization, on, if you wish, a permanent basis, on what I think you’ll find a very satisfactory salary plus commission basis, your special responsibility being the demolition of certain structures, those structures to be specified at a later date.’

‘Sounds very businesslike. And I like the idea of commissions, whatever they may be. I agree. When do I start and what do I start on?’

‘You’ll have to bear with me a little, Mr Danilov. My brief for this afternoon is only of a limited nature—to find out, if, in principle, you are prepared to work with us, which I’m glad to say you seem to be. I have to report back. You will be contacted very shortly, sometime tomorrow, I’m sure.’

‘You are not the leader of this organization?’

‘No.’

‘You surprise me. A man like you acting as a lieutenant—well, this leader I must meet.’

‘You shall, I promise.’

‘How will you contact me? No phones, please.’

‘Certainly not. You will be our courier, Vasco?’

‘My pleasure, Mr Agnelli. You know where to reach me any time.’

‘Thank you.’ Agnelli stood up and gave his hand to van Effen. ‘A pleasure, Mr Danilov. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.’ Helmut Paderiwski didn’t offer to shake hands.

As the door closed behind them, Sergeant Westenbrink said: ‘I need another beer, Lieutenant.’

‘Peter. Always Peter.’

‘Sorry. That was pretty close. The ice was very thin at times.’

‘Not for a practised liar. I rather gather that you’ve given them the impression that I’m a desperate and wanted criminal?’

‘I did mention that there was the odd extradition warrant out for you. But I didn’t forget to emphasize your generally upright and honest nature. When dealing with your fellow criminals, of course.’

‘Of course. Before you get the beer, I have a phone call to make. Well, get it anyway.’

Van Effen went to the bar and said to the man behind it, ‘Henri, a private call, if I may.’

Henri, the proprietor, was a tall, gaunt man, sallow of countenance and lugubrious of expression. ‘You in trouble again, Peter?’

‘No. I hope someone else will be, soon.’

Van Effen went into the office and dialled a number. ‘Trianon? The manager, please. I don’t care if he is in conference, call him. It’s Lieutenant van Effen.’ He hung on for a few moments. ‘Charles? Do me a favour. Book me in as from a fortnight ago. Enter it in the book, will you, in the name of Stephan Danilov. And would you notify the receptionist and doorman. Yes, I expect people to be enquiring. Just tell them. Many thanks. I’ll explain when I see you.’

He returned to the booth. ‘Just booked myself—Stephan Danilov, that is—into a hotel. Agnelli pointedly did not mention anything about where I might be staying but you can be sure that he’ll have one of his men on the phone for the next couple of hours if need be, trying to locate me in every hotel or pension in the city.’

‘So he’ll know where you are—or where you’re supposed to be.’ Vasco sighed. ‘It would help if we knew where they were.’

‘Should know soon enough. There’s been two separate tails on them ever since they left the Hunter’s Horn.’

Van Effen, appearance returned to normal, asked the girl at the Telegraph’s reception desk for the sub-editor who had taken the FFF’s first telephone message. This turned out to be a fresh-faced and very eager young man.

‘Mr Morelis?’ van Effen said. ‘Police.’

‘Yes, sir. Lieutenant van Effen, isn’t it? I’ve been expecting you. You’ll be wanting to hear the tapes? Maybe I should tell you first that we’ve just had another message from the FFF, as they call themselves.’

‘Have you now? I suppose I should say “The devil you have” but I’m not surprised. It was inevitable. Happy tidings, of course.’

‘Hardly. The first half of the message was given over to congratulating themselves on the Texel job, how it had happened precisely as they had predicted and with no loss of life: the second half said there would be scenes of considerable activity on the North Holland canal, two kilometres north of Alkmaar at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘That, too, was inevitable. Not the location, of course. Just the threat. You’ve taped that, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘That was well done. May I hear them?’

Van Effen heard them, twice over. When they were finished he said to Morelis: ‘You’ve listened to those, of course?’

‘Too often.’ Morelis smiled. ‘Fancied myself as a detective, thought maybe you would give me a job but I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s more to this detecting business than meets the eye.’

‘Nothing struck you as odd about any of the tapes?’

‘They were all made by the same woman. But that’s no help.’

‘Nothing odd about accents, tones? No nuances that struck you as unusual?’

‘No, sir. But I’m no judge. I’m slightly hard of hearing, nothing serious, but enough to blunt my judgment, assuming I had any. Mean anything to you, Lieutenant?’

‘The lady is a foreigner. What country I’ve no idea. Don’t mention that around.’

‘No, sir. I rather like being a sub-editor.’

‘We are not in Moscow, young man. Put those tapes in a bag for me. I’ll let you have them back in a day or two.’

Back in his office, van Effen asked to see the duty sergeant. When he arrived van Effen said: ‘A few hours ago I asked for a couple of men to be put on a Fred Klassen and Alfred van Rees. Did you know about this, and if you did, do you know who the two men were?’

‘I knew, sir. Detective Voight and Detective Tindeman.’

‘Good. Either of them called in?’

‘Both. Less than twenty minutes ago. Tindeman says van Rees is at home and seems to have settled in for the evening. Klassen is still on duty at the airport or, at least, he’s still at the airport. So, nothing yet, sir.’

Van Effen looked at his watch. ‘I’m leaving now. If you get any word from either, a positive not negative report, call me at the Dikker en Thijs. After nine, call me at home.’

Colonel van de Graaf came from a very old, very aristocratic and very wealthy family and was a great stickler for tradition, so it came as no surprise to van Effen when he approached their table wearing dinner jacket, black tie and red carnation. His approach bore all the elements of a royal progress: he seemed to greet everyone, stopped to speak occasionally and waved graciously at those tables not directly in his path. It was said of de Graaf that he knew everybody who was anybody in the city of Amsterdam: he certainly seemed to know everybody in the Dikker en Thijs. Four paces away from van Effen’s table he stopped abruptly as if he had been transfixed: but, in fact, it was his eyes that were doing the transfixing.

That the girl who had risen from the table with van Effen to greet de Graaf had this momentarily paralysing effect not only on de Graaf but on a wide cross-section of the males of Amsterdam and beyond was understandable. She was of medium height, wore a rather more than well-filled ankle-length grey silk gown and no jewellery whatsoever. Jewellery would have been superfluous and no one would have paid any attention to it anyway: what caught and held the attention, as it had caught the riveted attention of the momentarily benumbed Colonel, was the flawless classical perfection of the features, a perfection only enhanced, if this were possible, by a slightly crooked eyetooth which was visible when she smiled, which seemed to be most of the time. This was no simpering and empty-headed would-be Miss Universe contender, churned out with repetitive monotony by a Californian-style production line. The finely chiselled features and delicately formed bone structure served only to emphasize the character and intelligence they served only to highlight. She had gleaming auburn hair, great hazel eyes and a bewitching smile. It had, at any rate, bewitched the Colonel. Van Effen cleared his throat.

‘Colonel van de Graaf. May I introduce Miss Meijer. Miss Anne Meijer.’

‘My pleasure, my pleasure.’ De Graaf grabbed her outstretched hand in both of his and shook it vigorously. ‘My word, my boy, you are to be congratulated: where did you find this entrancing creature?’

‘There’s nothing to it really, sir. You just go out into the darkened streets of Amsterdam, stretch out your hands and—well, there you are.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Naturally.’ He had no idea what he was saying. He seemed to become aware that he had been holding and shaking her hand for an unconscionably long time for he eventually and reluctantly released it. ‘Remarkable. Quite remarkable.’ He didn’t say what he found remarkable and didn’t have to. ‘You cannot possibly live in this city. Little, my dear, escapes the notice of a Chief of Police and I think it would be impossible for you to be overlooked even in a city of this size.’

‘Rotterdam.’

‘Well, that’s not your fault. Peter, I have no hesitation in saying that there can be no more stunningly beautiful lady in the city of Amsterdam.’ He lowered his voice a few decibels. ‘In fact I would come right out and say that she is the most stunningly beautiful in the city, but I have a wife and two daughters and these restaurants have ears. You must be about the same age as my daughters? May I ask how old you are?’

‘You must excuse the Colonel,’ van Effen said. ‘Policemen are much given to asking questions: some Chiefs of Police never stop.’

The girl was smiling at de Graaf while van Effen was speaking and, once again, van Effen could have been addressing a brick wall. ‘Twenty-seven,’ she said.

‘Twenty-seven. Exactly the age of my elder daughter. And Miss Anne Meijer. Bears out my contention—the younger generation of Dutchmen are a poor, backward and unenterprising lot.’ He looked at van Effen, as if he symbolized all that was wrong with the current generation, then looked again at the girl. ‘Odd. I know I’ve never seen you but your voice is vaguely familiar.’ He looked at van Effen again and frowned slightly. ‘I look forward immensely to having dinner with you, but I thought—well, Peter, there were one or two confidential business matters that we had to discuss.’

‘Indeed, sir. But when you suggested we meet at seven o’clock you made no exclusions.’

‘I don’t understand.’

The girl said: ‘Colonel.’

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘Am I really such a hussy, a harlot, harridan and ghastly spectacle? Or is it because you don’t trust me that you want to speak privately with Peter?’

De Graaf took a pace forward, caught the girl by the shoulders, removed one hand to stop a passing waiter and said: ‘A jonge jenever. Large.’

‘Immediately, Colonel.’

De Graaf held her shoulders again, stared intently into her face—he was probably trying to equate or associate the vision before him with the creature he had met in La Caracha—shook his head, muttered something to or about the same nameless deity and sank into the nearest chair.

Van Effen was sympathetic. ‘It comes as a shock, I know, sir. Happened to me the first time. A brilliant make-up artist, don’t you think? If it’s any consolation, sir, she also fooled me once. But no disguise this time—just a wash and brush-up.’ He looked at her consideringly. ‘But, well, yes, rather good-looking.’

‘Good-looking. Hah!’ De Graaf took the jonge jenever from the waiter’s tray and quaffed half the contents at a gulp. ‘Ravishing. At my age, systems shouldn’t be subjected to such shocks. Anne? Annemarie? What do I call you?’

‘Whichever.’

‘Anne. My dear. I said such dreadful things about you. It is not possible.’

‘Of course it’s not. I couldn’t believe Peter when he said you had.’

Van Effen waved a hand. ‘A loose translation, shall we say?’

‘Very loose.’ Wisely, de Graaf did not pursue the subject. ‘And what in heaven’s name, is a girl like you doing in a job like this.’

‘I thought it was an honourable profession?’

‘Yes, yes, of course. But what I meant was—well—’

‘What the Colonel means,’ van Effen said, ‘is that you should be an international stage or screen star, presiding over a Parisian salon, or married to an American oil millionaire—billionaire, if you like—or a belted English earl. Too beautiful, that’s your trouble. Isn’t that it, Colonel?’

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

‘Dear me.’ Anne smiled. ‘Doesn’t say much for your Amsterdam girls. You mean you only employ ugly girls?’

De Graaf smiled for the first time that evening. ‘I am not to be drawn. The Chief of Police is famed for his powers of recovery. But you—you—among those dreadful Krakers and dressed like a—like—’

‘Harlot? Hussy?’

‘If you like, yes.’ He put his hand on hers. ‘This is no place for a girl like you. Must get you out of it. Police is no place for you.’

‘One has to earn a living, sir.’

‘You? You need never earn a living. That, Anne, is a compliment.’

‘I like what I’m doing.’

De Graaf didn’t seem to have heard her. He was gazing at some distant object out in space. Van Effen said to the girl: ‘Watch him. He’s at his most cunning when he goes into a trance.’

‘I am not in a trance,’ de Graaf said coldly. ‘What did you say your surname was?’

‘Meijer.’

‘You have a family?’

‘Oh, yes. The usual. Parents, sisters, two brothers.’

‘Brothers and sisters share your interest in law and order?’

‘Police, you mean. No.’

‘Your father?’

‘Again police?’ She smiled as a person smiles when recalling someone of whom they are very fond. ‘I couldn’t imagine it. He’s in the building business.’

‘Does he know what kind of business you are in?’

She hesitated. ‘Well, no.’

‘What do you mean, well, no? He doesn’t, does he? Why?’

‘Why?’ She seemed to be on the defensive. ‘He likes us to be independent.’

‘Would he approve of what you are doing? And that was no answer you gave me. Would he approve of his darling daughter mingling with the Krakers?’

‘Is this what it’s like to be a suspect, sir, and to be grilled? Am I supposed to have done something wrong?’

‘Of course not. Would he approve?’ The entranced Colonel of a few minutes previously could have belonged to another world.

‘No.’

‘You put me in a quandary. I don’t like you being in this. You, apparently, do. Your father wouldn’t. To whom should I listen—you or your father?’

‘The question hardly arises, sir. You don’t know my father.’

‘Child!’

‘What does that mean. I don’t understand.’

‘I know your father. Very well. We’ve been friends for over thirty years.’

‘Impossible! You can’t know him. You’ve only just met me and you didn’t even know me.’ She was no actress and was visibly upset. ‘This is—this is a trick of some kind.’

‘Annemarie.’ Van Effen touched her arm. ‘If the Colonel says he’s a friend of your father, then he is. Come on, sir.’

‘I know. When next you write or phone, Anne—if you ever do—give my warmest regards to David Joseph Karlmann Meijer.’

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again and turned to van Effen. ‘I think it’s my turn for a jonge jenever.’

De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘My old friend David—we’ve gone sailing, fishing, skiing, hunting over the years—we were even up exploring the Amazon before this young lady here was born—owns a huge construction company. He also owns one of the biggest cement factories in the Netherlands, oil refineries, tankers, an electronics firm and God knows what else. “One has to earn a living, sir,”’ he mimicked. ‘Earn a living! Cruel, cruel landlord throwing the poor orphan out into the snow. Ah!’ He turned to look at the maître d’ at his elbow. ‘Good evening. The young people will choose for me. But, first, another jonge jenever.’ He looked at Annemarie. ‘Must have something to cry into. They say gin is best.’

After the orders had been taken and the maître d’ and his minions departed, van Effen said: ‘You have a scenario, sir, and you don’t like what you see.’

‘I don’t like it at all. Two things. If anything happens to this young lady—well, David Meijer’s wrath is fearful to behold—and it’s considerably worse to be the object of it. Secondly, disguise or no disguise, Anne’s identity may be discovered. It can happen, as you know all too well, Peter: a slip of the tongue, an unguarded reference, some careless action, there are too many possibilities. What a windfall for a penniless Kraker or even worse, a professional kidnapper. Her father would pay five, ten million guilders to get her back. Do you like it, Peter?’

Van Effen made to speak, then glanced at the waiter who stood by his side.

‘Lieutenant van Effen. Phone.’

Van Effen excused himself. De Graaf said: ‘Well, do you like it?’

‘Not the way you put it but—I don’t want to seem impertinent, sir, to disagree with my boss, but I think you put it too strongly. I’ve been doing this kind of work for some months in Rotterdam and nothing has ever happened to me there. And while there may be no Krakers down there, the criminal element are a great deal tougher than they are here. I’m sorry, Colonel, but I think you exaggerate the dangers. I’m rather good at disguises—you as much as said so yourself. I have a gun. Best, of course, is that no one in Amsterdam knows me.’

‘I know you.’

‘That’s different. Peter says that you know everyone—and you must admit that it was a very remote chance that you knew my father.’

‘I could have found out easily enough. Peter knows?’

‘Only my name. Not who I am, not until you spoke about it just now. I must say he didn’t seem particularly surprised.’ She smiled. ‘He could, of course, have been unconcerned or uninterested.’

‘You’re fishing for compliments, my dear.’ She made to protest but he held up his hand. ‘In your case, indifference is impossible. The Lieutenant cares very much for people. That doesn’t mean he goes around showing it all the time. It’s a learned habit. I know he didn’t know. I’m equally sure Julie does.’

‘Ah. Julie. Your favourite lady in all Amsterdam?’

‘I now have two favourite ladies in all Amsterdam. With the usual provisos, of course.’

‘Your wife and daughters, of course.’

‘Of course. Don’t stall. You’re very good at stalling, you know, Anne, at diverting me from the topic at hand, which is you, and don’t give me those big innocent eyes.’

‘Julie knows,’ she said. ‘How did you know that, sir?’

‘Because I know Julie. Because she’s clever. Because she’s a woman. Living so close to you she’s bound to notice things that others wouldn’t. Clothes, jewellery, personal possessions—things the average working girl wouldn’t have. Even the way you speak. Fine by me if Julie knows, she’d never tell anyone, I’ll bet she’s never even told her brother. You like living there?’

‘Very much. And Julie, also very much. I think she likes me, too. I have the honour to sleep in the bedroom that used to be Peter’s. I believe he left about six years ago.’ She frowned. ‘I asked her why he’d left, it couldn’t have been an argument, they’re obviously terribly fond of each other, but she wouldn’t tell me, just said I’d have to ask Peter.’

‘Did you ask him?’

‘No.’ She shook her head very firmly. ‘One doesn’t ask the Lieutenant personal questions.’

‘I agree that he does rather give that impression. He’s quite approachable really. No secret about his departure—he left to get married. Marianne. Loveliest girl in Amsterdam, even although I do say it about my own niece.’

‘She’s your niece?’

‘Was.’ De Graaf’s voice was sombre. ‘Even in those days Peter was the best, most able cop in the city; far better than I am but for God’s sake don’t tell him so. He broke up a particularly vicious gang of people who specialized in a nice mixture of blackmail and torture. Four brothers, they were, the Annecys. God knows where they got their name from. Peter put two of them away for fifteen years. The other two just vanished. Shortly after the conviction of the two brothers, someone, almost certainly one or both of the two brothers that had not been brought to justice, placed in Peter’s weekend canal boat a huge bomb wired up to the ignition switch—same technique as was used by the murderers who assassinated Lord Mountbatten. As it happened, Peter wasn’t aboard his boat that weekend. But Marianne and their two children were.’

‘Dear God!’ The girl’s hands were clenched. ‘How awful. How—how dreadful!’

‘And every three months or so since that time he receives a postcard from one of the two surviving Annecy brothers. Never any message. Just a drawing of a noose and a coffin, a reminder that he’s living on borrowed time. Charming, isn’t it?’

‘Horrible! Just horrible! He must be worried to death. I know I would. Wondering every night when I go to sleep—if I could sleep—whether I would wake up in the morning.’

‘I don’t think he worries much—if he did he’d never show it—and I know he sleeps very well. But that’s the reason—although he never mentions it—why he doesn’t return to live with Julie. He doesn’t want her to be around when the bomb comes through his window.’

‘What a way to live! Why doesn’t he emigrate somewhere, live under an assumed name?’

‘If you ever get to know Peter van Effen—really know him, I mean—you’ll wonder why you ever asked that question. Anne, you have an enchanting smile. Let me see it again.’

She gave a puzzled half-smile. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He’s coming back. Let me see how good an actress you are.’

And, indeed, when van Effen returned to the table she was smiling, a person at ease with the world. When she looked up and saw the expression—more accurately, the total lack of expression—on his face she stopped smiling.

‘About to ruin our dinner, are you, Peter?’ de Graaf shook his head. ‘And such a splendid meal we’ve ordered.’

‘Not quite.’ Van Effen smiled faintly. ‘Might put us off our third bottle of Bordeaux or Burgundy or whatever. Perhaps even the second bottle? First, let me put you briefly in the picture as to what happened earlier today. Yes, sir, I’ll have some wine, I feel I could do with a mild restorative. I’ve been offered a job—at, I’m sure, a far higher salary plus than I’m ever likely to get in this police force—to blow something up. What, I don’t know. Could be the Amsterdam—Rotterdam bank for all I know. Maybe a boat, bridge, barge, barracks, maybe anything. Haven’t been told yet.

‘As you know, Vasco had brought those two characters to the Hunter’s Horn this afternoon. Prosperous and respectable citizens, but, then, no successful criminal ever looks like one. We were all very cagey and crafty, toing-and-froing, sparring and giving nothing away for most of the time. Then they made me this definite offer of a job and I accepted. They said they would have to report back to their superiors but would definitely contact me tomorrow and give me details of the job to be done and what my rewards would be for this. Vasco was to be the courier. So we shook hands like gentlemen and parted with expressions of goodwill and mutual trust.

‘I had two sets of tails waiting at a discreet distance from the Hunter’s Horn. I’ve had a report—’

‘Goodwill and mutual trust?’ Annemarie said.

De Graaf waved a hand. ‘We tend to use figurative terms in our profession. Proceed, Peter.’

‘I’ve had news of both sets of tails. The first say that they lost Agnelli and Paderiwski—that’s what they called themselves—’

‘Good God!’ de Graaf said. ‘Agnelli and Paderiwski. A famous industrialist and a famous pianist. Aren’t they original?’

‘That’s what I thought. Lost them in a traffic jam, they say. Claimed that they hadn’t been spotted. Pure accident. The report about the other two makes me wonder, to say the least.’

‘ “About” the other two?’ de Graaf said. ‘Not “from”?’

‘About. They were found in a darkened alley. Barely able to call for help, barely conscious. Unable to move and both in agony. Both men had had both kneecaps smashed. A sign used in Sicily and certain American cities that some people don’t like being followed and that those who were doing the following won’t be doing it again for some time to come. They weren’t knee-capped—no guns. Iron bars. They’re under surgery. Neither man will be able to walk for months, neither will ever be able to walk properly again. Nice, isn’t it, sir. And a new development in our fair city. Another instance, one supposes, of the steady advance of American culture.’

‘Crippled?’ Annemarie’s voice was low, barely above a whisper. ‘Crippled for life. How can you—how can you joke about such things.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Van Effen looked at her, saw that some colour had gone from her face, and pushed her glass closer to her. ‘Take some. I’ll join you. Joking? I can assure you I never felt less funny in my life. And it’s not just an American practice, sir: it’s become a very popular pastime in Northern Ireland in the past two or three years.’

‘So your other tails were almost certainly given the slip and nothing accidental about it.’ De Graaf sampled his Bordeaux and the distressing news didn’t appear to have upset him unduly for he smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘Excellent. Our friends seem to have a considerable expertise in both evasive and direct action. Professionals. And gone to ground. Ah. All is not lost. The Chateaubriand. You said you would share this with me, my dear.’

She appeared to give a tiny shudder. ‘I know it’s trite, silly, but I don’t think I could eat a thing.’

‘Maybe the moles will come out of their burrows tomorrow,’ van Effen said. ‘I’m still hoping that they will keep their promise and make contact with me.’

Annemarie stared at him, almost blankly. ‘You must be mad,’ she said in a low voice. She seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘Either they’ll come and give you the same treatment, perhaps worse, perhaps dispose of you permanently, or they won’t come at all. After they carried out that savage attack on those poor men they could have examined them and found out that they were policemen. They must have been carrying something that would identify them as policemen, even guns. Were they carrying guns?’ Van Effen nodded. ‘Then they’ll know you are a policeman because they’ll know you must have had them followed since they left the Hunter’s Horn. You like the idea of suicide?’ She reached out and touched de Graaf’s wrist. ‘You mustn’t let him do it, sir. He’ll be killed.’

‘Your concern does you credit.’ It was van Effen who answered and he seemed quite unmoved by her plea. ‘But quite uncalled for. The villains don’t necessarily know that I set the tails on their tracks. They might not even have noticed them until long after they’d left the Hunter’s Horn and would have no reason to connect me with them. That’s one thing. The other thing is the fact that though the Colonel is your father’s friend that doesn’t give the father’s daughter the right to advise the Colonel. A fledgling policewoman. A Chief of Police. It would be laughable if it weren’t so presumptuous.’

She looked at him, her eyes hurt as if she had been struck, then lowered her gaze to the tablecloth. De Graaf looked at van Effen, shook his head slightly, then took the girl’s hand.

‘Your concern does do you credit. It does. But it doesn’t give me much credit in your eyes. None. Look at me.’ She looked at him, the hazel eyes at once solemn and apprehensive. ‘Van Effen is absolutely correct. The foxes have to be flushed from their covers and this, at the moment, seems the only way to do it. So Peter will go—I would never order him to go—and with my consent. Good heavens, girl, do you think I would use him as live bait, a lamb to the slaughter, a Daniel in the lion’s den, a tethered goat for the tiger? My word, I do have a way with metaphors. I guarantee, my girl, that, when and if the meeting does take place, both the Hunter’s Horn and the surrounding area will be alive with invisible armed men. Invisible to the ungodly. Peter will be as safe as a man in a church.’

‘I know. I’m silly. I’m sorry.’

‘Pay no attention to the Colonel’s comforting words,’ van Effen said. ‘I shall probably be riddled with bullets. Police bullets. Unless it’s pointed out to them that I’m in disguise. Ironic if they shot the wrong man. Same outfit as before. Just let them concentrate on the black glove. That’s me.’

A waiter approached their table. ‘Sorry, Lieutenant. There’s another call for you.’

Van Effen was back inside two minutes. ‘Well, no surprise, surprise. The FFF, again, mysterious message, no doubt stepping up their demoralizing campaign. They say there could be some havoc wreaked along the North Holland Canal tomorrow at Alkmaar at 9 a.m., but they have made no guarantee that there will be. All they have promised is that there will be some quite considerable activity.’

De Graaf said: ‘That was all?’

‘All. I see. Seems utterly pointless and meaningless. What the devil do you think they’re up to now?’

‘It’s not pointless. That’s just the point—to make us wonder and worry about just what the devil they are up to now. They want to create uncertainty, confusion and demoralization and it would seem to me that they’re going the right way about it. Speaking of the FFF, sir, how was your pleasure trip to Texel this afternoon?’

‘Complete waste of time. I was accompanied, as you more or less predicted, by a bunch of old women.’

‘You don’t intend to be at Alkmaar at 9 a.m. tomorrow?’

‘I intend to be in Amsterdam at 9 a.m. tomorrow. What am I supposed to do? Lurk around and nab anyone who looks as if he is acting suspiciously, such as gloating over the scene of the crime?’

‘An unpromising course of action. You’ve got friends in the University, sir. Specifically, in the linguistics department?’

De Graaf said to Annemarie: ‘I’m supposed to look startled at this sudden switch and ask “why on earth do you ask that?” ’ He looked at van Effen. ‘Well, why on earth do you ask that?’

‘I listened to the FFF’s tapes in the Telegraph’s office earlier on this evening. A woman’s voice. A young woman, I would say. And not Dutch, I’m sure.’