Floodgate

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Floodgate Page 29

by Alistair MacLean


  ‘Let’s see the plans.’

  Romero Agnelli removed a couple of papers and handed one each to van Effen and George. George was the first to speak and that only after a few seconds.

  ‘This isn’t a half-kilo device. It’s only for the equivalent of fifty tons of TNT.’

  Samuelson came very close to smirking. ‘The equivalent of ten tons would have suited me equally well. But it’s useful to exaggerate the terror potential, don’t you think?’

  George didn’t say what he thought. After less than a minute he looked up and spoke again. ‘Only moderately complicated and very precise. Two snags. The first is that Joop speaks fractured English and people who have difficulty in speaking only the simplest form of a language usually are pretty hopeless when it comes to reading or writing it. The second snag is the jargon.’

  ‘Jargon?’

  ‘Technical terms,’ van Effen said. ‘They might as well be in Sanskrit as far as Joop is concerned.’

  ‘Well?’

  Van Effen handed his paper back to Agnelli. ‘We’ll have to think and talk about it.’

  Samuelson tried, not altogether successfully, to smother the smile of a man who knows he has won his point. For the next minute or two they remained, sipping their brandies in comparative and apparently companionable silence, when the singers, if such they were, slowly faded from the screen to be replaced by the now familiar figure of the tragedy-stricken newscaster.

  ‘The government have just announced that they have just received two more demands from the FFF. The first of those concerned the demand for a hundred and twenty million guilders and how it is to be transferred. The government does not say whether it will accede to the request and refuses to discuss the nature of the transfer. The second demand is for the release of two prisoners who were imprisoned several years ago for crimes of extreme violence. The government refuses to disclose the names of the prisoners.

  ‘We would remind viewers that we shall be on the air again at midnight to find out whether the FFF have, in fact, breached the Flevoland dykes.’

  Agnelli switched off the set. ‘Satisfactory,’ Samuelson said. He was actually rubbing his hands together. ‘Eminently satisfactory.’

  ‘Seems like a pretty silly and stupid broadcast to me,’ van Effen said.

  ‘Not at all.’ Samuelson was positively beaming. ‘The nation now knows that the government has received details of our demands and, as they have not outright rejected them it probably means that they are going to accede to them. It also shows how weak the government is and in how strong a position we are.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. They’ve been stupid. They didn’t have to make that announcement at all.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they did. They were told that if they didn’t we would radio the communiqué to Warsaw who would be just too delighted to rebroadcast it to Western Europe.’

  ‘You have a transmitter that can reach as far as Warsaw?’

  ‘We haven’t got a transmitter, period. Nor do we know anyone in Warsaw. The threat was enough. Your government,’ Samuelson said with considerable satisfaction, ‘is now reduced to such a state of fear and trepidation, that they believe anything we say. Besides, they would look pretty silly, wouldn’t they, if the announcement came through Poland?’

  Van Effen refused the offer of a second brandy, he had every reason to keep a clear mind for the next hour or two, and said goodnight.

  Samuelson looked at him in some surprise. ‘But you’ll be coming down to see the midnight broadcast?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t doubt your ability to carry out your threat.’

  ‘I’m going too,’ George said, ‘but I shall be back down. Just going to see how the Lieutenant is. Incidentally, Mr Samuelson, if I may—’

  ‘Another toddy for the young lieutenant. Certainly, my friend, certainly.’

  ‘He may have a bit of a head in the morning,’ George said, ‘but he should be halfway towards recovery in the morning.’

  Vasco, was in fact, in excellent health and showing no signs of an incipient headache.

  ‘Still the same lad. I should imagine the changeover will be at nine. Some guard. Spends most of the time with his chin on his chest then jerks awake.’

  ‘Let’s hope his relief is of the same cast of mind. Me, I’m going to have a snooze. If he’s still there at, say, nine-twenty, give me a shake. If he’s relieved at nine, shake me at ten. How do you operate the radio on that army truck? And what’s its range?’

  ‘Unlimited. Well, a hundred, two hundred kilometres, I’m not sure. Operation is simple. Just lift the receiver and press the red button. The transmitter is pre-set to the nearest army command base which is always manned.’

  ‘I particularly don’t want to talk to the army. I want to talk to Marnixstraat.’

  ‘Easy. Standard tuning dial, standard wavebands and a switch beside the button for illumination that picks out the wave-lengths very easily indeed.’

  Van Effen nodded, stretched out on a bed and closed his eyes.

  TEN

  George woke van Effen at 10 p.m.

  ‘New sentry took over at nine. Hardly seems an improvement on the other one except, that is, from your point of view. He’s middle-aged, fat, wears two overcoats, is sitting in the armchair with a rug over his knees and, you’ll be pleased to hear, also has a bottle in his hand.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of man.’ Van Effen rose and changed his trousers for a pair of denims.

  Vasco said: ‘What’s that? Your battle uniform?’

  ‘What’s Samuelson going to say if he sees me in sodden trousers or even dry trousers that are so wrinkled that it will look as if I’d fallen into a river?’

  ‘Ah. Well, you’re going to get wet enough, that’s for sure. Rain’s heavier than ever. There are times when we can hardly see the lad in the loft doorway.’

  ‘Suits me fine. That barn wasn’t built yesterday and old floor-boards in old lofts tend to creak. With rain like this drumming on the roof he won’t be able to hear a thing. Besides, judging from George’s general description, the sentry is probably half deaf anyway.’ He strapped on his Smith and Wesson, shrugged into his jacket and put the aerosol can in one pocket and the hooded torch in the other.

  ‘Velvet gloves,’ George said.

  Vasco said: ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Silenced pistol and a knockout gas canister. That’s what he calls velvet gloves.’

  Van Effen dug into an inside pocket, brought out a small leather wallet, unzipped it, took out the metallic contents, examined them, then returned them to the wallet and pocket.

  ‘Skeleton keys and picklocks,’ George said approvingly. ‘No self-respecting detective should be without them.’

  Vasco said: ‘What happens if you don’t come back, sir?’

  ‘I shall be back. It’s five past ten now. I should be back by ten-thirty. If I’m not back by eleven go downstairs. Say nothing. No doomladen speeches, no warnings that their end is nigh. Kill Samuelson. Cripple the Agnelli brothers and Daniken, and, if Riordan is there, him also. Remove all weapons of course and one of you keep an eye on them and make sure that nobody tries to stagger out of the room and summon help while the other gets the girls. As your guns are silenced, there should be no interruptions. Then get the hell out of it. If anyone gets in your way, you know what to do.’

  ‘I see.’ Vasco looked and sounded more than slightly shocked. ‘And how do we get the hell out of it?’

  Van Effen touched the pocket where he had replaced his wallet of skeleton keys and picklocks. ‘What do you think those are for?’

  ‘Ah. The army truck.’

  ‘Indeed. As soon as you get under way, call up the army or the cops. Give them the approximate location of this place—we know it’s somewhere between Leerdam and Gorinchen—and leave the rest to them.’

  Vasco said: ‘They might try to escape by helicopter.’

  ‘You have the alternative of shooting Daniken in both shoulders or taki
ng him with you. I’m virtually certain that none of this will happen. I don’t want it to happen and that’s not primarily because by the time it happens I’ll probably be dead. It would be a confession of failure and I don’t like being associated with failure. It would be a most unsatisfactory conclusion: in fact, it would be no conclusion at all. Samuelson has another headquarters and, as we have agreed, other associates: O’Brien has almost certainly departed this evening to associate with those other associates. Even although I doubt it, some of those associates may—I repeat may—be in a position to carry out his plans to a successful conclusion.’ He opened the window. ‘Back at ten-thirty.’

  He slid down the two knotted sheets and vanished into the shadows.

  George and Vasco went into the darkened bathroom. Vasco said: ‘He is a cold-blooded bastard, isn’t he?’

  George said: ‘Um.’

  ‘But he’s a killer.’

  ‘I know he has killed and would do so again. But he’s very selective, is our Peter. Nobody who has ever departed this world and at his hands has ever been mourned by society.’

  Four minutes later Vasco caught George by the arm. ‘See?’

  They saw. The sentry had just taken a long swig from his bottle, laid it on the floor beside him, clasped his hands over his rug and appeared to relapse into some kind of yoga-like contemplation. The shadow that had loomed behind him resolved itself into the unmistakable form of van Effen, whose right hand curved round and held the aerosol can an inch or two from the sentry’s face for a period of not more than two seconds. He then pocketed the aerosol, hooked his hands under the man’s knees and eased him forward several inches to ensure that he wouldn’t topple sideways from his armchair, picked up a bottle from the floor, poured some of the contents over the sentry’s face, emptied the remainder of the contents over the front of his clothes, wrapped the fingers of the unconscious man’s right hand round the bottle, thrust hand and bottle partly under the rug, tightened the rug to ensure that hand and bottle would remain where they were then vanished into the gloom.

  ‘Well, now,’ Vasco said, ‘there’s one character who isn’t going to report himself for dereliction of duty because of dropping off into a drunkem slumber.’

  ‘Our Peter doesn’t do things by halves. Let’s see now. A two-second burst. He should come to in about half an hour. Peter explained those things to me once.’

  ‘Won’t he know he has been drugged?’

  ‘That’s the beauty of it! Leaves no trace. That apart, what would you think if you woke up with your clothes reeking of schnapps or whatever and your hand clasped round an empty bottle?’

  The stairs, broad and very creaking and just behind where the sentry slept, led directly to the floor of the barn, now converted into a temporary garage. Torch in hand, van Effen descended quickly, loosed the bolts on the retaining half of the entrance door and turned his attention to the army truck. The exterior was as it had been except that the number plates had been changed. He then wriggled under the truck, scraped clear an area on the underside of the chassis just forward of the rear axle and attached to it the magnetic clamp of the metallic device which Vasco had removed from the bar of soap. Thirty seconds later he was in the driver’s seat and through to the Marnixstraat.

  ‘Put me through to Colonel de Graaf, please.’

  ‘Who is speaking?’

  ‘Never mind who’s speaking. The Colonel.’

  ‘He’s at home.’

  ‘He is not. He’s there. Ten seconds or you’re an ex-policeman tomorrow.’

  In just ten seconds the Colonel was on the phone. ‘You were a bit harsh on that poor lad.’ His voice held a complaining note.

  ‘He’s either a fool, an incompetent or was improperly instructed. He was told to keep open an anonymous line.’ Van Effen spoke in Polish, which the Colonel understood as well as he did. Dutch police changed their wave-lengths at infrequent intervals and had done so again only that day. As in every major city in the world, villains occasionally picked up police wavelengths. But the probabilities against a villain who understood Polish picking up a changed wave-length were astronomical. ‘Please switch on your recorder. I don’t know how much time I have and I don’t want to repeat myself.’

  ‘Proceed.’

  ‘I shall spell names backwards. We are south of—this is a name—Utrecht—and between—two other names—Leerdam and Gorinchen. You have that?’

  ‘I have that.’

  ‘Do not attempt to locate and do not attempt to attack. “The Principals are elsewhere” ’—it was an outright lie but the Colonel was not to know that—’and it would achieve only the deaths of five people who don’t deserve to die. You know the people I mean?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We have here the army truck. You know which one. It has changed the identification plates. I will give you the new numbers. Backwards.’ Van Effen did so. ‘It will be carrying the nuclear devices you know about.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I have attached a magnetic transmitter bug to this vehicle. Have an unmarked police car in the vicinity as from, say, 7 a.m. It is to track this truck at a safe distance. This police car will also be in radio contact with two or three Army Commando trucks lying to the west. I am becoming increasingly convinced that this truck will be heading towards the Scheldt area. There will be three people in that truck, all dressed in Dutch army uniforms, including a bogus lieutenant-colonel called Ylvisaker, who may even call himself by that name. I want that truck seized along with its occupants and the seizure to be kept in complete secrecy. If you release that news then the responsibility for the flooding of the country will lie in your hands.’

  De Graaf’s voice took on an even more complaining note. ‘You don’t have to threaten me, my boy.’

  ‘I apologize. I am under intense pressure and have to make my points in as impressive a way as I can. One other thing. Have TV and radio announce—or just say, if you like—that they are to be of good heart and that you are closing in on the Rotterdam and Scheldt areas. The reason to be given is that you want every citizen thereabouts to be on continuous alert and report anything abnormal to the police. This is purely psychological and I don’t believe our friends are very good at psychology. But please, please, apart from taking this truck in complete secrecy, no other attempts at interference.’

  ‘Understood. I have someone with me who would like a word with you and who speaks Polish even better than you and I do.’

  ‘Spell his name backwards.’

  De Graaf did so and Wieringa’s voice came on the phone. ‘Congratulations, my boy.’

  ‘Those may be a bit premature, Minister. I can’t for instance, stop the breaching of the Flevoland dykes or the detonation of the Markewaard device. A further thought has occurred to me. You might have the media include in their broadcasts about the Rotterdam area that Whitehall and Stormont have arrived at an agreement to begin active and immediate negotiations.’

  ‘The two parliaments might not like it.’

  ‘I’m a Dutchman. Instruct them to like it.’

  ‘Some obscure psychological motive again, I suppose. Very well, I agree. Frankly, my boy, how do you rate our chances?’

  ‘Better than evens, Minister. They trust us. They have to trust us.’ He explained briefly about the De Doorns ammunition dump and the RAF’s inability to handle radio-controlled devices. ‘Apart from that, I’m not only sure but know that they don’t distrust or suspect us. They are basically naive, complacent, over confident and sure of themselves. They lack the devious minds of honest detectives. I have to move, sir. I’ll call again as soon as whenever possible.’

  In the Marnixstraat, the Minister of Defence said: ‘You agree with van Effen’s assessment, Colonel?’

  ‘If that’s what he thinks then that’s what I think.’

  ‘Why isn’t that young man—well, young compared to us—not Chief of Police somewhere?’

  ‘He’ll be the chief here in the not too distant future. I
n the meantime, I need him.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ Wieringa sighed. ‘Don’t we all.’

  Van Effen climbed up to the loft, patted the sentry lightly on the cheek, got no reaction and left. Three minutes later he was inside the bedroom. Vasco looked pointedly at his watch.

  ‘Ten thirty-three,’ Vasco said accusingly.

  ‘Sorry. I was detained. Anyway, that’s a fine way to welcome back a man who may just have escaped the jaws of death.’

  ‘There was trouble?’

  ‘No. Clockwork.’

  ‘You didn’t unpick the garage lock,’ George said, also accusingly.

  ‘Another warm welcome. Where are the congratulations for a mission successfully accomplished? Would you have picked that lock if, at the window next to our bathroom, you had seen the Reverend Riordan, who seems to meditate on his feet and pray with his eyes open, gazing out pensively over the courtyard? Instead, I unbolted the garage doors from the inside.’

  ‘I hope you remembered to re-bolt them.’

  ‘George!’

  ‘Sorry. What detained you?’

  ‘Wieringa, the Defence Minister. He was in the Marnixstraat with Colonel de Graaf. If you refrain from asking questions, I’ll tell you word for word how our conversations went.’

  He did so and at the end George said: ‘Satisfactory. You fixed the bug, of course. So why did you go to all this devious trouble of getting hold of the operating instructions for the devices?’

  ‘Have you ever known of a cop—or soldier—for that matter—who never made a mistake?’

  George pondered briefly then said: ‘Present company excepted, no. True, we may yet need that information—Ylvisaker and his friends might just miss the road-blocks. But you didn’t tell them that we were going by helicopter?’

  ‘I did not. For the same reason that I didn’t take up Samuelson’s unspoken offer to tell us where we are going. If I had done, his immediate reaction—our Defence Minister’s that is—would be to have called his counterpart in Whitehall to send over a Nimrod, the British bomber that is a virtual airborne radar station and which could have tracked us from here to wherever we’re going without our knowing a thing about it.’ He smiled. ‘You wear, what shall we say, George, a rather peculiar expression. The same thought had occurred to yourself?’

 

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