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FLOODGATE by ALISTAIR MACLEAN

Dessens like a Christian who had just been given his first preview of the

lions in the Roman arena.

Wierinva said: ‘What little item, Colonel?’

‘This.’ De Graaf handed him the paper, put his elbow on the arm of his

chair and his hand to his forehead as if to hide hi s eyes from some

unspeakable sight.

‘High explosives,’ Wieringa read out. ‘Primers. Detonators. Grenades.

Ground-to-ground missiles. Ground-to-air missiles.’ He looked at van

Effen consideringly but with no signs of consternat;on on his face. ‘What

is this?’

‘A shopping list. I was going to ask the Colonel to get it for me.’

Desserts, who had adopted precisely the sanne attitude as de Graaf, made

a slight moaning sound. ‘As you are the Minister of Defence, the Colonel

would have had to approach you anyway. I’d also like to borrow an Army

truck, if I may. With a little luck I may ever, be able to return it.’

Wieringa looked at him, looked at the paper in his hand, then back at van

Effen again. ‘Balanced against this shopping list, as you call it, the

loan of the odd army vehicle seems an eminently reasonable request. All

this I can obtain without any great difficulty. I have heard a

considerable an, ount about you, van Effen, and I have learnt a great

deal more tonight. I would hes;tate to question your judgement.’ He

thought for a moment. ‘I think I would question my own first, so I don’t

question yours. No doubt it’s just idle curiosity on my part, but it

would be nice to know zohy you require those items.’

‘The FFF seem to be short of explosives and offensive weapons, so I have

promised to supply them with some.’

‘Of course,’ Wieringa said. ‘Of course.’The Defence Minister appeared to

be virtually unshockable; certainly, nothing showed in his eyes. Nothing

was to be seen in the eyes of de Graaf or Dessens either, but that didn’t

mean that they were

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shock-proof. their shading hands still cut their eyes off from the

dreadful realities of the harsh world outside.

‘They also seem to be short of explosive experts, so I volunteered my

services.’

‘You know something about explosives?’

De Graaf reluctantly uncovered his eyes. ‘He knows a great deal about

explosives. He’s also a bomb disposal expert. I wish,’ he said bitterly,

‘that this was something simple, like defusing a ticking 5oo-kilo bomb.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Van Effen was addressing de Graaf now. ‘I’ve also recruited

George and Vasco, Geor-ge as another person versed in the way of

explosives and Vasco as a trained missile launcher. You will understand

that I did not have time to consult you on those matters.’

‘You can’t think of everything,’ de Graaf said dully. He discovered, to

his apparent astonishment, that his brandy glass was empty and set about

rectifying this.

‘Nothing illegal about recruiting those two men, Mr Wieringa. They’re

police sergeants. And they weren’t recruited – they volunteered. They

know the dangers. There’s nothing to be done about the explosives, sir,

but if you could have an annourer deactivate the missiles I’d be very

grateful.’

De Graaf lowered his glass. ‘So would I. So would L’ Not much in the way

of life had come back into his voice.

Wieringa said: ‘I suppose I’m just being idly curious again but why are

you and your two friends taking these appalling risks?’

‘Calculated risks, sir. I hope. The reason is simple. The Colonel has

said that we have gained an entr&- into the FFF. That’s not quite

accurate. We have been accepted – or appear to have been accepted – on

the fringes. We’re just on the outer strand of the spider’s web. We don’t

know where the spider is. But if we deliver the requested items, we’ll

find out. They’re not likely to leave missiles and missile launchers in

a safe deposit box in the Central Station.’

‘Impeccable logic, van Effen, impeccable logic. Except, of course, for

one tiny little flaw.’

‘Sir?’

I%

‘The spider may gobble you up. The scheme is mad, quite mad – which is the

only reason it might just succeed. I’d be intrigued to know where and when

you arranged this.’

‘About an hour and a half ago. Over a drink with Agnelli.’

For the first time, Wicringa’s monolithic calm cracked.

‘Over a drink with Agnelli? Agnelli? Agnelli! One of those men who have

just left?’

‘I was Stephan Danilov then. Well, can’t think of anything else so, with

your permission, I’ll be on my way. The weather forecast should be

interesting tonight – latest reports say floodlevel danger inside the next

forty-eight hours might even exceed that of February 1953. That will be the

time for our friends -and it doesn’t leave a great deal of time for

negotiations with the British Government. You will remember that I said I

didn’t believe in Riordan’s short-range threats: I’m convinced that the

long-range threat, the massive flooding of the country, has been arranged

and is totally real. One small point, Colonel. Riordan’s allegations

against the integrity of our customs. They’re ludicrous. I know that. You

know that. The world doesn’t. I’m convinced that the transfers are taking

place in the lisselmeer, Waddenzee or the open see. It’s a Navy job. God

knows we’ve got a bad enough name already as a gun-running entrepot: I

wonder what it will be like when all this is over.’ Van Effen smiled.

‘Still, it’s not a job that can be handled by a junior police officer: only

the ministries of Defence and Justice can cope. Good-night, gentlemen.’

‘Moment, Peter, moment.’ It was de Graaf and his distress was apparent.

‘Surely there’s sonwthing we can do to help?’

‘Yes, sir. There is. Do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Any attempt to help us

will probably help us into our graves. Those are clever and desperate men

so please, please, don’t try anything clever and desperate yourselves.

Don’t have the truck followed, not in any way, no matter how clever you

think you are, nothing. No helicopters, no blind barrel-organist, nothing.

And nothing so futile and puerile as fitting a concealed location

transmitter bug to the truck – unless they’re mentally retarded, it’s the

first thing they’d look for. Nothing. Do nothing.’

‘We take your point,’ Wieringa said drily. ‘Nothing.’ His

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tone changed. ‘But from what you’ve just said, Lloyd’s of London wouldn’t

insure you for a ninety-nine per cent premium. But you go. For the last time

– why?’

‘You heard what. Mr Dessens said – the good name and honour of the

Netherlands in the dust, and you with its citizens full fathom five. We

can’t have that, can we?’

‘Your sister?’

:What about my sister?’

The Colonel told me tonight. God only knows how you carry on as you do. I

couldn’t. Kidnapped.’

:She’s part of it.’

I would not care to be the unfortunate man who abducted her when you meet

up with him.’

‘I’ve already met up with this unfortunate man.’

‘WhatV For the second time Wieringa’s self-control deserted him, but he

recovered quickly. ‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

“WhereF

Here. Agnelli.’

Agnellfl’

‘I should have shot him full of holes? There’s a law against it. I’m a

policeman. I’m supposed to uphold the law. Sworn to it, in fact.’

He left. Wieringa said: ‘I begin to believe some of the stories about van

Effen. The not-so-nice ones. God, Arthur, that’s his sister. No blood in

his veins. None. Ice.’

Yes, sir. Let’s hope Agnelli has not hurt Julie.’

What do you mean?’

‘Then he’s a dead man. Sure, sure, van Effen’s sworn to uphold the law –

but only in front of witnesses.’

Wieringa stared at him, then nodded slowly and reached for his glass.

201

Eight

At noon on that February day the streets of Amsterdam were dark as dusk. At

noon on that same day the streets were as deserted as those of any long-dead

city. The cloud cover dri’ven by that icy northern wind must have been black

and heavy and thousands of feet in depth but it could not be seen: the

torrential slanting rain that bounced knee-high off those same deserted

streets limited visibility in any direction, including vertically, to only

a few yards. It was not a noontide for the well-advised to venture out of

doors.

Van Effen, George and Vasco were among the very few who seemed to be

singularly ill-advised. They stood in the porchway of the Trianon hotel,

sheltering from the monsoon-like rain behind the side glass panels. Van

Effen was subjecting Vasco to a critical examination.

‘Not bad, Vasco, not at all bad. Even if I hadn’t known it was you, I don’t

think I would have recognized you. I’m quite certain I would have brushed

by you in the street and not given you a second look. But don’t forget that

Romero Agnelli had the opportunity of studying you very closely over the

table at the Hunter’s Horn. On the other hand, the clothes you wore on that

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