‘My, my,’ van Effen said. ‘Imagine forgetting a name like Agnelli.’
Agnelli smiled. ‘I didn’t think you would be the man to miss much, Mr Danilov. Yes, my sister. And this is Kathleen.’ Kathleen, petite and slender, had blue eyes, dark hair and a slightly humorous, slightly wry expression which in no way detracted from the fact that she was very pretty indeed.
‘Kathleen?’ van Effen said. ‘But that’s an Irish name. And, if I don’t give offence, you’re every man’s concept of what an Irish colleen should look like. You know, the one in the song “I’ll take you home again, Kathleen”?’
She made a mock curtsy. ‘You choose to flatter me, kind sir. No offence. My mother is Irish. I’m quite proud of it, in my own Celtic way.’
Professor Spanraft’s putative ex-student, van Effen knew. And, beyond doubt, the girl who had spoken over the telephone to the sub-editor Morelis and others.
‘It was promised that I would meet your leader tonight,’ van Effen said. ‘He is not here.’
‘He asked me to convey his apologies,’ Agnelli said. ‘An urgent appointment that he couldn’t break.’ If one were in any way courteous, van Effen reflected, one did not break appointments with Ministers of Justice.
‘Those are all your group?’
‘No.’ Agnelli waved a hand. ‘Those are all that are with us tonight.’
‘Pity I won’t be able to further my acquaintance with them,’ van Effen said. ‘They may be with us but I won’t be with them.’ He turned towards the door. ‘I trust they enjoy their trip to the cellars. I’m sorry, Mr Agnelli. Good-night.’
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute!’ Agnelli, no longer smiling, was totally taken aback, his face registering his lack of comprehension.
‘A minute? Not a second. Not in this company.’ Van Effen looked around the other equally startled and puzzled occupants of the room, his eyes and mouth dismissive and more than slightly contemptuous. ‘If you imagined that I was going to move into hostile territory—and no matter how good your inside information may be, the possibility of danger is always there—carrying explosives and with this bunch of amateur rubberneckers traipsing at my heels, you have to be out of your mind.’ He reached for the door-handle. ‘Get yourself another demolition expert. Preferably from a lunatic asylum.’
‘Is that what it is?’ Agnelli smiled in relief. ‘My dear fellow, those people are not coming with us. Do you think I am from a lunatic asylum? Only you, Leonardo and myself.’
‘Then what are all those people doing here? And don’t tell me it’s none of my business. It is. I value my freedom above all things and my freedom is endangered when unnecessary risks are taken. Don’t you know that danger lies in numbers? Don’t you think it’s stupid to have your people holed up so near a place where you intend to carry out an illegal act? Don’t you ever operate on the need-to-know principle?’
‘This is not our base, Mr Danilov. One night only.’ Agnelli was slightly on the defensive, slightly uncomfortable. ‘Those people are here simply as observers.’
‘Observing what?’
‘The effects of the explosion.’
‘Effects? The walls of Jericho come tumbling down? There’ll be nothing to observe.’
‘Psychological effects. Reactions. Guide to our future plans.’
‘Effects on whom? The crowds thronging the Dam Square?’ Van Effen looked at him incredulously. ‘That rain’s torrential. There won’t be a single living soul in the square tonight.’ He looked slowly round the unsmiling faces. ‘Sunday-school kids on a Sunday-school picnic. Cheap thrills? Or the feeling that they’re not making a contribution, not really participating unless they’re on the spot? God help us. Let me see all the gear you have.’ Enough moral ascendancy, van Effen thought, was enough.
‘Certainly.’ Agnelli tried, not too successfully, to hide the relief in his face. ‘Joop?’
‘Yes, Mr Agnelli.’ Joop opened a cupboard and brought out some boxes which he set on the carpet and proceeded to open. ‘Primer. Detonators. Battery. The trigger mechanism. The setting on this—here—is activated by—’
‘Joop.’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you detonating this device?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not an expert. Oh, I see. Sorry.’ Discomfited, Joop withdrew. Van Effen looked at Agnelli.
‘You have the key for the radio box?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He handed it over. ‘Please excuse Leonardo and myself for a moment.’ Both men left by a side door. Van Effen unlocked the metal lid of the radio container and studied the controls on top of the radio. He turned the power on, touched a knob here, pulled a switch there, calibrated the gauges on a couple of dials and adjusted two wave-length bands. No one watching—and everyone was watching—could doubt he or she was in the presence of an expert. He then studied the timing dial on the triggering mechanism, produced pad and pencil, made a few rapid calculations then straightened, obviously satisfied.
‘Nothing to it, really, is there?’ Kathleen was smiling.
‘Agreed. Can’t imagine why I’m here.’ He stooped, locked the lid of the radio container and thrust the key into an inside pocket.
‘You do trust people, don’t you?’ Kathleen said.
‘No. Especially kids. But if you remove temptation from the reach of kids then they can’t possibly fall into it, can they? I have no wish to be blown up in the cellars of the palace.’
He turned as Agnelli and his brother re-entered the room. Both were dressed as policemen, Romero Agnelli as an inspector, his brother as a sergeant. Van Effen surveyed them.
‘You make an excellent inspector, Mr Agnelli. Really most becoming. Your brother looks the part, too, except for one thing: he’s really at least five inches too short for the police force.’
‘Short legs only,’ Agnelli said comfortably. ‘He’s as tall as anyone when he’s seated behind the wheel of a police car.’
‘You surprise me. About the police car I mean. You have—ah—come into possession of one?’
‘Not exactly. We have, shall we say, a car that looks exactly like a police car. Not too difficult.’ He looked at his watch. ‘A police car is expected at the palace in about twenty minutes.’
‘Expected?’
‘But of course. We have friends and we have made arrangements. Joop, be so kind as to pack the equipment, will you?’ He indicated two grey metallic cases that stood nearby.
‘So you just drive up and walk inside?’ van Effen said.
‘We believe in keeping things simple. Of course.’
‘Of course. No reason required, naturally. You just walk in.’
‘Yes.’ He indicated the two metal cases Joop was loading with equipment. ‘With those.’
‘Again, of course. You declare the contents?’
‘Electronic detecting equipment. For locating hidden explosives.’
‘I didn’t know there was any such thing.’
‘I don’t believe there is. However, in this silicon chip, computerized and electro-magnetic age, people believe anything. The explosives we’re looking for have—we believe—been secreted in the basements, somewhere. Underworld tip. So we go to the basements to look.’
‘You have your nerve,’ van Effen said.
‘Not really. Calculated risk and we calculate that the risk is not very high. People don’t normally publicize in advance the fact that they intend to do something which is the precise opposite of what they intend to do. And with those uniforms, the police car and the impressive set of credentials we have we don’t expect to experience too much trouble. We’ve even got a set of papers for you.’
‘That’s fine. Papers. Papers don’t matter a damn to me. Nor does the fact that you haven’t gone to the trouble to find me a uniform. What—’
‘No uniform. You’re a civilian expert. The papers say so.’
‘Let me finish. You two may—and very probably will—get off wi
th your minimal disguises. But how am I going to disguise my scarred face and the fact that I have a crippled hand? My description will probably be in every paper in the country tomorrow.’
Agnelli looked closely at the scar on van Effen’s face. ‘If you’ll pardon the cruel remark, that really is a beauty. Joachim?’ This to one of the two young men. ‘What do you think? Joachim, Mr Danilov, is an art school student and also a makeup designer for theatrical groups. He requires quite a large case to carry all his stock in trade. As you can imagine, in an organization such as ours, we find our friend’s specialized gifts invaluable.’
‘Do you have anything against beards, Mr Danilov?’ Joachim said.
‘Not as long as they don’t make me look worse than I already am.’
‘I have several in a suitably auburn shade. In your case, I’m afraid, it would have to be a beard of rather a luxuriant style. I know the one. I’ll apply some paste.’
‘Just so long as I can get it off again.’
‘Forty-eight hours and it will fall off.’ Joachim left the room.
‘About that black glove, Mr Danilov,’ Agnelli said.
‘I’m afraid there is nothing they can do with that.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘How can I be sure? If you’d a hand like mine don’t you think I’d have tried anything—everything—to camouflage it?’ Van Effen let just the right note of bitterness creep into his voice.
‘Nevertheless, perhaps I might see it?’ Agnelli’s voice was gently insistent. ‘I promise you I won’t say “Good God above” or swoon or anything of the kind.’
Van Effen, being ostentatious without appearing to be, turned his back on the rest of the company and peeled off the black glove. He held his hand up to within a foot of Agnelli’s face.
Agnelli’s normally mobile face became still. He said: ‘I promised you I wouldn’t say “Good God” or anything of the kind—but, well, I’ve never seen anything like it before. How in heaven’s name did this happen?’
Van Effen smiled. ‘Legitimately, believe it or not. Someone made a mistake when we were trying to cap an oil fire in Saudi Arabia.’
‘One trusts he paid for the mistake?’
‘There and then. He was incinerated.’
‘I see. In which case one might almost imagine you’ve been lucky.’ Agnelli took van Effen’s wrist and touched the scars with his finger-nails. ‘That must hurt.’
‘Not the slightest. Skin’s paralysed. Stick a row of needles into it or slice it with a scalpel. Wouldn’t feel a thing.’ It would be unfortunate, van Effen thought, if Agnelli took him at his word. ‘It’s unimportant. All that matters is that I can still oppose finger and thumb.’
Joachim came back and Agnelli said: ‘Do you mind if Joachim looks at this?’
‘If he’s the sensitive artistic type I should imagine he’d be better off looking elsewhere.’
Joachim looked and failed to hide the revulsion in his face. ‘That’s—that’s awful! I couldn’t—I mean—how can you bear to go about like that.’
‘I don’t have much option. It’s the only left hand I’ve got.’
Joachim said: ‘You’d better put your glove back on. There’s nothing I—nothing anyone can do about that.’
‘Time to go,’ Agnelli said. ‘Helmut, we’ll meet you and the others down in the Dam in about half an hour, perhaps forty minutes. Don’t forget the radio.’
‘The radio?’ van Effen said. ‘You’re going to operate the radio in this monsoon?’
‘We have a mini-bus. Where’s the key to the radio?’
‘In my pocket,’ van Effen said. ‘I thought it might be safer there.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
They left, taking the metal cases with them. Agnelli stopped at a door close to the entrance, opened it, went inside. He reappeared, leading a Dobermann pinscher which had about it the homicidal appearance shared by many members of its breed: it was, reassuringly, muzzled.
‘Is that animal as fierce as it looks?’ van Effen asked.
‘I’ve had the good fortune never to find out. However, he’s not here for the purposes of either defence or attack. Dobermann pinschers can be trained to smell out explosives. Use them at airports. Fact.’
‘I know it’s a fact. Has this dog been so trained?’
‘Quite frankly, I have no idea. For all I know, his olfactory nerves may be completely paralysed.’
‘I’m beginning to believe that you might even get off with this,’ van Effen said.
They made the best time they could through the drenching rain and were back at the spot where they had parked the Volvo in the Voorburgwal. Van Effen had his hand on the door when he realized that it was not, in fact, the car in which they had arrived: it was, unmistakably, a police car. Van Effen got into the back seat beside Agnelli and said: ‘You leave your own car here and come back and find a police car in its place. You know, I now do believe that you are going to get off with it after all. You do have your organization.’
‘Organization is all,’ said Agnelli.
Everything went off as Agnelli had confidently expected. They were expected at the palace and their credentials received only the most cursory inspection: they and the car were so obviously official that a more detailed examination could only have seemed superfluous: besides, it was raining very heavily indeed and the guards were very anxious indeed to get back to the shelter just as soon as they could.
Agnelli led them to a doorway which was so completely shrouded in darkness that he had to use a pencil torch to locate the keyhole of a door, a keyhole for which, as he had promised, he had the key. He also had a succession of keys which he used two flights of stairs down to open a succession of cellars. He knew the location of every door, every light switch.
‘You lived here?’ van Effen asked.
‘I’ve been here a couple of times. One has to be fairly meticulous about these things.’ He led the way through a completely empty cellar into another equally bare cellar and said: ‘This is the place. Not too difficult, was it?’
‘I find it hard to believe,’ van Effen said. ‘They do have security systems here?’
‘Excellent ones, I’m told. But security is a relative term. There is no security net that can’t be breached. Look at Buckingham Palace for instance. One of the tightest security shields in the world but as has been proved several times in the past year or so any semi-intelligent person—and, indeed, as has also been proved, those of a considerably lower IQ—can go in and out whenever they feel so inclined. Well, Mr Danilov, it’s yours.’
‘Minutes, only. Open this far door for me—if you have the key.’
Agnelli had the key. Van Effen produced a tape and proceeded to measure the thickness of the walls. He said: ‘How come all those cellars are so empty?’
‘They weren’t a few days ago. They were pretty well filled with old furniture, archives, things that you expect to collect in a royal palace over the years. Not that we were concerned with the wellbeing of those antiquities, most of which were just ancient rubbish anyway. It was no part of our plan to burn the palace down.’
Van Effen nodded, said nothing, went out—accompanied by Agnelli—and climbed a flight of steps to work out the thickness of the ceiling. He returned to the cellar, made a few calculations on a piece of paper then said: ‘We’ll use the lot. Those walls are stouter than I would have expected. But the resulting bang should still be quite satisfactory.’
‘Always a pleasure to watch an expert at work,’ Agnelli said.
‘No more than it is to watch a journeyman brick-layer at work. He does his five years’ apprenticeship. I’ve done mine.’
‘There’s a difference, I suggest, between dropping a brick and dropping a detonator.’
‘A skilled tradesman never drops anything.’ Van Effen busied himself for not more than two minutes, then said: ‘I think I recall you saying that you did have the duplicate keys for the cellars we’ve just passed through?�
��
‘I did and I have.’
‘So no one else can get near this place?’ Agnelli shook his head. ‘So. Finished.’
Their departure was no more eventful than their arrival had been. Less than ten minutes after van Effen had inserted the detonator into the primer they parked their car just behind a dimly lit mini-bus.
As they stepped out a figure emerged from the shadows. He came up to Agnelli. ‘All well, sir?’
‘No problem, John.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’ The man got into the police car and drove off.
‘More organization,’ van Effen said. ‘Formidable.’
The five people they had left in the room close by the Voorburgwal were all seated in the mini-bus which, being a fourteen-seater, was considerably larger than its name suggested. Van Effen and Agnelli sat in the wide seat in the back.
Van Effen said: ‘May one ask how long you expect to wait here?’
‘Of course.’ Agnelli had become more than his usual smiling self in the past few minutes: He was now positively jovial. He had shown no signs of strain inside the palace but strain there must inevitably have been. ‘Not quite sure myself, to be honest. A few minutes, perhaps. Certainly no more than twenty. But first, one must beware lurking and suspicious policemen. Leonardo? Catch.’
He threw something to his brother then stood up himself and shrugged his way into a long grey raincoat. Then he sat, reached below the seat, pulled out a machine which looked like and was a radio transceiver, flicked a switch which made a red light glow, then brought up a headband with one earphone, which he draped over his knee: he reached down again and brought up a microphone the lead of which was, presumably, attached to the transceiver.
‘Sorry I have to keep you waiting,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘But I, in turn, have to wait a call.’
‘More organization,’ van Effen said. ‘Quite admirable. But there is one area in which your organization falls down.’
‘Inevitably.’ Agnelli smiled. ‘In what respect?’
‘No heating in this vehicle.’
‘An oversight. Maria?’
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