Floodgate

  ‘Would he approve of what you are doing? And that was no answer you gave me. Would he approve of his darling daughter mingling with the Krakers?’

  ‘Is this what it’s like to be a suspect, sir, and to be grilled? Am I supposed to have done something wrong?’

  ‘Of course not. Would he approve?’ The entranced Colonel of a few minutes previously could have belonged to another world.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You put me in a quandary. I don’t like you being in this. You, apparently, do. Your father wouldn’t. To whom should I listen—you or your father?’

  ‘The question hardly arises, sir. You don’t know my father.’

  ‘Child!’

  ‘What does that mean. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I know your father. Very well. We’ve been friends for over thirty years.’

  ‘Impossible! You can’t know him. You’ve only just met me and you didn’t even know me.’ She was no actress and was visibly upset. ‘This is—this is a trick of some kind.’

  ‘Annemarie.’ Van Effen touched her arm. ‘If the Colonel says he’s a friend of your father, then he is. Come on, sir.’

  ‘I know. When next you write or phone, Anne—if you ever do—give my warmest regards to David Joseph Karlmann Meijer.’

  Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again and turned to van Effen. ‘I think it’s my turn for a jonge jenever.’

  De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘My old friend David—we’ve gone sailing, fishing, skiing, hunting over the years—we were even up exploring the Amazon before this young lady here was born—owns a huge construction company. He also owns one of the biggest cement factories in the Netherlands, oil refineries, tankers, an electronics firm and God knows what else. “One has to earn a living, sir,”’ he mimicked. ‘Earn a living! Cruel, cruel landlord throwing the poor orphan out into the snow. Ah!’ He turned to look at the maître d’ at his elbow. ‘Good evening. The young people will choose for me. But, first, another jonge jenever.’ He looked at Annemarie. ‘Must have something to cry into. They say gin is best.’

  After the orders had been taken and the maître d’ and his minions departed, van Effen said: ‘You have a scenario, sir, and you don’t like what you see.’

  ‘I don’t like it at all. Two things. If anything happens to this young lady—well, David Meijer’s wrath is fearful to behold—and it’s considerably worse to be the object of it. Secondly, disguise or no disguise, Anne’s identity may be discovered. It can happen, as you know all too well, Peter: a slip of the tongue, an unguarded reference, some careless action, there are too many possibilities. What a windfall for a penniless Kraker or even worse, a professional kidnapper. Her father would pay five, ten million guilders to get her back. Do you like it, Peter?’

  Van Effen made to speak, then glanced at the waiter who stood by his side.

  ‘Lieutenant van Effen. Phone.’

  Van Effen excused himself. De Graaf said: ‘Well, do you like it?’

  ‘Not the way you put it but—I don’t want to seem impertinent, sir, to disagree with my boss, but I think you put it too strongly. I’ve been doing this kind of work for some months in Rotterdam and nothing has ever happened to me there. And while there may be no Krakers down there, the criminal element are a great deal tougher than they are here. I’m sorry, Colonel, but I think you exaggerate the dangers. I’m rather good at disguises—you as much as said so yourself. I have a gun. Best, of course, is that no one in Amsterdam knows me.’

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘That’s different. Peter says that you know everyone—and you must admit that it was a very remote chance that you knew my father.’

  ‘I could have found out easily enough. Peter knows?’

  ‘Only my name. Not who I am, not until you spoke about it just now. I must say he didn’t seem particularly surprised.’ She smiled. ‘He could, of course, have been unconcerned or uninterested.’

  ‘You’re fishing for compliments, my dear.’ She made to protest but he held up his hand. ‘In your case, indifference is impossible. The Lieutenant cares very much for people. That doesn’t mean he goes around showing it all the time. It’s a learned habit. I know he didn’t know. I’m equally sure Julie does.’

  ‘Ah. Julie. Your favourite lady in all Amsterdam?’

  ‘I now have two favourite ladies in all Amsterdam. With the usual provisos, of course.’

  ‘Your wife and daughters, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Don’t stall. You’re very good at stalling, you know, Anne, at diverting me from the topic at hand, which is you, and don’t give me those big innocent eyes.’

  ‘Julie knows,’ she said. ‘How did you know that, sir?’

  ‘Because I know Julie. Because she’s clever. Because she’s a woman. Living so close to you she’s bound to notice things that others wouldn’t. Clothes, jewellery, personal possessions—things the average working girl wouldn’t have. Even the way you speak. Fine by me if Julie knows, she’d never tell anyone, I’ll bet she’s never even told her brother. You like living there?’

  ‘Very much. And Julie, also very much. I think she likes me, too. I have the honour to sleep in the bedroom that used to be Peter’s. I believe he left about six years ago.’ She frowned. ‘I asked her why he’d left, it couldn’t have been an argument, they’re obviously terribly fond of each other, but she wouldn’t tell me, just said I’d have to ask Peter.’

  ‘Did you ask him?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head very firmly. ‘One doesn’t ask the Lieutenant personal questions.’

  ‘I agree that he does rather give that impression. He’s quite approachable really. No secret about his departure—he left to get married. Marianne. Loveliest girl in Amsterdam, even although I do say it about my own niece.’

  ‘She’s your niece?’

  ‘Was.’ De Graaf’s voice was sombre. ‘Even in those days Peter was the best, most able cop in the city; far better than I am but for God’s sake don’t tell him so. He broke up a particularly vicious gang of people who specialized in a nice mixture of blackmail and torture. Four brothers, they were, the Annecys. God knows where they got their name from. Peter put two of them away for fifteen years. The other two just vanished. Shortly after the conviction of the two brothers, someone, almost certainly one or both of the two brothers that had not been brought to justice, placed in Peter’s weekend canal boat a huge bomb wired up to the ignition switch—same technique as was used by the murderers who assassinated Lord Mountbatten. As it happened, Peter wasn’t aboard his boat that weekend. But Marianne and their two children were.’

  ‘Dear God!’ The girl’s hands were clenched. ‘How awful. How—how dreadful!’

  ‘And every three months or so since that time he receives a postcard from one of the two surviving Annecy brothers. Never any message. Just a drawing of a noose and a coffin, a reminder that he’s living on borrowed time. Charming, isn’t it?’

  ‘Horrible! Just horrible! He must be worried to death. I know I would. Wondering every night when I go to sleep—if I could sleep—whether I would wake up in the morning.’

  ‘I don’t think he worries much—if he did he’d never show it—and I know he sleeps very well. But that’s the reason—although he never mentions it—why he doesn’t return to live with Julie. He doesn’t want her to be around when the bomb comes through his window.’

  ‘What a way to live! Why doesn’t he emigrate somewhere, live under an assumed name?’

  ‘If you ever get to know Peter van Effen—really know him, I mean—you’ll wonder why you ever asked that question. Anne, you have an enchanting smile. Let me see it again.’

  She gave a puzzled half-smile. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s coming back. Let me see how good an actress you are.’

  And, indeed, when van Effen returned to the table she was smiling, a person at ease with the world. When she looked up and saw the expression—more accurately, the total lack
of expression—on his face she stopped smiling.

  ‘About to ruin our dinner, are you, Peter?’ de Graaf shook his head. ‘And such a splendid meal we’ve ordered.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Van Effen smiled faintly. ‘Might put us off our third bottle of Bordeaux or Burgundy or whatever. Perhaps even the second bottle? First, let me put you briefly in the picture as to what happened earlier today. Yes, sir, I’ll have some wine, I feel I could do with a mild restorative. I’ve been offered a job—at, I’m sure, a far higher salary plus than I’m ever likely to get in this police force—to blow something up. What, I don’t know. Could be the Amsterdam—Rotterdam bank for all I know. Maybe a boat, bridge, barge, barracks, maybe anything. Haven’t been told yet.

  ‘As you know, Vasco had brought those two characters to the Hunter’s Horn this afternoon. Prosperous and respectable citizens, but, then, no successful criminal ever looks like one. We were all very cagey and crafty, toing-and-froing, sparring and giving nothing away for most of the time. Then they made me this definite offer of a job and I accepted. They said they would have to report back to their superiors but would definitely contact me tomorrow and give me details of the job to be done and what my rewards would be for this. Vasco was to be the courier. So we shook hands like gentlemen and parted with expressions of goodwill and mutual trust.

  ‘I had two sets of tails waiting at a discreet distance from the Hunter’s Horn. I’ve had a report—’

  ‘Goodwill and mutual trust?’ Annemarie said.

  De Graaf waved a hand. ‘We tend to use figurative terms in our profession. Proceed, Peter.’

  ‘I’ve had news of both sets of tails. The first say that they lost Agnelli and Paderiwski—that’s what they called themselves—’

  ‘Good God!’ de Graaf said. ‘Agnelli and Paderiwski. A famous industrialist and a famous pianist. Aren’t they original?’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Lost them in a traffic jam, they say. Claimed that they hadn’t been spotted. Pure accident. The report about the other two makes me wonder, to say the least.’

  ‘ “About” the other two?’ de Graaf said. ‘Not “from”?’

  ‘About. They were found in a darkened alley. Barely able to call for help, barely conscious. Unable to move and both in agony. Both men had had both kneecaps smashed. A sign used in Sicily and certain American cities that some people don’t like being followed and that those who were doing the following won’t be doing it again for some time to come. They weren’t knee-capped—no guns. Iron bars. They’re under surgery. Neither man will be able to walk for months, neither will ever be able to walk properly again. Nice, isn’t it, sir. And a new development in our fair city. Another instance, one supposes, of the steady advance of American culture.’

  ‘Crippled?’ Annemarie’s voice was low, barely above a whisper. ‘Crippled for life. How can you—how can you joke about such things.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Van Effen looked at her, saw that some colour had gone from her face, and pushed her glass closer to her. ‘Take some. I’ll join you. Joking? I can assure you I never felt less funny in my life. And it’s not just an American practice, sir: it’s become a very popular pastime in Northern Ireland in the past two or three years.’

  ‘So your other tails were almost certainly given the slip and nothing accidental about it.’ De Graaf sampled his Bordeaux and the distressing news didn’t appear to have upset him unduly for he smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘Excellent. Our friends seem to have a considerable expertise in both evasive and direct action. Professionals. And gone to ground. Ah. All is not lost. The Chateaubriand. You said you would share this with me, my dear.’

  She appeared to give a tiny shudder. ‘I know it’s trite, silly, but I don’t think I could eat a thing.’

  ‘Maybe the moles will come out of their burrows tomorrow,’ van Effen said. ‘I’m still hoping that they will keep their promise and make contact with me.’

  Annemarie stared at him, almost blankly. ‘You must be mad,’ she said in a low voice. She seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘Either they’ll come and give you the same treatment, perhaps worse, perhaps dispose of you permanently, or they won’t come at all. After they carried out that savage attack on those poor men they could have examined them and found out that they were policemen. They must have been carrying something that would identify them as policemen, even guns. Were they carrying guns?’ Van Effen nodded. ‘Then they’ll know you are a policeman because they’ll know you must have had them followed since they left the Hunter’s Horn. You like the idea of suicide?’ She reached out and touched de Graaf’s wrist. ‘You mustn’t let him do it, sir. He’ll be killed.’

  ‘Your concern does you credit.’ It was van Effen who answered and he seemed quite unmoved by her plea. ‘But quite uncalled for. The villains don’t necessarily know that I set the tails on their tracks. They might not even have noticed them until long after they’d left the Hunter’s Horn and would have no reason to connect me with them. That’s one thing. The other thing is the fact that though the Colonel is your father’s friend that doesn’t give the father’s daughter the right to advise the Colonel. A fledgling policewoman. A Chief of Police. It would be laughable if it weren’t so presumptuous.’

  She looked at him, her eyes hurt as if she had been struck, then lowered her gaze to the tablecloth. De Graaf looked at van Effen, shook his head slightly, then took the girl’s hand.

  ‘Your concern does do you credit. It does. But it doesn’t give me much credit in your eyes. None. Look at me.’ She looked at him, the hazel eyes at once solemn and apprehensive. ‘Van Effen is absolutely correct. The foxes have to be flushed from their covers and this, at the moment, seems the only way to do it. So Peter will go—I would never order him to go—and with my consent. Good heavens, girl, do you think I would use him as live bait, a lamb to the slaughter, a Daniel in the lion’s den, a tethered goat for the tiger? My word, I do have a way with metaphors. I guarantee, my girl, that, when and if the meeting does take place, both the Hunter’s Horn and the surrounding area will be alive with invisible armed men. Invisible to the ungodly. Peter will be as safe as a man in a church.’

  ‘I know. I’m silly. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Pay no attention to the Colonel’s comforting words,’ van Effen said. ‘I shall probably be riddled with bullets. Police bullets. Unless it’s pointed out to them that I’m in disguise. Ironic if they shot the wrong man. Same outfit as before. Just let them concentrate on the black glove. That’s me.’

  A waiter approached their table. ‘Sorry, Lieutenant. There’s another call for you.’

  Van Effen was back inside two minutes. ‘Well, no surprise, surprise. The FFF, again, mysterious message, no doubt stepping up their demoralizing campaign. They say there could be some havoc wreaked along the North Holland Canal tomorrow at Alkmaar at 9 a.m., but they have made no guarantee that there will be. All they have promised is that there will be some quite considerable activity.’

  De Graaf said: ‘That was all?’

  ‘All. I see. Seems utterly pointless and meaningless. What the devil do you think they’re up to now?’

  ‘It’s not pointless. That’s just the point—to make us wonder and worry about just what the devil they are up to now. They want to create uncertainty, confusion and demoralization and it would seem to me that they’re going the right way about it. Speaking of the FFF, sir, how was your pleasure trip to Texel this afternoon?’

  ‘Complete waste of time. I was accompanied, as you more or less predicted, by a bunch of old women.’

  ‘You don’t intend to be at Alkmaar at 9 a.m. tomorrow?’

  ‘I intend to be in Amsterdam at 9 a.m. tomorrow. What am I supposed to do? Lurk around and nab anyone who looks as if he is acting suspiciously, such as gloating over the scene of the crime?’

  ‘An unpromising course of action. You’ve got friends in the University, sir. Specifically, in the linguistics department?’

  De Graaf said to Annemarie: ‘I??
?m supposed to look startled at this sudden switch and ask “why on earth do you ask that?” ’ He looked at van Effen. ‘Well, why on earth do you ask that?’

  ‘I listened to the FFF’s tapes in the Telegraph’s office earlier on this evening. A woman’s voice. A young woman, I would say. And not Dutch, I’m sure.’

  ‘Interesting. Very. Back to our mysterious foreigners again. Any educated guesses as to the country of origin of the caller?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, sir. I speak the odd language, sure, but I’m not what you might call an educated linguist. Regional accents, nuances, pronunciation—that is quite definitely not my field.’

  ‘And you think the university could help?’

  ‘It’s a chance, sir. As you say, no stone unturned. The tapes are in my office.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. You may as well get to your feet, Peter. A purposeful waiter comes your way.’

  Van Effen rose, met the waiter, spoke briefly and moved on. When he took his seat again, he said: ‘The opposition is stirring. Whatever opposition that might be. That was my hotel, the Trianon. Message relayed through the office of course.’

  De Graaf said patiently: ‘And how long have you been staying in the Trianon, Lieutenant? You have been evicted from your own apartment?’

  ‘The register book says that I have been there for two weeks. I arranged that about five o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘Dear, dear. Falsifying register books is a civil offence.’

  ‘I’ve no time to be arrested at the moment. Romero Agnelli or one of his men must have been very busy phoning around and have at last located me as staying at the Trianon. They have posted a watcher in the shadows—in a little old Fiat, actually. I have arranged for another watcher to watch the original. Well, I can’t disappoint them. I shall turn up there later on tonight.’

  ‘You lead an active life,’ de Graaf said. ‘I assume that you do not intend to spend the night there?’

  ‘You assume correctly, sir. I shall park my car at the back of the hotel, where I shall be picked up by a police taxi and deposited at the front door. Then I pass through the hotel, exit by the rear entrance and drive home. It’s a nuisance, no more.’