FLOODGATE by ALISTAIR MACLEAN

Dobermann pinscher which had about it the homicidal appearance shared by

many members of its breed: it was, reassuringly, muzzled.

‘Is that animal as fierce as it looks?’ van Effen asked.

‘I’ve had the good fortune never to find out. However, he’s

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not here for the purposes of either defence or attack. Dobermann pinschers

can be trained to smell out explosives. Use them at airports. Fact.’

‘I know it’s a fact. Has this dog been so trained?’

‘Quite frankly, I have no idea. For ail I know, his olfactory nerves may

be completely paralysed”

‘I’m beginning to believe that you might even get off with this,’ van

Effen said.

They made the best time they could through the drenching rain and were

back at the spot where they had parked the Volvo in the Voorburgwal. Van

Effen had his hand on the door when he reahzed that it was not, in fact,

the car in which they had arrived: it was’ unmistakably, a police car.

Van Effen got into the back seat beside Agnelli and said: ‘You leave your

own car here and come back and find a police car in its place. You know,

1 now do believe that you are going to get off with it after all. You do

have your -organization.’

‘Organization is all,’ said Agnelli.

Everything went off as Agnelli had confidently expected. They were

expected at the palace and their credentials received only the most

cursory inspection: they and the car were so obviously offici2l that a

more detailed examination could only have seemed superfluous: besides, it

was raining very heavily indeed and the guards were very anxious indeed

to get back to the shelter just as soon as they could.

Agnelli led them to a doorway which was so completely shrouded in

darkness that he had to use a pencil torch to locate the keyhole of a

door, at keyhole for which, as he had promised, he had the key. He also

had a succession of keys which he used two flights of stairs down to open

a succession of cellars. He knew the location of every door, every light

switch.

‘You lived here?’ van Effen asked.

‘I’ve been here a couple of times. One has to be fairly meticulous about

these things.’ He led the way through a completely empty cellar into

another equally bare cellar and said: ‘This is the place. Not too

difficult, was it?’

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‘I find it hard to believe,’ van Effen said. ‘They do have security

systems here?’

‘Excellent ones, I’m told. But security is a relative term. There is no

security net that can’t be breached. Look at Buckingham Palace for

instance. One of the tightest security shields in the world but as has

been proved several times in the past year or so any semi-intelligent

person – and, indeed, as has also been proved, those of a considerably

lower IQ – can go in and out whenever they feel so inclined. Well, Mr

Dar:Bov, it’s yours.’

‘Alinutes, only. Open this far door for me – if you have the key.’

Agnelli had the key. Van Effen produced a tape and proceeded to measure

the thickness of the walls. He said: ‘How come all those cellars are so

empty?’

‘They weren’t a few days ago. They were pretty well filled with old

furniture, archives, things that you expect to collect in a royal palace

over the years. Not that we were concerned with the well-being of those

antiquities, most of which were just ancient rubbish anyway. It was no

part of our plan to bum the palace down.’

Van Effen nodded, said nothing, went out – accompanied by Agnelli – and

climbed a flight of steps to work out the thickness of the ceiling. He

returned to the cellar, made a few calculations on a piece of paper then

said: ‘We’ll use the lot. Those walls are stouter than I would have

expected. But the resulting bang should still be quite satisfactory.’

‘Always a pleasure to watch an expert at work,’ Agnelli said.

‘No more than it is to watch a journeyman brick-layer at work. He does

his five years’ apprenticeship. I’ve done mine.’

‘There’s a difference, I suggest, between dropping a brick and dropping

a detonator.’

‘A skilled tradesman never drops anything.’ Van Effen busied himself for

not more than two minutes, then said: ‘I think I recall you saying that

you did have the duplicate keys for the cellars we’ve just passed

through?’

‘I did and I have.’

F. -F 161

‘So no one else can get near this place?’ Agnelli shook his head. ‘So.

Finished.’

Their departure was no more eventful than their arrival had been. Less than

ten minutes after van Effen had inserted the detonator into the primer they

parked their car just behind a dimly lit mini-bus.

As they stepped out a figure emerged from the shadows. He came up to

Agnelli. ‘All well, sir?’

‘No problem, John.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’ The man got into the police car and drove off.

,More organization,’ van Effen said. ‘Formidable.’

The five people they had left in the room close by the Voorburgwal were all

seated in the mini-bus which, being a fourteenseater, was considerably

larger than its name suggested. Van Effen and Agnelli sat in the wide seat

in the back.

Van Effen said: ‘May one ask how long you expect to wait here?’

‘Of course.’ Agnelli had become more than his usual smiling self in the

past few minutes: He was now positively jovial. He had shown no signs of

strain inside the palace but strain there must inevitably have been. ‘Not

quite sure myself, to be honest. A few minutes, perhaps. Certainly no more

than twenty. But first, one must beware lurking and suspicious policemen.

Leonardo? Catch.’

He threw something to his brother then stood up himself and shrugged his

way into a long grey raincoat. Then he sat, reached below the seat, pulled

out a machine which looked like and was a radio transceiver, flicked a

switch which made a red light glow, then brought up a headband with one

earphone, which he draped over his knee: he reached down again and brought

up a microphone the lead of which was, presumably, attached to the

transceiver.

‘Sorry I have to keep you waiting,’he said, almost apologetically. ‘But I,

in turn, have to wait a call.’

‘More organization,’ van Effen said. ‘Quite admirable. But there is one

area in which your organization falls down.’

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‘Inevitably.’ Agnelli smiled. ‘In what respect?’

‘No heating in this vehicle.’

‘An oversight. Maria?’

‘It’s by the radio.’

Agnelli reached under the seat and, not without some effort, brought up a

large wicker basket which he placed on the seat between van Effen and

himself. He opened the lid to reveal a rather splendidly appointed picnic

basket.

‘What you would have expected, Mr Danilov. A picnic basket for the

Sunday-school picnickers. If we cannot have external warmth at least we can

provide some of the internal variety.’ The contents of the basket tended to

bear out his claim. Apart from two rows of gleaming glasses and packets of

sandwiches neatly wrapped in cellophane, it held a very Oromising variety

of bottles. ‘We thought we might have something to celebrate this evening,’

he said, again almost apologetically, ‘and I do think we have. A schnapps,

perhaps, Mr Danilov?’

Van Effen said: ‘I unreservedly withdraw my remarks about your

organization.’

Agnelli hadn’t even had time to begin to pour the schnapps when the

transceiver buzzer rang. He clamped on the headpiece and acknowledged the

call then listened in silence for almost a minute. Then he said: ‘Yes, they

are foolish. They have no place to go. So a little persuasion to tip the

balance? Call me back in one minute.’ He took off the headpiece. ‘WeLl,

who’s the volunteer to press the button?’ There were no volunteers. ‘Well,

then, I suggest you, Mr Danilov. You’re the man who prepared the charges

so, of course, we’ll all blame you if the explosion turns out to be a damp

squib or, alternatively, the palace falls down, so perhaps it’s only

fitting that you press the button also. That way the rest of us will all

feel blameless while you -,

He wasn’t given time to complete his sentence. Van Effen stabbed the button

and less than two seconds later, deep and muffled like a distant underwater

explosion but very unmistakable for all that – to anyone with normal

hearing, the sound must have been audible up to a kilometre away – the

reverberation from the detonating amatol rolled across the square. Van

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Effen took the bottle from Agnelli’s unresisting hand – Agnelli, not

smiling and with lips parted, seemed to be seeing something very far away

– and poured himself a schnapps.

‘Seems I’ll just have to congratulate myself. A nice loud bang but the

royal walls still stand. As guaranteed. My health.’

‘That was splendid,’Agnelli said warmly. He was back on his own usual

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