Floodgate

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure you’ll find the answer.’ Van Effen was his old self, calm, assured, relaxed and very much back on balance. ‘I don’t particularly care for cool, clinical, slightly superior, slightly amused doctors, but I have to admit you’ve effectively worked a cure in my case. You’ve cured me of any interest I might ever have had in that young lady. Or maybe that was what you wanted. I don’t know.’ She was looking at him with parted lips and uncomprehending eyes. ‘I don’t need—I don’t want, I should say—help, advice or sympathy from you, and not just because they’re uncalled-for, unhelpful, unwanted or unsolicited but because I’m perfectly capable of managing my own life without the assistance of a meddlesome young sister. I’ll go check if the guard is here.’

  He went out leaving Julie to stare numbly at the door he’d closed behind him, disconsolate and disbelieving, and she was still in the same position, still gazing sightlessly at the door, the same expression of hurt and bafflement on her face when Annemarie came into the room. Annemarie stopped, looked in puzzlement at the unhappy face, hurried across the room to Julie’s chair, dropped to her knees and said: ‘What’s wrong, Julie? What’s wrong?’

  Julie looked away from the door and slowly turned her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong? Oh, God! Nothing. First me, then you. Tears. And you look—you look so woebegone.’ Annemarie hugged her. ‘Nothing wrong! Julie! Don’t treat me like an idiot.’

  ‘I’m the idiot. I’ve just made a mistake.’

  ‘You? I don’t believe it. Mistake. What mistake?’

  ‘The mistake of forgetting that Peter is not only my brother, he’s a policeman and heir apparent to the Colonel. You didn’t know that, did you?’ Julie sniffled. ‘Common knowledge. De Graaf is due to retire this year but he’s in no hurry to retire as long as Peter is already doing most of his job for him.’

  ‘Never mind the Colonel. Where’s that ruffian?’

  Julie tried to smile. ‘Second time tonight he’s been called a ruffian by two different girls. I’ll bet it’s never happened before. He’s left.’

  ‘Gone? Gone for the night?’

  ‘No. Just to check on the guard.’ Julie smiled again, a more successful effort this time. ‘He may be gifted at reducing people to tears but I’m sure he cares for us.’

  ‘He’s got a funny way of showing it. What did he do to you, Julie? What did he say?’

  ‘Do? Nothing, of course. Say? I stepped out of line, I guess, and he brought me back into line. That’s all.’

  ‘You expect me to be satisfied with that?’

  ‘No, I don’t, my dear. But can we leave it just for the moment? Please?’

  They had finished their coffee by the time van Effen had returned. He appeared to find nothing amiss or, if he did, chose not to comment on it.

  ‘Guard’s here,’ he said. ‘Armed to the teeth. And I have to go now.’

  ‘But your coffee—’

  ‘Another time. I am, as they say, summoned forth. Julie, there’s something you must do for me. Could you—’

  ‘Must?’ She smiled. ‘An order or request.’

  ‘What does that matter.’ Rarely for him, van Effen was irritated. ‘Do what I ask—please, note the please—or I’ll take Annemarie away with me.’

  ‘My word! Such threats. And if she chooses to remain here or I ask her to stay?’

  ‘Rotterdam. Tomorrow morning. Ex-police-woman. You don’t disobey orders in the police and remain on the force. Sorry, Annemarie, that was not directed at you. Julie’s not being very bright tonight. Don’t look shocked, little sister, if you can’t see I’m serious then you’ve become uncommonly stupid. Develop diplomatic flu for the next day or two. Annemarie is in as much danger as you are and I want the two of you here together. Annemarie, nine-fifteen.’

  He went to the door and opened it, looked at the two solemn faces and shook his head.

  ‘Exit the gallant Lieutenant into the dark and dreadful night.’

  He closed the door quietly behind him.

  FOUR

  The tall, thin young man in the dark and dripping raincoat would rarely have called for more than a passing glance or a comment on the fact that he did look rather unprepossessing, an impression increased by the black hair plastered to his head by the heavy rain and that he sported an ill-trimmed black moustache. The moustache, in fact, had not been trimmed at all: he had been in an unusual hurry that morning and had pasted it on ever so slightly askew.

  He was standing almost in the middle of the square when he saw her, angling across and coming almost directly towards him. Annemarie, her warpaint back in position again, looked as miserable and bedraggled as the young man, who now stepped out into her path.

  ‘Annemarie, is it?’

  Her eyes widened and she looked quickly around. Despite the near torrential rain there were a fair number of people around and a flower and vegetable open-air market only metres away. She looked again at the young man, who was smiling, a rather pleasant smile despite his overall appearance.

  ‘Please don’t worry, miss. Hardly the place where anyone would think to carry out a kidnapping. You must be Annemarie—there couldn’t be two people answering the description I was given. I’m Detective Rudolph Engel.’ He brought a badge from his pocket and showed it to her. ‘I could, of course, have stolen this. Lieutenant van Effen wants to see you. He’s in his car.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? Why did he send you? He knew where I was. He could have come to see me. What car does he have?’

  ‘A black Peugeot.’

  ‘You would know that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ The young man was patient. ‘When you’ve worked under someone for five years you do know something about him. The Lieutenant said to me, “Miss Meijer is very suspicious. Mention the Amazon, her father, the Colonel and someone’s ‘lack of courage’.” I have no idea what he meant.’

  ‘I do.’ She took his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Van Effen, relaxed behind the wheel of his car, was this morning sporting a homburg hat and a big, black, square beard of the type favoured by Sephardic jews. He looked round as Annemarie opened the passenger door and looked in.

  ‘Good morning, my dear.’

  ‘Good morning, he says. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sheltering from the rain. It’s coming down in buckets. You must have noticed. Come in, come in.’

  She sat down and looked at him accusingly. ‘Five metres, you said. Never more than five metres away. Sixty seconds in every minute. That’s what you said. Where were you? Your promise to look after me! Fine promise.’

  ‘Man proposes, God disposes.’ If van Effen was remorse stricken, he concealed it well. ‘Besides, you were being looked after. By proxy. Don’t tell me you didn’t see a rather elderly gentleman hanging around, slightly stooped, grey beard, grey coat and a white stick. He was looking after you.’

  ‘I saw him. That creature! He couldn’t have looked after a kitten.’

  ‘Whatever that means. That creature is young, fit, a judo expert and a very accurate shot.’

  ‘Beards,’ she almost muttered. ‘Beards, moustaches, that’s all they can think of. Disguises! Well, thank you, someone was there, but you broke your promise.’

  ‘It was politic to do so. I was close behind and you were less than a hundred metres from your rendezvous when I caught sight of none other than Mr Paderiwski following you even more closely than I was. Mr Paderiwski is shrewd, observant and doesn’t like me, which is a nasty combination. He might just have recognized me, especially when I was in close attendance on you. I had taken the precaution of taking two of my detectives with me—think nothing of the fact that we obviously care so much about you—and I decided discretion was the better part of foolhardiness. Hence the switch.’

  Engel said through van Effen’s open window: ‘Anything further, sir?’

  ‘No. Not here. Don’t lose sight of our friend.’

  �
��Well, I’ve already seen him, sir. There can’t be another bald, pepper and salt beard with a squint around.’

  ‘Julius Caesar?’ Annemarie said.

  ‘None other. I didn’t tell Rudolph here what his name was. He wouldn’t have believed me. A close but not too close eye on our Julius. And make sure there are always a few people around. I’d rather lose him than lose you. Don’t forget what happened to your two colleagues yesterday.’

  ‘I won’t forget, sir.’ The expression on his face was testimony enough to that. He turned and walked away into the rain.

  ‘Mollified?’ Van Effen started the engine and drove off.

  ‘A bit.’ She smiled a little. ‘Did you have to tell him I was a coward?’

  ‘I did not. Someone was, I said.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, because I am. I don’t like riding around in this car, for instance.’

  ‘It takes time to get seats fixed. And what’s that got to do—’

  ‘Please. I mean that this car is known. To criminals, I mean.’

  ‘Pfui. There’s a couple of hundred like this in the city.’

  She said sweetly: ‘There’s a couple of hundred with the same licence plates?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? You know the licence number of this car?’

  ‘More or less. Rotterdam. Three nines. We are trained to be observant, remember?’

  ‘But not observant enough to notice that these were clip-on plates, not screwed. Today, this car is registered in Paris with a big “F” at the side to prove it. I have access to an unlimited number of plates.’ She made a face but said nothing. ‘You should be interested in more important things. Such as the latest antics of the FFF.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There were no antics. They didn’t blow the dyke of the North Holland canal. They called in to both the papers and the police less than ten minutes ago. Positively hugging themselves, they are. Said they never promised they would blow the canal—which is quite true—only that there would be considerable activity in that area at nine o’clock this morning. There were, they reported, scenes of very considerable activity which is again quite true. All rescue and repair teams were there, waiting, as were considerable numbers of police and army, not to mention air force helicopters. They claimed to have taken a good number of aerial photographs of the scenes, just for keepsakes.’

  ‘You believe that, too?’

  ‘Certainly. I have no reason to disbelieve it.’

  ‘But aerial photographs? How could that be possible?’

  ‘It would be all too simple, I’m afraid. There would be any amount of helicopters buzzing about there this morning. An extra one wouldn’t be noticed especially if, as is highly likely, it was carrying some official markings.’

  ‘What was the reason behind this pointless and idiotic exercise?’

  ‘It was far from being idiotic and very much to the point. Just in case we missed the point they spelt it out very clearly. They said that in the space of twenty-four hours they had reduced the country, most especially the authorities, to a state of frustrated helplessness. The so-called authorities—they had a number of cynical and very unpleasant remarks to make about the government, the police, the army and those whose duty it was to look after the safety and welfare of dykes, locks, weirs, sluices, dams and I forget what else—were totally powerless to do anything to stop them. All they had to do, they said, was to stop at home, stick a pin into a map, phone the papers, sit back and never go within a hundred kilometres but still guarantee that the law, the army, the repair and rescue teams would be out in full force. It was, they said, both an entertaining and gratifying situation. One can readily understand why they feel that way.’

  ‘And not a word about their purposes, no hint as to what lies behind it all?’

  ‘No hint, but a suggestion that we might soon know what their demands are going to be. They didn’t use the word “demands” but they can have meant nothing else. Tomorrow, they said, they were going to flood a really large area of the country and after that they would probably have talks with the government. Can you imagine? The sheer cold arrogance of it all. They speak as if they are an independent sovereign state. Next, one supposes, they’ll be calling for an open debate in the UNO.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Plenty of time. Two minutes to remove this outfit—no washing or soaking required—and five minutes to put on my Hunter’s Horn uniform. I suggest coffee.’

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘You really are going there, aren’t you, Peter.’

  ‘Of course. I’ve said so. Somebody has to and as I am the only person who’s been in contact with them, it has to be me. How else do you think the law would ever get anywhere unless it’s prepared, just once in a while, to take the initiative?’

  ‘I wish you weren’t going. I feel certain something is going to happen. Something awful. You could be hurt, even killed, or, maybe even worse, crippled for life. You know what they did to those two men. Oh Peter!’ She was silent for a moment, then said: ‘If I were your wife, I’d stop you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said miserably. ‘Appeal to your better nature, love for me, something like, “For my sake, if you care about me, please don’t go.” Something clever like that,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Well, you’re not my wife, and, even if you were, I’d still go. I’m sorry that sounds hard and selfish and cruel, but it’s my job and I have to go.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘You’re a very kind girl and I do appreciate your concern.’

  ‘Kind? Concern?’ She caught his wrist and gently removed his hand from her arm. ‘Concern!’

  ‘Annemarie!’ Van Effen’s surprise was genuine. ‘What on earth’s wrong.’

  ‘Nothing. Just nothing.’

  Van Effen gazed ahead for some moments, sighed and said: ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand women.’

  ‘I don’t think so either.’ She seemed to hesitate, then said: ‘I don’t much fancy going to a coffee-shop.’

  ‘If you wish we won’t. But why not?’

  ‘I don’t much care for wearing this face in public. Where there are decent people around. It doesn’t matter back there. And I don’t think you are particularly keen on being seen among the same public with a freak like me.’

  ‘I know what lies behind the warpaint so it doesn’t matter to me.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I don’t know anything about women but I always know when they’re telling fibs.’

  ‘I’m telling fibs?’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘Well, yes, I am. Can’t we have coffee at Julie’s place. It’s only another five minutes.’

  ‘Sure. Time I have. I know you’re very fond of Julie. But are you also worried about her?’

  ‘I think she’s worried about me. Even though she knew you would be there she didn’t like the idea of my going back to that place.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question. You’re not, perhaps—well, just a little bit worried about her?’ She remained silent.

  ‘The Annecy brothers. Would you believe, I’ve never even seen either of them? I regard them as a fairly distant menace.’

  ‘The menace I’m thinking of is a great deal nearer to home. Well, not menace. Problem, rather.’

  ‘This is something new on me. A bagatelle, whatever it is. Give me the name of this person or problem and I’ll attend to it.’

  ‘Indeed, Lieutenant.’ Something in the tone of her voice caught van Effen’s attention and he gave her a long speculative look. ‘And how do you attend to this bagatelle, when the bagatelle in question is yourself?’

  ‘Ah. Me again. I don’t suppose there’s any point in repeating the old complaining question?’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘What the hell am I supposed to have done this time?’

  ‘By your standards, I suppose, absolutely nothing.’

  ‘I detect a certain sarcasm? Or is it irony? I’ve noticed an increasing use of it. Not becoming, Annemarie.
You should do something about it. Well, what have I done?’

  ‘Reduced a lovely girl to tears. Not once, but three times. And when I say lovely, I don’t just mean beautiful. I mean the nicest, kindest, warmest person I’ve ever met. Three times. But it’s as I said. By your standards, a bagatelle.’

  ‘Julie?’

  ‘Julie! Who else would I mean? Or do you have a whole collection of ladies that you go around reducing to tears?’

  ‘What’s she crying about?’

  ‘What’s she—I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you’re cruel, indifferent. But don’t you care that she’s upset?’

  ‘Of course I care. I’d care more if I knew why she was upset.’

  ‘I wonder. You’ll think it funny. For one thing, you left last night without a good-night hug and kiss. You’ve never done that before, she says.’

  ‘Funny? It’s ludicrous. My men getting hospitalized, a gang of lunatics threatening to inundate our country, another gang of lunatics wanting to hire me to blow up the palace or whatever, nations toppling and I’m supposed to be worried about smooches? A bagatelle? Soon fix that.’

  ‘Of course you will. A double ration of affectionate farewells. Georgie, Porgy, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry.’

  ‘Shakespeare?’

  ‘English nursery rhyme.’ Her voice was very curt indeed. ‘Perhaps a bagatelle. What does matter is that she says she hurt two people she loves because she was meddlesome. I suppose she means you and me. Said she thought she was helping but that she was too clever or too stupid for her own good.’

  ‘That’s her problem. A little bit of self-analysis never did anyone any harm.’

  ‘Self-analysis! You told her she was interfering and too smart for her own good. Anybody’s good.’

  ‘Julie told you that?’

  ‘Of course she didn’t. She’s too loyal—misplaced loyalty, perhaps. Julie would never have said that—she’s too unselfish to think about herself. But it sounds exactly like you.’

  ‘I’ll say I’m sorry. Very, very sorry.’