Huib hesitated. ‘I … uh …’
Suddenly I remembered his last e-mail. ‘Want to know more. Want to see more.’
Huib wanted to come with us to Amsterdam. He had told me this and I still hadn’t responded.
Details.
So important. And I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the man who looked at the world and understood it from the perspective of his family. He had a lot to teach me.
‘Huib,’ I said, ‘they’re counting on you in Amsterdam. You’re not going to run away now, are you?’
62 BON
Most of the HC&P partners slipped away from Brussels quietly. Without their constant input and without the manipulated facts produced by Mr. Miller, the government leaders were suddenly incapable of agreeing on anything. On the last day the European Summit on Security and Integration collapsed. The declarations that had been drafted earlier seemed too severe. Too harsh. Too confrontational. The EU retreated to the safe position of calling for more research, more analysis and more coordination.
Back in South Africa, old Willem Breger and his eight sons reported to the police. Huib Breger confessed his complicity in the murders in Amsterdam, provided the names of the men who had helped him and revealed the identity of the organization behind it all. HC&P, the world’s most powerful international consultancy, suffered the heaviest blow in the company’s history. Herbert Colland stepped down. He continued to swear that he was not involved in any way, but no one believed him. The fallen commander is always misunderstood.
The office in Amsterdam was the hardest hit. Almost all the partners were aware of what Huib Breger had been up to, and the police hauled them in for questioning one by one. As the only partner without any connections to Colland and the Larkowl Group, Johan Wolfsen took over the leadership of the Dutch office. He launched a drastic clean-up operation and made it a top priority to arrange for the firm’s complete independence by means of a management buyout.
And he made sure that Dries van Waayen cooperated with the police investigation of the murders of Ina Radekker and Jessica Polse. Inspector Pletting called me personally to tell me I was no longer a wanted man.
The bank was less cooperative. It took weeks before my accounts were unblocked and I was able get at my money again. No one understood why the accounts had been blocked in the first place and everyone agreed that they had to be unblocked as soon as possible, but for some unaccountable reason it didn’t happen. Finally Gijs’s father called an acquaintance of his on the board of directors and asked what on earth was going on in that bank of his. One day later the problem was solved.
That’s banking for you.
HB2 stayed for a few more weeks. He fit right in at The Pattern as if he had never been anywhere else. He’d disappear for days in the digital fun park, where power and subversion are never far removed. Information and communication technology constitute a worldwide system that’s being increasingly perfected in the hands of anarchists and freaks. The law-abiding citizen just doesn’t have the brains for that kind of work. Huib found what he was looking for, although I’ll never really understand what that intimate attraction to technology is all about. Maybe computers have become what motorbikes and cars used to be. What was once the cubic capacity of an engine block is now the number of gigabytes. It’s all just another kind of tinkering. The paraphernalia has changed but the magic is the same.
After three weeks he left and went back to South Africa, to his family. ‘Sometimes they drive me nuts,’ he said, ‘but there are so many of them that I always end up missing one or two. Even so, you shouldn’t take them for granted.’
Johan Wolfsen did what he could to keep Gijs and me with the firm, but finally he understood that too much had taken place. We rented the rooms on the water, in the annexe to one of the wings at The Pattern’s huge premises, and after a few weeks of painting and furnishing we opened BON Consultancy (Bellicher Olde Nieland), complete with letterhead, business cards and a secretary. Wolfsen came to the festive opening with a fat binder, which he solemnly handed over to us.
‘A small gift,’ he said, ‘in lieu of flowers. You seem to have enough of those already. Work begins Monday morning, eight-thirty.’ He tapped the binder with one finger. ‘The briefing is in here. If you’re so intent on striking out on your own, I’ll just have to hire you.’
It was our first job.
Vince gave us an M-drive that he had turned into a work of art, dismantled and mounted between two pieces of Plexiglas. Mr. Miller was engraved in the plastic, and just looking at it reduced me to silence.
The fear was still there. Even without Mr. Miller everyone was trying to out-shout the rest, claiming that the world was their world, or that it belonged to a higher power who would not be contradicted. The facts were less distorted, less aggressively manipulated, yet the old facts remained. People believe what they want to believe. They quote their own theories and defend their own position, even long after it’s been disproven. Rightly or wrongly, abandoning their own position is always the last step.
There’s still a lot of communication to be done.
Kirsten and Vince had a couple of difficult weeks—why, I don’t know. Kirsten went back to her apartment on Hondecoeterstraat. Vince stayed at The Pattern. They didn’t say anything about it, and Vince acted as if nothing was wrong. Now they seem to be doing better. Like old times, actually. Maybe they needed to take some distance after their bizarre beginning. Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe I should stop trying to interpret things and just ask her if I have any questions.
My parents don’t talk to each other at all any more. They communicate through us, which is probably better. The house in Dordrecht has been sold. Pete and I helped Mom with the packing and moving. That was strange. I still feel betrayed by her, but I lost the ability to be angry at her somewhere along the line. Now I know how careful I have to be with my anger.
After the move, Pete moved in with Kirsten, and since she’s spending more and more time with Vince he pretty much has the whole apartment to himself. He still hasn’t been able to explain to me what he’s going to do here in Amsterdam, except that he just wants to be here. And I understand that.
Dad has a new girlfriend. Now that’s taking some getting used to. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in love, and even though I’m happy for him, I can’t bridge the gap between this and the past. My fault. They like to travel. As soon as they get the chance, they’re off. Now they’re in New York. Next week San Francisco.
Gijs is visiting a client. An industrial baker somewhere around Spakenburg, the heart of Dutch fundamentalism. He can deal with that better than I can.
It’s Thursday afternoon. I’m sitting in the back room, the window open, the sun reflecting off the surface of the IJ. The summer reaches a new high point every day now. Leaning against the wall behind my chair is my backpack, red and dark grey with black straps. Hasn’t been used in weeks, but it’s filled with everything I need and ready to go at a moment’s notice. I’m working on my blog.
63 Bellilog 07.19.04
I’m back.
About the author
© Liesbeth Kuipers
Charles den Tex is a highly acclaimed author, whose work has been compared to that of John Grisham, Michael Crichton and Michael Ridpath. He lived in London and Paris before returning to the Netherlands, where he worked as a copywriter and communications and management advisor. Charles den Tex is a three-time winner of the Golden Noose, the Dutch annual prize for the best thriller. His novel CEL was longlisted for the prestigious Libris Literature Prize for 2009. Mr. Miller was broadcasted as a TV series on Dutch television. Film rights have been sold to 20th Century Fox Studios.
About the translator
Nancy Forest-Flier (United States) studied English literature and creative writing at Hope College in Holland, Michigan. After moving to the Netherlands in 1982, Nancy and her husband Jim Forest set up Forest-Flier Editorial Services. Nancy has translated for numerous Dutch muse
ums, institutes and publishing houses. Her list of literary translations includes The King by Kader Abdolah and Dissident for Life by Koenraad de Wolf.
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