to comprehend the enormity of what had happened.
‘You have a point, Jon. You and I are sane, or at least I think the world
at large would think so, and it is not possible that we could have been
responsible for such appalling destruction. But that doesn’t mean that
the criminal responsible for this wanton destruction is insane: we will
doubtless find, either through our own efforts or because he chooses to
inform us, that there was a very compelling reason for what he did. I
shouldn’t have used the word “wanton” there, you shouldn’t have used
words like “mindless” and “pointless”. This is no random, arbitrary,
spur-of-the-moment act of an escaped mental patient: this is a
deliberately calculated act designed to produce a deliberately calculated
effect.’
Reluctantly, as if by a giant effort of will, de Jong looked away from
the flooded airfield. ‘Effect? The only effect it has on me is one of
sheer outrage. What other effects could there be? Do you have any
suggestions?’
‘None. I’ve had no time to think about it. Don’t forget I’ve only just
come to this. Sure, sure, we knew yesterday that this was promised, but
like everyone else, I thought the idea was so preposterous as to be not
worth considering. But I have two other suggestions. I suggest that we’ll
achieve nothing by staring out over Lake Schiphol: and I suggest we’re
not going to help anyone or anything by hanging around here and getting
pneumonia.’ De Jong’s briefly pained expression showed what he thought
of the term ‘Lake Schiphol’ but he made no comment.
The staff canteen was an improvement on the roof-top inasmuch as there was
no wind but it wasn’t all that much warmer. All electric heating had
inevitably been short-circuited
12
and the butane heaters that had been brought in had as yet had a minimal
effect on the chilled atmosphere. An abundance of hot coffee helped:
something rather more sustaining, de Graaf reflected, would have been in
order, but for those with a taste for schnapps or jonge jenever the presence
of the airport manager had a markedly inhibiting effect. As became his
ascetic appearance, de Jong was a lifelong teetotaller, a difficult thing to
be in Holland. He never made a point of this, he had never even been heard
to mention this, but, somehow, people just didn’t drink anything stronger
than tea or coffee when de Jong was around.
De Graaf said: ‘Let’s summarize briefly what we know. It has to be brief
because we know virtually damn all. Three identical messages were received
yesterday afternoon, one to a newspaper, one to the airport authorities –
in effect, Mr de Jong -and one to the Rijkswaterstaat of the Ministry of
Transport and Public Works.’ He paused briefly and looked across at a
burly, dark-bearded man who was placidly polluting the atmosphere with the
smoke from what appeared to be a very ancient pipe. ‘Ah! Of course. Mr van
der Kuur. The Rijkswaterstaat Deputy Projects Engineer. How long to clear
up this mess?’
Van der Kuur removed his pipe. ‘We have already started. We seal off the
breach in the canal with metal sheeting – a temporary measure only, of
course, but sufficient. After that -well, we do have the best and biggest
pumps in the world. A routine job.’
‘How long?’
‘Thirty-six hours. At the outside.’There was something very reassuring
about der Kuur’s calm and matter-of-fact approach. ‘Provided of course that
we get a degree of cooperation from the tugboat men, barge men and private
owners whose boats are at the moment resting on the mud at the bottom of
the canal. The boats that settled on an even keel are no problem: those
which have fallen over on their sides could well fill up. I suppose
self-interest will ensure cooperation.’
De Graaf said: ‘Any loss of life in the canal? Or anybody hurt?’
‘One of my inspectors reports a considerable degree of high
13
blood pressure among the skippers and crews of the stranded craft. That
apart, no one was harmed.’
‘Thank you. The messages came from a man or a group signing themselves
FFF – it was not explained what those initials were meant to stand for.
The intention, it was said, was to demonstrate that they could flood any
part of our country whenever and wherever they wished by blowing up a
strategically placed dyke and that accordingly they intended to give a
small scale demonstration that would endanger no one and cause as little
inconvenience as possible.’
‘As little inconvenience! Small scale.’ De Jong was back at his fist
clenching. ‘I wonder what the devil they would regard as a large scale
demonstration?’
De Graaf nodded. ‘Quite. They said the target was Schiphol and that the
flooding would come at ix a.m. Not one minute before eleven, not one
minute after. As we know, the breach was blown at precisely i i a.m. At
police headquarters, quite frankly, this was regarded as a hoax – after
all, who in his right mind would want to turn Schiphol airport into an
inland sea? Perhaps they saw some symbolic significance in their choice
-after all, the Dutch navy defeated the Spanish navy at this very spot
when the present Scbiphol really was a sea. Hoax or not, we took no
chances. The canal was the obvious choice for any saboteur so we had both
sides of the north bank of the canal closely examined. There were no
signs of any kind of disturbance that could have indicated a preparation
for the blowing of the dyke. So we assumed it was some kind of practical
joke.’ De Graaf shrugged, palms uplifted. ‘As we know too late nothing
was further from the mind or minds of the FFF than fun and games.’
He turned to the man seated on his left side. ‘Peter, you’ve had time to
think. Have you any idea – sorry, gentlemen, sorry. Some of you may not
know my colleague here. Lieutenant Peter van Effen. Lieutenant van Effen
is my senior detective lieutenant. He is also an explosives expert and,
for his sins, the head of the city’s bomb disposal squad. Have you
figured out yet how it was done?’
Peter van Effen was an unremarkable figure. Like his boss,
14
he was just over medium height, uncommonly broad and looked suspiciously as
if he were running to fat. He was in his mid or late thirties, had thick
dark hair, a dark moustache and an almost permanent expression of
amiability. He didn’t look like a senior detective lieutenant, in fact he
didn’t even look like a policeman. Many people, including quite a number of
people in Dutch prisons, tended to take van Effen’s easy-going affabilify at
its face value.
‘It didn’t take much figuring, sir. Anything’s easy with hindsight. But
even had we had foresight there was nothing we could have done about it
anyway. We’ll almost certainly find that two boats were tied up bow to stem
alongside the north bank. Unusual, but there’s no law, say, against an
engine breakdown and a sympathetic owner of a passing vessel stopping to
lend a hand. I should imagine that we’ll find that those boats were almost
certainly stolen because there is traffic on the canal and any habitual
waterway user would have been able to identify them.
‘The two boats would have been very close or even overlapping, leaving a
clear, hidden area where scuba divers could
; took place during dusk or night-time, as I’m sure it did, they would
have bright lights on deck and when you have those on, anything below
gunwale level is in deep shadow. They would have had a drilling
machine, something like the ones you use on oil-rigs only, of course,
this one would have been on a very small scale and operated
horizontally not vertically. It would have been electrically powered,
either by batteries or a generator, because the exhausts of a petrol
or diesel plant make a great deal of noise. For an expert, and there
are literally hundreds of experts operating on or aroundjhe North Sea,
this would have been a childishly simple operation. They would drill
through to, say, a foot of the other side of the dyke – we may be sure
they would have taken very careful measurements beforehand – withdraw
the bit and insert a waterproof canvas tube packed with explosives,
maybe just plain old-fashioned dynamite or TNT, although a real expert
would have gone for smatol beehives. They would then attach an
electrical timing device, nothing elaborate, an old-fashioned kitchen
alarm clock
15
will do very well, plug the hole with mud and gravel – not that there
would be a chance in a million of anyone ever looking there – and sail
away.’
‘I could almost believe, Mr van Effen, that you masterminded this
operation yourself,’ van der Kuur said. ‘So that’s how it was done.’
‘It’s how I would have done it and within the limits of a slight