Floodgate

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘There would be a landslide defeat for them at the next election or, much more likely, they would be turfed out of office very promptly. For your average cabinet minister, such a possibility is too appalling for contemplation. So we won’t get our feet wet. Motivated not by their own miserable fear, cowardice, greed and love of power but by the overriding dictates of common humanity, Whitehall will gallantly bow its head to the terrorists.’

  There was a considerable silence, interrupted only by the hissing and drumming of rain on the window panes and streets and the constant rumbling of distant thunder. Then George said: ‘You never did have a very high opinion of politicians, did you, Peter?’

  ‘I’m in the sort of job where I have the unfortunate privilege of coming into contact with far too many of them.’

  George shook his head. ‘That’s as may be. But that’s a very, very cynical outlook to adopt, Peter.’

  ‘We live in a very, very cynical world, George.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed.’ There was a pause and this time George nodded his head. ‘But sadly I have to agree with you. On both counts. About the world. And about the politicians.’

  Nobody had anything more to say until a van drew up before the hotel entrance—it was, in fact, the mini-bus that had been used in the Dam Square the previous evening. Romero Agnelli, who was driving, wound down the window and slid back the door behind him.

  ‘Jump in. You can tell me where to go.’

  ‘Jump out,’ van Effen said. ‘We want to talk to you.’

  ‘You want to—what’s wrong, for God’s sake?’

  ‘We just want to talk.’

  ‘You can talk inside the bus.’

  ‘We may not be going anywhere in that bus.’

  ‘You haven’t got the—’

  ‘We’ve got everything. Are we going to stand here all day shouting at each other through the rain?’

  Agnelli slid the door forward, opened his own and got out, followed by Leonardo, Daniken and O’Brien. They hastily mounted the steps into the shelter of the porch.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Agnelli said. The suave veneer had cracked a little. ‘And what the hell—’

  ‘And who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’ van Effen said. ‘We’re not your employees. We’re your partners—or we thought we were.’

  ‘You think you—’ Agnelli cut himself off, frowned, smiled and hauled his urbanity back into place. ‘If we must talk—and it seems we must—wouldn’t it be a little more pleasant inside?’

  ‘Certainly. This, by the way, is the Lieutenant.’ Van Effen made the introductions which Vasco hoarsely acknowledged, apologizing profusely for the state of his throat. Agnelli, it was clear, had no idea who he was, even going as far as to say that Vasco couldn’t possibly be anything else than an army officer.

  Inside, seated in a remote corner of the lounge, van Effen unfolded his newspaper and laid it on the table before Agnelli. ‘I suppose you can see those headlines?’

  ‘Um, well, yes, as a matter of fact, I can.’ He could hardly have failed to for the banner headline was the biggest the newspaper could produce. It read, quite simply, ‘FFF BLACKMAILS TWO NATIONS’ which was followed by a number of only slightly smaller headlines which were concerned primarily with the perfidy of the FFF, the heroic resolution of the Dutch government, the dauntless defiance of the British government and one or two other lies.

  ‘Yes, well, we rather thought you might have read something like this,’ Agnelli said. ‘And we did think you might have been a little troubled. But only a little. I mean, I personally can see no reason for concern, or that anything has radically altered. You knew what the reasons for your employment—sorry, engagement—were and you knew what we were doing. So what has changed so much overnight?’

  ‘This much has changed,’ George said. ‘The scope of the thing. The escalation of the plan. The sheer enormity of the matter. I’m a Dutchman, Mr Agnelli. The Lieutenant is a Dutchman. Stephan Danilov may not be Dutch born, but he’s a damn sight more Dutch than he is anything else and we’re not going to stand by and see our country drowned. And country, Mr Agnelli, means people. It is certain that none of us three operates inside the law: it is equally certain that none of us would ever again operate outside the law if we thought that our actions would bring harm to any person alive. Quite apart from that, we’re out of our depth. We are not small-time criminals but we do not act at an international level. What do you people want with Northern Ireland? Why do you want the British out? Why do you blackmail our government—or the British? Why do you threaten to drown thousands of us? Why threaten to blow up the Royal Palace? Or haven’t you read the papers? Are you all mad?’

  ‘We are not mad.’ Agnelli sounded almost weary. ‘It’s you who are mad—if you believe all that you read in the papers. The papers have just printed—in this instance, what your government has told them to say—in a state of national emergency, and the government do regard this as such, they have the power to do so. And the government have told them what we told them to say. They have followed our instructions precisely. We have no intention of hurting a single living soul.’

  ‘Northern Ireland is still a far cry from blackmailing the Dutch government for a little ready cash,’ van Effen said. ‘This, we thought, had been your original intention and one with which we’d have gone along. Quite willingly. We have no reason to love the government.’ He stared off into the far distance. ‘I have no reason to like quite a number of governments.’

  ‘On the basis of what you have told me,’ Agnelli said, ‘I can quite understand that.’ He smiled, produced his ebony cigarette-holder, fitted a Turkish cigarette and lit it with his gold-inlaid onyx lighter, all of which demonstrated that he was at ease, in charge and back on balance again—assuming, that is, that he had ever been off it in the first place. ‘Cash is the basis, gentlemen, and only cash. Precisely how it is the basis I am not yet permitted to divulge but you have my assurance that it is the sole and only motivation. And you also have my assurance—which you can take or leave as you choose—that we have no intention of bringing harm to anyone. And, quite honestly, in saying so we are not so moved, perhaps, by humanitarian considerations as you are. Organized crime on a large scale is big business and we run our affairs on a business-like basis. Emotion is nothing, calculation all. Killing not only pays no dividends, it is counter-productive. A robber is pursued by the law, but only within reasonable limits: but he who kills in the process of robbery is relentlessly pursued. No, no, gentlemen, we are in the business of conducting a purely psychological warfare.’

  George reached across the table and touched another headline. ‘Kidnapping young ladies is another form of psychological warfare?’

  ‘But of course. One of the most effective of all psychological forms of blackmail. It touches the strings of one’s heart, you understand.’

  ‘You are a cold-blooded bastard,’ George said genially. When George was at his most genial he was at his most menacing and the slight compression of Agnelli’s lips showed that he realized that he was in the presence of menace. ‘I wonder how you would like it if your wife, sister or daughter were held with a gun at their heads or a knife at their throats? And don’t throw up your hands in horror. Blackmailers never hold hostages without accompanying threats of what will happen if their blackmailing ends are not achieved. As often as not such threats are carried out. What would it be in this case? Turning them over to some of the less uninhibited among your employees for a few hours’ innocent pleasure? Torture? Or the ultimate? We are, as we have repeatedly told you, not men of violence. But if any harm were to come in any way to those young ladies, totally harmless and innocent as we believe them to be, we would be capable of actions that you would regard as being acts of unimaginable violence. I do wish you would believe me, Mr Agnelli.’

  Agnelli believed him all right. The atmosphere in the Trianon’s lounge was acceptably cool but a sheen of sweat had suddenly appeared on Agnelli
’s forehead.

  George said: ‘Why, for instance, did you kidnap this Anne Meijer? Is it because her father runs a minor kingdom of his own and may be presumed to have a powerful voice in government?’ Agnelli nodded silently. ‘And this’—he twisted the paper to have a glance at it—’this Julie van Effen. She’s only a policeman’s sister. There are thousands of policemen in the Netherlands.’

  ‘There’s only one van Effen.’ Agnelli spoke with a considerable depth of feeling. ‘We know there’s a nationwide hunt up for us but we also know who’s leading it. Van Effen. If we have his sister, and we do, we may clip his wings a bit.’

  ‘You don’t sound as if you care for this man very much?’ Agnelli said nothing, the look in his eyes said it for him. ‘And you still ask me to believe that you wouldn’t subject those girls to some subtle or not so subtle forms of persuasion to achieve your ends?’

  ‘I don’t really care whether you believe me or not.’ Once again Agnelli was beginning to sound more than a little tired. ‘I believe you are quite capable of doing what you say you would do if you found out we are deceiving you. I have no doubt that you are heavily armed. I suggest you come along and see and believe for yourselves. That includes seeing our hostages this afternoon. If you don’t like what you see you can leave or take any other measures you think appropriate. There’s nothing else I can say and I can’t speak fairer than that.’

  George said: ‘Stephan?’

  ‘We’ll go along. Mr Agnelli’s explanations may be a bit thin, but if we are to believe in the essence of what he says—and I have no reason to think that we shouldn’t—then I think we all may have a great deal to lose if we are raising objections to a state of affairs that do not exist. It wouldn’t be very bright of us to cut off our own noses. As Mr Agnelli says, let’s go and see for ourselves.’

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Agnelli didn’t mop his brow, perhaps because he wasn’t the brow-mopping kind, but almost certainly because he would not have regarded it as a very politic thing to do. ‘I was by no means convinced that you would come to see it my way—you are exceptionally difficult negotiators, if I may say so—but I am glad you have done.’ Moderation, reasonableness, courtesy—Agnelli could generously afford all of those now that he had had, as he thought, his own way. ‘Now, where’s the truck?’

  ‘Nearby garage.’

  ‘Garage? Is it safe—’

  ‘I own it,’ George said. ‘Goodness sake, do you think this is the first time?’

  ‘Of course. Silly question.’

  ‘We have one or two questions,’ van Effen said. ‘We’re committed now and we’ve no more wish to take chances than you have. I don’t for a moment suppose we’ll know where this place is until we get there. Have you a place of concealment for this truck?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many people are going out there?’

  ‘Apart from yourselves? The three of us, Mr Riordan whom you haven’t met but have read about, Joop and Joachim. Why?’

  ‘Please. My turn for questions. You travel in the mini-bus?’

  ‘Well, no. We’d hoped there would be plenty of room in the truck.’

  No, indeed, van Effen thought. They wanted to keep the closest possible eye on the three of them and the precious contents of the truck. ‘How many cars?’

  ‘Cars?’ Agnelli looked faintly surprised. ‘No cars. Why?’

  ‘Why?’ Van Effen looked at the ceiling, then at George, then back at Agnelli. ‘Why? Tell me, Mr Agnelli, have you ever transported stolen Government property before?’

  ‘This will be a new experience for me.’

  ‘I want two cars. One to follow the truck at two or three hundred metres, the other to follow the first car at a similar distance.’

  ‘Ah! Well, now, I appreciate this. You do not wish to be followed.’

  ‘I have a rooted objection to being followed. One chance in a million. We do not take that chance.’

  ‘Good, good. Joop and Joachim. I’ll phone now.’

  ‘Last question. We forgot to discuss this. Do we return to the city tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should have told us. We do require a toothbrush or two. However, we guessed right and packed some gear. Three minutes in the lobby.’

  Back in his room van Effen said: ‘George, I’ve said it before and say it again. Your career has been a wasted one, ruined and misplaced. That was splendid, quite splendid.’

  George made a mock-modest gesture of depreciation. ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘How to establish a moral ascendancy in one easy lesson. They’re going to go out of their way not to step on our toes. And did you gather the impression, George, that they need us more than we need them. Or, at least, that they think so?’

  ‘Yes. Intriguing.’

  ‘Very. Second, they know that they’re not going to be followed. It was our suggestion, so that makes us trustworthy?’

  ‘Anyone can see that. It will also, we trust, make them relax their vigilance.’

  ‘We trust. Third, again thanks to you, it is certain that Agnelli has no idea whatsoever who I am. Agnelli is sadly in need of a course of instruction from you. He’s a poor dissembler and overreacts too easily. It is not possible, that, knowing who I was, he could have sat at the same table without giving himself away. Lastly, it seems fairly certain that we’ll be safe until or unless they find out who we are or until we are no longer of any use to them—when they have achieved whatever it is they want to achieve, that is. But I think the latter unlikely. I could understand them wanting to dispose of us if we were to betray their identity but their identity is already well known—the names of those in Dessens’ house last night will probably be in every major newspaper in Europe this morning. Or by night-fall. And the TV and radio. I asked Mr Wieringa to make specially sure about that. And didn’t you love all this talk about limiting themselves solely to pure psychology and being interested only in cash returns? You believed him, of course?’

  ‘You can always trust a man like Mr Agnelli.’

  Agnelli, O’Brien and Daniken were waiting in the lounge when the two men descended. Van Effen said: ‘Fixed?’

  ‘Yes. But one thing we overlooked—or I overlooked. I said I’d call them back. I didn’t know whether to ask them to come here or not.’

  ‘We’ll let them know when we move out in the truck.’

  ‘Why not call them from here?’

  Van Effen looked at him as if in faint surprise. ‘Do you ever make two consecutive calls from the same phone?’

  ‘Do I—’ Agnelli shook his head. ‘And to think that I thought I was the most suspicious, most security-conscious person around. Do we move now?’

  ‘The heating in Dutch army trucks is rather sub-standard. I suggest a schnapps. We have time?’

  ‘We have. Very well. Until the Lieutenant comes, I assume.’

  ‘He doesn’t join us. We join him. That’s why I suggested a schnapps. Takes him a little time.’

  ‘I see. Rather, I don’t. He’s not going to join—’

  ‘He’s leaving by the fire escape. The Lieutenant has a penchant for unorthodox exits. Also, he’s bashful about calling attention to himself.’

  ‘Unorthodox. Bashful. I understand now.’ Standing by what appeared to be a freshly painted army truck in an otherwise empty, brightly lit small garage, Agnelli surveyed the rather impressive figure of Vasco who was now attired in what was obviously a brand new Dutch army captain’s uniform. ‘Yes, I understand. The desk staff in the Trianon would have found the change rather intriguing. But I thought—um—the lieutenant was a lieutenant?’

  ‘Old habits die hard. You don’t change a man’s name just because he changes his suit. Promoted last month. Services to Queen and country.’

  ‘Services to—ah, I see.’ Agnelli, it was clear, didn’t see at all. ‘And what’s this bright orange dagger flash on the radiator?’

  ‘ “Manoeuvres. Do not approach.” ’

  ‘You don�
�t miss much and that’s a fact,’ Agnelli said. ‘May I look inside?’

  ‘Naturally. I wouldn’t like you to think that you’d bought a pig in a poke.’

  ‘This, Mr Danilov, is the most unlikely looking pig in a poke that I’ve ever seen.’ Agnelli had inspected the neatly stacked and, in the case of the missiles and launchers, highly gleaming contents of the truck and was now actually rubbing his hands together. ‘Magnificent, quite magnificent. By heavens, Mr Danilov, when George here is given a shopping list I must say that he delivers. I wouldn’t have believed it.’

  George made a dismissive gesture. ‘A little assistance from the Lieutenant here. Next time, something a little more difficult.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid.’ Agnelli looked towards the front of the truck and at the heavily side-curtained bench seat behind the front seats. ‘That, too? I see, Mr Danilov, that you share my passion for privacy.’

  ‘Not I. Senior Dutch army officers on manoeuvres.’

  ‘No matter. Mr Riordan, I am sure, will be delighted. When you meet him you will understand why. He is a man of a rather striking appearance and rather difficult to conceal, which is a pity, as he does like his privacy.’ Agnelli was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat and said: ‘In view of all this and the very, very stringent security precautions you have taken, Mr Danilov, I do feel a bit—in fact, very—diffident about asking—but, well, do you mind if Mr O’Brien here carried out a closer inspection?’

  Van Effen smiled. ‘I’ve often wondered what Mr O’Brien’s function might be. But this? Well, I’m slightly puzzled. If Mr O’Brien knows more about explosives and arms than we three do, then he must be Europe’s leading expert and our services would seem to be superfluous.’

  ‘Explosives, Mr Danilov?’ O’Brien was an easy smiler and had a pleasant light baritone voice, a natural for the rendering of ‘When Irish eyes’. ‘Explosives terrify me. I’m an electronics man.’

  ‘Mr O’Brien is being modest,’ Agnelli said. ‘He’s an electronics expert and one of the very best in the business. Security. Alarms. Installation—or deactivating.’