At that moment, in the heart of Amsterdam, Elodie smiled, relaxing for the first time in hours.
Even though she wasn’t fluent in Dutch, the meaning of the news flash on the television at the other end of the room was clear. She span her barstool round and watched riveted, as images of herself and Paul filled the screen. She concentrated, listening hard to the news reader’s rapid Dutch, informing her that Paul had avoided capture in Paris and was now, like her, a wanted Terrorist.
She was right to have trusted him, she thought smugly, aware that the intuitive gamble she’d taken in giving him the crystal had so far worked in her favor.
But how did he do it? she wondered.
If there were Agents there, he must have had help but from whom?
She frowned, her own questions perplexing her, until with a sigh she gave them up. For now, there was no way of knowing. All that mattered was that as long as Paul was free, they still had a chance, however slim.
The young, blond barman slouched lazily towards her to take her order, seeing not the faintest resemblance between the elegant, well-dressed, shiny haired version of Elodie presented on the screen and this scruffy student with her spiky, red hair, heavy eye make-up and oversized leather jacket.
Elodie knew she had disguised herself well as she smiled up at the barman,
‘Guten dag, d’you speak English?’ she asked
‘Sure thing,’ he replied in an american drawl, grinning back at her, ‘what can I getcha?’
‘A black coffee please, and ...’
She picked up a plastic-coated menu from the bar and ran her eye over the choice of cannabis samples.
‘Errr,’ she hesitated, ‘what do you recommend?’
The barman leaned forward on the counter towards her.
‘That depends what kinda hit you’re after, ... you wanna nice, giggly high, we got some great Thai weed, some Durban poison, or some wowi Malawi,’ he paused, noting her lack of reaction, ‘or, if you wanna get really monged, you know what I mean,’ he gestured with a thumb towards a couple Elodie had not previously noticed, slumped in a corner on a sofa, a tubular, plastic water pipe on the table between them, ‘we got some opiated, Nepalese temple balls, that’s some shit!’ he grinned.
‘Yes that sounds good,’ Elodie replied, as the barman ambled over to the Espresso machine.
Yes, the fact that Paul had got the crystal safely to Paris was certainly good news but was he walking into a trap? Elodie questioned. There was no way of knowing, she sighed, but at least she had let her contact know of the events in England and she could only hope that he’d succeeded in passing the message on. As much as she longed for some information, she knew she couldn’t risk a phone-call, the lines to the society being almost certainly tapped.
The barman returned, putting her coffee and a small see-through bag of hashish in front of her on the bar.
Elodie opened her canvas rucksack and peeled off a 50 Euro note from the bundle to pay.
She had acted wisely and swiftly securing herself the money and false identity card she would need to put the plan that was gradually formulating in her mind into action.
She started to make herself a joint, carefully sticking three cigarette papers together.
Coming to Amsterdam had been wise too. The Agents would be looking for her in Paris and Burgundy, so she must act from a safe distance until the last crucial minute.
Elodie carefully crumbled the hash evenly onto the shredded tobacco, licked the papers and rolled it all into a neat, conical tube.
She looked out the window onto the gaudily illuminated sex shops and bars of Warmoesstraat. The evening was closing in and there was a promise of rain in the heavy, dark clouds rolling across the sky.
Elodie lit up, inhaling the fragrant smoke cautiously into her lungs to avoid coughing, and then exhaling a thin, blue plume up to the ceiling.
She smiled to herself again, remembering her brother’s smoke filled bedroom all those years ago.
If only Mama could see me now, she thought, she would see my time spent with Jean-Luc was not entirely wasted.
The news had moved onto the weather and Elodie downed the last of her coffee and pocketed the bag of hash.
What I need now, she thought, standing up, is internet access and some transport.
The Commander: December 16th