Floodgate

by Alistair MacLean

  ‘The rest of your outfit doesn’t?’

  ‘The dye is impervious to any rain-storm. Have to use a special detergent to get it off. A painful process. Then I wear half a dozen rings, solid brass, on my right hand.’

  ‘That the hand you hit people with?’

  ‘Among other things I’m a Green Peace, antinuclear, environmental pacifist. I also have a multicoloured bead necklace, double chain, and an earring. Only one earring. Two are passé.’

  ‘This, some day, I must see.’

  ‘I can get you one like it, if you like.’ De Graaf closed his eyes again and was saved further comment by the arrival of George with lunch. George served the Rodekool met Rolpens, opened the Château Latour with a suitably reverential air and departed. The meal was a simple one, red cabbage, rolled spiced meat and sliced apple, but, as George had promised, splendidly cooked: as was customary in Amsterdam there was enough food for four. The wine, also as George had promised, was superb.

  They had just finished when George brought in coffee. ‘Annemarie is outside.’

  ‘Bring her in, please.’

  Annemarie was a young lady of undeniably striking appearance. She wore a roll-necked pullover of indeterminate colour which had once, perhaps, been white. It was about four sizes too large for her, a defect she had tried to remedy by hauling a three-inch studded belt tightly about her midriff. As she had a rather slender waist, the effect was incongruous in the extreme: she resembled nothing so much as a potato bag that had been tied around the middle. The faded and patched blue jeans were fashionably frayed at the cuffs and she teetered, rather than walked, into the room on a pair of stained short leather boots with ludicrously pointed high heels. The condition of her streaky blonde hair showed that she regarded combs as an unnecessary luxury. The jet-black mascara had been applied with a heavy hand, as had the turquoise eye-shadow. The ghastly pallor of her face, which could only have been caused by an over-enthusiastic application of some cheap powder, was in stunning contrast to the two circular red patches on her cheeks, which equally owed nothing to nature. The lipstick was purple and the blood-red nail varnish, which showed to advantage when she removed the cigarette holder from between her stained teeth, was chipped and flaking. The nose-wrinkling smell of her cheap perfume suggested that she had been bathing in it, although the impression was overwhelming that she hadn’t bathed in anything for a very long time. Her brass earrings tinkled as she teetered.

  Van Effen looked at de Graaf, but de Graaf didn’t look at him: he was either mesmerized or petrified by the apparition before him. Van Effen cleared his throat, loudly.

  ‘This is Annemarie, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Annemarie.’ De Graaf was still staring at her, and it was by a visibly conscious effort of will-power that he turned his head to look at van Effen. ‘Of course, of course. Annemarie. But there are one or two things I haven’t had the opportunity yet to discuss with you and—’

  ‘I understand, sir. Annemarie, my dear, would you mind for a few minutes—I’m sure George will give you something.’ She blew a long puff of smoke, smiled and tottered from the room.

  ‘Annemarie, my dear.’ De Graaf sounded and looked appalled. ‘Annemarie, my dear. You in your Kraker uniform and that—that creature, what a couple you would make. Level headed, I’d always thought you, eminently sensible—this must be some kind of joke. Where on earth did you pick up that hussy, that harlot, that harridan, that ghastly spectacle? God, that make-up, that bordello perfume!’

  ‘It’s not like you, sir, to go by appearances. Snap judgments—’

  ‘Snap judgments! Those preposterous shoes. That filthy jersey that was built for—for a gorilla—’

  ‘A very practical jersey, sir. That way no one would suspect the existence of the Biretta automatic she carries strapped beneath her waist.’

  ‘A Biretta! That creature, that spectacle—she carries an automatic? That—that caricature of a human being carries a gun? You must be mad.’ He drew deeply on his cheroot. ‘No, you’re not mad. I’m not complaining, Peter, but it’s been a shock to my system.’

  ‘I can see that, sir. Should have warned you, I suppose. She does have rather an effect on people who make her acquaintance for the first time. That awful harridan is in fact a rather lovely young lady, or would be if she soaked in a bath for about an hour. She’s very nice, charming really, intelligent, speaks four languages, is a university graduate and is also a lady policewoman from Rotterdam. Don’t you see, sir, I’m making a point. If she can fool the Chief of Police, who has become Chief of Police by, among other things, being fooled by fewer people than anyone else around, she can fool anyone.’

  ‘How did you come by this paragon?’

  ‘Exchange basis. Not a very fair exchange, really. I knew she’d spent six months underground in Rotterdam, and we had no one comparable up here. It wasn’t easy but my opposite number down there is a friend of mine.’

  ‘Why wasn’t I informed of this?’

  ‘Because you gave me a free hand, remember. I would have informed you if there had been anything to report. So far there has been nothing. Didn’t want to bother you with trifles.’

  De Graaf smiled. ‘I doubt whether the young lady would care to be called a trifle. Have her in, would you?’

  Van Effen did so and de Graaf waved her courteously to a seat. ‘Sorry you were kept waiting. You know who I am?’

  ‘Of course. Colonel van de Graaf. My boss.’ The slightly husky voice was low and pleasant, at complete variation with her appearance.

  ‘Lieutenant van Effen told you?’

  ‘He didn’t have to, sir. I work for him and I know he works for you. And I’ve seen your picture dozens of times.’

  ‘That outfit you’re wearing, Annemarie. Don’t you feel it makes you look rather conspicuous?’

  ‘Among the people I’m supposed to be investigating? I can assure you, sir, that compared to some of the clothes worn there, mine are low key, positively understated. Isn’t that so, Peter?’

  ‘Ah! Peter, is it? A lowly ranker addresses my senior Lieutenant by his given name?’

  ‘On orders, sir. We’ve been out a couple of times together—’

  ‘Among your—ah—friends?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I wish I had seen that.’

  ‘We do form rather a striking couple. I told Annemarie that it would be unwise to call me Lieutenant in such company but to call me Peter and always think of me as Peter. That way you don’t make mistakes. Someone drummed this into me years ago.’

  ‘I was the drummer. I understand that you carry a gun, young lady. You can use it?’

  ‘I was trained at the police range.’

  ‘Ever used it?’

  ‘No. And I must admit I hope I never have to.’

  ‘Would you use it?’

  ‘I don’t know. If it was to stop someone from killing a person, well, perhaps, yes. But I couldn’t kill a person. I don’t like guns. I’m afraid I’m not very brave, sir.’

  ‘Nonsense. Your sentiments do you credit. Feel exactly the same way myself. And it takes a brave girl to venture into Krakerland.’

  She half-smiled. ‘That’s where the roll-neck comes in so useful. They can’t see the pulse in my neck.’

  ‘Rubbish. How are things among your friends? Anything untoward or exciting afoot.’

  ‘They’re not a very exciting lot, sir. Rather dull, really. Most of them are not the social rebels and anti-authority storm troopers they would like to be thought to be. Of course, there are the drug-pushers and drug-users, and there is a hard core that trade in armaments, selling Russian small-arms to the Irish Republican Army and other disaffected elements. But Peter has told me not to bother about the arms-running side.’

  ‘Disaffected elements? I rather like that. So, Peter, the young lady does not concern herself with gun-running. Why?’

  ‘You ask me, sir? America, Russia, Britain, France trade in arms—legally—to the tune of billions of
dollars yearly. The Israelis do it, as do the Iranians, Libyans and God knows how many other countries. All with their government’s blessings. Who are we to become all God-fearing, moralistic and holier-than-thou when private enterprise move in on a tiny scale? Anyway, I know you’re not really interested in that side, and that the only things you really are interested in are drugs and those mysterious and increasing threats to the Royal family and members of the Government.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Anything interesting to report on any of these fronts?’

  Annemarie shook her head. ‘Vasco—you’ve heard of Vasco?’

  ‘Yes. Never met him, though. Supposed to meet him today. In fact I thought I was meeting him with you.’

  ‘I thought so, too. We’d arranged to meet in a café close by here almost an hour ago. No signs, which is most unlike Vasco.’

  ‘This friend of yours—he’s a dyed-in-the-wool true-blue Kraker?’

  ‘Well, he seems to be but he can’t be, can he? They have some kind of leaders, nobody with any personality or charisma, a kind of loose council, and Vasco appears to be a member or close to it. But he says he’s basically against them and I believe him. After all, he works for you. Sort of.’

  ‘But you’re in two minds about him?’

  ‘My intelligence, if I have any, says that—well, I’m ambivalent about him. My instincts trust him.’

  ‘Peter?’

  ‘Her instincts are right. He’s a cop. Detective sergeant.’

  ‘A policeman.’ Annemarie’s lips were compressed, her eyes angry. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Don’t be childish,’ van Effen said. ‘You told him you were a policewoman?’

  She didn’t answer and de Graaf said hastily: ‘It’s the need-to-know principle, my dear. He didn’t even tell me. I take it he thinks I didn’t need to know. You were about to say something about Vasco?’

  ‘Yes. Could be important. I don’t know. He told me late last night that he thought he had a lead. He said he had been approached by one of the council, a person who knew that he, Vasco, moved quite often about the outside world—to them, everything beyond their suburban boundaries is the outside world. He said he was being taken to a meeting about midnight to meet someone important. I don’t know who the person was.’

  Van Effen said: ‘Who was the person who approached him? Can you describe him?’

  ‘I can describe him, all right. Short, balding, pepper-and-salt beard and a bad squint in his right eye.’

  De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘Another eye disorder, but this one for real. This person have a name?’

  ‘Julius.’

  ‘Julius what?’

  ‘Just—’ She hesitated. ‘Julius Caesar. I know it’s crazy, but then they’re crazy. Nobody out there ever uses his real name. Right now, as far as names are concerned, they’re going through an historical phase. That’s the kind of follow-my-leader sheep they are. We’ve got Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Charlemagne, Lord Nelson, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra—I could go on. They go for macho men or beautiful women, everything that they’re not. Anyway, Julius Caesar.’

  Van Effen said: ‘And that’s all you know? No indications as to what kind of lead it was?’

  ‘No.’ She pursed her lips. ‘That’s not to say that he didn’t know.’

  ‘An odd comment to make,’ de Graaf said. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. I just don’t know whether he knows or not.’

  ‘Dear me.’ De Graaf studied her quizzically. ‘You don’t trust your fellow officer?’

  ‘He doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘Well, once again, dear me. This does make for a happy relationship in the field.’

  Van Effen said: ‘Sergeant Westenbrink doesn’t distrust her. It’s just that three years working under-cover tends to make you secretive, a loner.’

  ‘Westenbrink, is it. I thought I knew all my sergeants.’

  ‘He’s from Utrecht, sir.’

  ‘You cast a wide net. Lieutenant van Effen, Annemarie, works on the same principle as Vasco, whose name, I feel quite certain, is not Vasco. The need to know. How can you be hurt when you see me being treated in this cavalier fashion?’

  George entered, apologized, picked up a phone set from a side table and placed it in front of Annemarie. She lifted the receiver, listened to the crackling voice for all of two minutes, said: ‘Thank you. Five minutes,’ and hung up.

  Van Effen said: ‘The Hunter’s Horn, I presume. What’s the message from Vasco?’

  ‘The Hunter’s Horn.’ De Graaf frowned. ‘I trust that’s not the Hunter’s Horn that—’

  ‘There’s only one—ah—establishment of that name in Amsterdam. Beggars can’t be choosers. Apart from La Caracha it’s our only safe house in Amsterdam. A private connection, Colonel. The fair name of the Amsterdam police department remains unbesmirched.’

  ‘Not to know,’ de Graaf muttered. ‘Not to know.’

  ‘You’re half right,’ Annemarie said, almost reluctantly. ‘It was the Hunter’s Horn. But it wasn’t Vasco.’

  ‘Never said it was. I said “What’s the message from Vasco?” It was Henri. Henri, sir, is the owner. Vasco is under observation but whoever is tailing him didn’t know, wasn’t to know, that it’s virtually impossible to follow Vasco without Vasco being aware of it. So he couldn’t come here. The person or persons following him would have raised their eyebrows if they saw you here: they’d have gone into shock if they’d found me, which would have been a small disaster for us and the end of the usefulness of both Vasco and yourself. So the only place left for Vasco was the Hunter’s Horn. Even there he couldn’t use the telephone for he would still be being watched. So he wrote a small note for Henri who did the telephoning. You’re to ask me a question and you’re to give Henri my answer inside five minutes.’

  Annemarie sighed. ‘Did you have to spoil it for me?’ Then she brightened. ‘But you didn’t get it all, did you?’

  ‘I’m brilliant at deducing the obvious. I’m not clairvoyant. The rest, what I didn’t get, can wait, including the reasons why Vasco is going to call me back.’

  ‘I didn’t say that?’

  ‘Henri did. The message.’

  She made a moue. ‘It went like this. Two tails. Understand can’t ditch. Meet two—’

  De Graaf interrupted. ‘What was that meant to mean?’

  ‘Westenbrink’s shorthand, I imagine,’ van Effen said. ‘Only two ways of getting rid of his tails. He could throw them into the nearest canal, which he’s perfectly capable of doing or he could easily have lost them which he is again perfectly capable of doing. Either course of action would have ended any connection he’s succeeded in making.’

  Annemarie went on: ‘Meet two, three men four-thirty Hunter’s Horn.’ She pushed across a piece of paper.

  ‘Stephan Danilov,’ van Effen read. ‘Pole. Radom. Explosives expert. Oil well fires. Texas. Clear enough. Interesting, sir?’

  ‘It is indeed. How do you feel about blowing up banks?’

  ‘Should be interesting to see the law from the other side. They’ll bring along a Polish speaker, of course.’

  Annemarie said: ‘You think this is a Polish criminal group.’

  ‘No. Just to check on me.’

  ‘But if they speak to you in—’

  ‘If they speak to him in Polish, my dear,’ de Graaf said, ‘he’ll answer in Polish, in which language he’s very fluent. Your friend from Utrecht, Peter, of course knew this.’

  Annemarie said: ‘But—but you’ll be recognized. Everybody in that—that ghetto knows you, I mean, knows who you are.’

  ‘Ninny. Sorry, but, please. If you think I’m going to present myself as Lieutenant van Effen you can’t be feeling too well. I shall, in the best traditions as befits the circumstances, be heavily disguised. I shall put on about twenty kilos—I have a suit and shirt designed to cope with the excess avoirdupois—fatten my cheeks, tint hair and moustache, wear a sinister scar and a black
leather glove. That’s to disguise the fearful scars and burns I sustained when—let me see, yes, of course—when I was putting out this oil fire in Saudi Arabia or wherever. It’s remarkable what a single black glove does. It becomes the focal point for identification in nearly everyone’s mind and if you’re not wearing it, you’re not you, if you follow me. And don’t call Krakerdom a ghetto—it’s an insult to decent Jews.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. Call Henri, tell him it’s OK and to let a few minutes pass before giving Vasco the nod.’

  She made the call and hung up. ‘Everything seems all right. A few minutes.’ She looked at van Effen. ‘You already have all the details you want. Why have Vasco make the call?’

  ‘Why have Vasco make the call?’ Van Effen tried to look patient. ‘Vasco goes back every afternoon to this empty block of flats that they’ve taken over under so-called squatters’ rights. He’s been under surveillance since his meeting with the council or whatever they call themselves since last night and it’s a safe assumption that he’ll remain under surveillance until the time of the meeting in the Hunter’s Horn. How’s he supposed to have communicated with me to arrange this meeting? Telepathy?’

  De Graaf cleared his throat and looked at Annemarie. ‘You must forgive our Lieutenant his old-world gallantry. Do you go back to the dreadful place now?’

  ‘Very soon.’

  ‘And you stay there overnight?’

  She gave a mock shudder. ‘There are limits, sir, to my loyalty to the police force. No, I don’t sleep there at nights.’