law.’
‘Sounds an interesting character. Unusual, one might say. Two at a time,
eh?’
‘Wait till you see George.’
‘And how do you propose to introduce me?’
‘No need to emphasize the police connections. Just Colonel de Graaf. This
is, shall we say, a semi-official visit.’
‘I may be recognized.’
‘Colonel, there isn’t a self-respecting criminal in this city who wouldn’t
recognize you at a distance of half a kilometre. When their kids are
misbehaving they probably whip out your pic-
37
ture, show it to their offspring and tell them if they don’t mend their
ways – the bogieman will come and get them.’
‘Extremely witty. You’re not exactly unknown yourself, Peter. I’d be
curious to know what the – ah – criminal element hereabouts think about
you.’
‘You don’t have to be curious. They think I’m bent.’
The unprepossessing entrance to La Caracha was located halfway down a
lane so narrow that not even a car could enter it. The cracker plaster
of the tiny entrance porch, the fading and peeling paint belied the bar
room that lay beyond. This was well lit and clean, with gleaming
knotted-pine walls, half-a-dozen tables, each with four small armchairs
instead of the usual metal or plastic seats, a semi-circular bar flanked
by fixed stools and, beyond the bar, the barman. When one looked at him
one forgot about the rest of the room.
He was huge. Very tall and very broad he probably weighed in about a
hundred and thirty kilos. He wore a rather splendid Mexican sombrero –
one assumed there was some connection between the barman’s headgear and
the vaguely Latin American name of the restaurant – a white shirt, a
black string tie, an open black waistcoat and black leather trousers. The
absence of a gun-belt and a holstered Peacemaker Colt struck a discordant
note. The eyes were dark, the bushy eyebrows black and the equally black
moustache, equally bushy, luxuriant and dropping down past the corners
of his mouth, perfectly complemented the spectacular sombrero. The craggy
face appeared to have been hacked from granite by an enthusiastic but
ungifted stone-mason. He was the epitome of all those ‘wanted’ portraits
that used to adorn the walls of nineteenth century western American
saloons.
‘That’s George?’ Van Effen didn’t bother. to answer the superfluous
question. ‘When he ejects them two at a time I assume he uses only one
hand.’
George caught sight of them and hurried round the corner of the bar, a
wide, welcoming smile revealing startlingly white teeth. The nearer he
approached, the bigger he seemed to become. His hand was out-stretched
while he was still quite some distance away.
38
‘Welcome, Peter, my friend, welcome. And Colonel van de Graaf. My word,
this is indeed an honour.’ He pumped the Colonel’s hand as if he were a
twin brother he hadn’t seen for twenty years.
De Graaf smiled. ‘You know me then?’
‘If there is anyone in the city who doesn’t recognize our Commissioner
of Police he must either be blind or never read newspapers or magazines.
Peter, as of this moment, my reputation is made.’ He looked at de Graaf
and dropped his voice. ‘Provided, of course that this is not an official
visit.’
‘Purely unofficial,’ de Graaf said. ‘Regard me as the Lieutenant’s
guest.’
‘It is my pleasure to celebrate this auspicious occasion,’ George said.
‘Borreltje, jonge jenever, whisky, beer, wine – La Caracha has an
excellent wine cellar. No better in Amsterdam. But I recommend my
bessenjenever, gentlemen. Ice just beginning to form on the top.’ He
touched his lips. ‘Incomparable.’
So it proved, and in the quantities that George supplied it the
bessenjenever – red-currant gin – was as formidable as it was
incomparable. George remained with them for a few minutes, discoursing
freely on a variety of subjects but mainly and inevitably about the dyke
breach that had brought back into existence the long-vanished Haarlem
lake.
‘No need to look for the perpetrators of this crime among the
professional criminals of the Netherlands.’ George sounded very positive.
‘I use the word “professional” because one would have to exclude the
pitifully amateurish criminals among the Krakers, hot-headed madmen
capable of any atrocity, no matter how many innocents suffer, in the name
of their crazy and woolly ideals, totally amoral lunatics, mindless
idiots who love destruction for destruction’s sake. But they are not
Dutchmen, though they may have been born in this country: they’re just
members of a terminally sick sub-culture that you’ll find in many other
countries.
‘But I don’t think they’re responsible for the Schiphol flooding. However
much one may deplore the action of the saboteurs one has to admire the
clear-headed intelligence that lies behind it. Nobody with a clear-headed
intelligence would ever dream
39
of associating with the retarded morons who make up the Krakers, though
that’s not to say the Krakers couldn’t be employed in some subordinate
capacity where they wouldn’t be allowed to know enough to do any damage.
But no Dutchman, however criminally minded, would or could have been re-
sponsible. Every Dutchman is born with the belief, the certain knowledge,
that our dykes are inviolable: it is an act of faith. I am not – what is
the word, gentlemen? – I am not xenophobic, but this is a foreign-inspired
idea ~eing carried out by foreigners. And it’s only the beginning. There
will be further atrocities. Wait and sec.’
‘We won’t have to wait long,’ de Graaf said. ‘They’re going to breach the
Texel sea dyke at four-thirty this afternoon.’
George nodded, as if the news had come as no surprise to him.
‘So soon, so soon. And then the next dyke, and then the next, and the
next. When the blackmail demands come, as come they must, for nothing
other than blackmail can lie behind this, they will be horrendous.’ He
glanced towards his bar where a group of men were making urgent signals
that they were dying of thirst. ‘You will excuse me, gentlemen.’
‘An extraordinary fellow,’ de Graaf said. ‘He would have made a splendid
politician – he could hardly be accused of being at a loss for words.
Strange type to be a criminal alleged to be associated with violence –
he’s an intelligent and clearly welleducated man. So, on the other hand,
were a number of famous – notorious, rather – and highly successful
criminals in the past. But I find him especially intriguing. He seems
well into the criminal mind but at the same time he thinks and speaks
like a cop. And he got on to the possibility that those criminals might
come from another country in a fraction of the time that it took us to
arrive at the possibility – and, unlike us, he had nothing to help or
guide him towards that conclusion. Maybe you and I are fractionally less
clever than we like to think we are.’
‘Maybe you should hire George, on an ad hoc basis, substantive rank of
sergeant, as a dyke-breach investigator. Rather a fine title, don’t you
think?’
‘The title is fine, the idea is not. Set a thief to catch a thief –
40
the idea never did work. Do not jest with your superior in his hour of need.
Speaking of need, when do we eat?’
‘Let’s ask.’ George hact returned with fresh supplies of besssenjenever.
‘We’d like lunch, George.’
‘The Colonel will eat here? La Caracha is doubly honoured. This table will
do?’
‘I’m expecting Vasco and Annemarie.’
‘Of course.’George picked up the drinks tray and led the way up four steps
into a dining room, bright, cheerful and so small that it held only two
tables. George produced a menu. ‘Everything is excellent. The Rodekool met
Rolpens is superb.’
‘Shall we have the superb, Peter?’ de Graaf said.
‘Fine. And, George, as our chief of police is with us, I think the expense
account could stand a bottle of reasonable wine.’
‘Reasonable? Do I believe my ears? A superb wine to go with a superb dish
and strictly on La Caracha. A Chfiteau Latour, perhaps? I have said that
there is no better cellar than mine in the city. Equally beyond dispute is
the fact that I have far the best Bordeaux cellar.’ George handed them
their aperitifs. ‘Sharpen your appetites, gentlemen. Annelise, I promise,
will excel herself.’
When George left de Graaf said: ‘Who’s Annelise?’
‘His wife. Less than half his size. He’s terrified of her. A wonderful
cook.’
‘She is aware of his, what shall we say, extracurricular activities?’
‘She knows nothing.’
‘You mentioned a Vasco and an Annemarie. Those, I assume, are your
informants. George seems to know about them.’
‘He knows them pretty well. They’re friends.’
‘Does he also know that they’re working under-cover for you?’ Van Effen
nodded and de Graaf frowned. ‘Is this wise? Is it politic? Is it, dammit,
even professional?’
‘I trust George.’
‘Maybe you do. I don’t have to. To say you have the best Bordeaux cellar in