enough in the United States to pick up a slight American over-tone. Van
Effen gestured to the fallen man. ‘Sorry about this, Mr Samuelson. One
does not usually treat a host’s staff in -so summary a fashion. On the
other hand you must admit that it’s not the average guest who finds
himself confronted with a sub-machine gun.’
‘A well-taken point, Mr Danilov.’ Like Agnelli, Samuelson seemed much
given to warm and friendly smiles. ‘A breach of hospitality. It will be
the last – as you yourself have personally assured. All is well, RomeroF
‘Perfect, Mr Samuelson. Everything there, everything in order. Exactly
as Mr Danilov guaranteed.’
‘Splendid. Mr Danilov does have a certain aura of competence about him.
Come in, come in. Wretched evening. Absolutely wretched.’ That, thought
van Effen, made him English for sure. ‘And good evening to you, Captain.
I understood you were a lieutenant.’
‘A very very recent captain,’ Vasco sbLid hoarsely. ‘Sorry about this
throat.’
‘Dear me, dear me.’ Samuelson sounded genuinely concerned. ‘A hot toddy,
and at once.’ Samuelson did not seem to find it at all amiss that a
regular army captain should be in their company: but a man with so
smoothly unlined a face could take many things in his stride without
registering reactions of any kind. ‘Let me introduce our two charming
guests. Miss Meijer, Miss van Effen.’
Van Effen bowed briefly. ‘Those are the two who figured so prominently
in the headlines thiF morning? Their photographs didn’t do them justice.’
Agnelli said: ‘Mr Danilov and his friends were rather concerned about
their well-being, Mr Samuelson.’
223
‘Ah, yes. Compatriots, of course. No need, no need. As you can see, both in
excellent health.’
There were five other people in the room, all men. Two were earnest
looking, intellectual looking youths cast in the mould of Joachim and Joop.
The other three ~ere older, bigger and a great deal tougher looking,
although that didn’t mean that they were in any way more dangerous: apart
from the fact that they lacked sunglasses they looked uncommonly like the
Secret Service men who guard an American president. There was nothing
criminal in their appearances. Samuelson didn’t see fit to introduce them:
as a result, indeed, of some signal that van Effen had not seen they all
quietly left the room.
‘Well, now.’ Van Effen looked at Samuelson, Agnelli and Riordan in turn. ‘I
don’t know which of you I should address. It doesn’t matter. We have
delivered the material – one of our number is at present checking the
explosives and armaments to see that they are in the best possible working
order. We understood that some call might be made on our services – our
expertise, if one might put it that way. If you don’t require us, there’s
no point in our remaining. We have no wish to impose ourselves on anybody.’
Samuelson smiled. ‘You would rather go?’
Van Effen smiled in turn. ‘I think you are perfectly well aware that we
would rather stay. I’m as curious as the next man. Besides, it would be
most interesting to know what is going to happen without having to wait to
read about it in the newspapers.’
‘Stay you shall,’ Samuelson said. ‘We will probably have need of your
expertise. We do, in fact, have plans for you. But first, perhaps, a
soupgon of borreltje. 5 p.m., and 5 p.m., I understand, is the prescribed
hour. Leonardo’ – this to Agnelli’s brother who had just entered with
Daniken -‘be so kind as to have some hot water brought from the kitchen.’
This, van Effen felt certain, made Samuelson the man who called the tune.
‘And some honey. We must do something about this fearful cold the Captain
has. Come. Join me.’
A log fire burnt in an open hearth built into the wfrc7o-vless back wall.
Adjoining this was a circular oaken bar, small but
224
quite splendidly stocked. Samuelson moved behind this as Riordan said:
‘You will, of course, excuse me.’
‘Of course, James, of course,’ Samuelson said. Van Effen felt faintly
surprised. Riordan didn’t look like a man who had a first name. Riordan
nodded to the company and mounted a circular stairway.
Van Effen said: ‘Mr Riordan doesn’t approve of our heathenish practice
of having a borreltie at this hour?’
‘Mr Riordan doesn’t disapprove. He doesn’t drink himself, nor does he
smoke, but he doesn’t disapprove. I may as well tell you – for you will
find out anyway and I don’t wish to cause anybody any embarrassment –
that Mr Riordan regularly goes upstairs at this hour for prayer and
meditation. He does this several times a day and one cannot but respect
a rrian with such deeply-held beliefs. He is very devout – and is, in
fact, an ordained minister of the church.’
‘You surprise me,’ van Effen said. He thought briefly. ‘No, on second
thoughts you don’t surprise me. It seems very much in character. For such
a devout character, I must say, the Reverend has certainly let loose a
storm of cats in the dovecotes of Europe today.’
‘You must not think ill of Riordan, nor underestimate him.’ Samuelson
spoke very seriously. ‘He is an evangelist, a missionary fired by a
burning zeal. He is genuinely ippalled by what is happening in Northern
Ireland and believes that if blood must be spilled to bring peace to that
troubled land then that’s how it will be. In his own words, he’s prepared
to use the devil’s tools to fight the devil.’
‘And you support him in all of this?’
‘Naturally. Why else should I be here?’
It would have been interesting, van Effen thought, to know just why else
he should be there but it seemed hardly the time and place to raise the
question. He hoisted himself on a bar stool and looked around.
The two girls were in whispered consultation. Agnelli and Daniken had
already occupied the two stools at the further end of the bar. Vasco, who
had been wandering round looking at the paintings and brass and copper
work on the walls, made his
F.-H 225
unconcerned way over to the bar and sat down beside Daniken whom he began
to engage in hoarse conversation.
‘Mr Samuelson.’ It was Julie. ‘I think I’ll go to my room. I have a bit
of a headache.’
Van Effen remained casually still, drumming his fingers idly on the
bar-top, a man perfectly at ease with himself. He was, in fact, very far
indeed from being at ease with himself, the last thing that he wanted was
that either of the girls should go to their rooms. Samuelson, who had
been stooping down behind the bar, came to his unwitting rescue.
‘My dear Julie!’ If he weren’t so certain that he knew what Samuelson
would say next, van Effen could have hit him. ‘Not to be thought of. Here
we have a fine Tio Pepe. Guaranteed cure for any headache. Would you
deprive me of your company?’
They would obviously have cheerfully done just that but just as obviously
deemed it prudent to do as he told – prisoners tend to do what their
gaolers tell them – and came and perched reluctantly by the bar, Julie
close to her brother. She glanced at him briefly, a glance which told him
quite clearly what she thought of violent characters who spoke
off-handedly about sticking undesirable characters under the ground, then
looked away. Almost at once she looked back again, fortunately not too
quickly: something had just touched her right thigh. She looked at him,
frowning slightly, then glanced downwards. Almost at once she turned away
and made some confidential remark to Annemarie, just as Samuelson’s head
cleared the bar again. Magnificent, van Effen thought, she was
magnificent, the best in Amsterdam wouldn’t be good enough for his sister
after this.
She accepted her sherry from Samuelson with a correctly pleasant if
somewhat forced smile, delicately sipped her drink, placed it on the
bar-top, opened her handbag on her lap and brought out cigarettes and
lighter. She was magnificent, van Effen thought. She lit the cigarette,
returned the cigarette case but not the lighter to her bag and, while
still talking quietly to Annemarie while watching, without seeming to,
the men at the bar, dropped her hand till it touched van Effen’s. A
moment later, the lighter and the folded note, the top of which had been
226
protruding between the fore and middle fingers of van Effen’s was safely
inside her closed bag. He could have hugged and kissed her and made a mental
note to do so at the first available opportunity. In the meantime, he did
the next best thing, he downed his borreltie in one gulp. He had never much
cared for it but this one tasted as nectar must have done to the gods.
Samuelson, ever the attentive host, hurried across to replenish his glass
and van Effen thanked him courteously. The second borreltie went the same