Ten Arrest Team members, military policemen, kenneled and trained in the south of the country, dressed in combat fatigues, were driving along the dike in five cars. They had been issued orders to exterminate or; if possible, to arrest two dangerous criminals, Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft, in the cattle market of Leeuwarden, in another week's time. Because the extermination or arrest of two dangerous criminals who would be well armed and most likely in possession of a fast car would require coordination on the road, the Arrest Team was now on exercise. The five cars were connected by radio. The commander was in the first vehicle. He saw and heard the Chinese cyclists shooting at each other.
"All cars stop and park, over."
"Weapons ready to fire, over."
"Prepare attack direction Friesland, over."
"Leave cars, follow me, attack. Over and out."
P-S machine pistols with shortened barrels crackled, and folly automatic Uzi carbine/machine-gun combinations fired away. The men crawled, got up, broke into short runs, dropped down again. The Chinese pistols boomed individual heavy dots in the pattern of lines that the Attack Team's superior weapons were drawing. Turram. Voom. Tack-tack-tack. There were other heavy sounds caused by cars hitting each other and tires shrieking on the dike's tarmac. Surprised highway traffic, which had been moving along at easy speeds, clumped together, accompanied by the ragged blowing of horns.
The Arrest Team members reported to their chief. "They're all dead, sir, will that be all right?"
"Very nice," the commander bellowed. "You and you, guard corpses, the others, see what you can do about rearranging the traffic. Hello? Not you. Get back to your car and radio for ambulances."
A silver Citroen parked on the shoulder. "Drive on," a military policeman barked. He strengthened his order with a sweep of his weapon. A small gentleman left the Citroen.
"Back to your car and remove yourself, sir."
"Police," the little gentleman said. "What's going on here?"
"Chinese, sir. Six of them. All taken care of."
"Your chief?"
The military policeman pointed.
"Get the hell out of here," the commander shouted.
"Police," the commissaris said. "You didn't happen to hit a tousle-headed compatriot, I trust?"
The commander didn't think so. They went over together to look. The commander suddenly felt sick, and the commissaris didn't feel well either. One corpse showed a partly blown-away head; another had lost half an arm, and blood was pumping out of the stump; Wo Hop's mate observed the commander and the commissaris from one staring eye and one hole.
"Captain," a military policeman shouted. "Over there."
Two pink hands waved from a tuft of weeds.
"Arrest him."
Cardozo was arrested from six sides simultaneously.
"He's mine," the commissaris said. "I want him, Captain."
Cardozo was handed over.
"What happened?" Cardozo asked, laughing.
"Poor boy," the commissaris said. "Come with me, Simon, we'll sit down over there."
"An apple," sobbed Cardozo. "I was just going to peel it."
"Yes, dear boy."
"And they were all killing each other, all of a sudden."
"Care for a cigar?" the commissaris asked. Cardozo preferred to roll his own cigarette, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably. The commissaris lit a cigar and stuck it between Cardozo's lips.
"There are too many Chinese," Cardozo stuttered. "I had them in the Red Quarter too. Last night. Wo Hop and his mate, tied up. I released them, and two others too, and now this lot again."
"The same Chinese?" the commissaris asked.
"Lots of them, sir."
"Are you doing better now?"
"Because I wanted to eat an apple."
"It won't be an appetizing sight," the commissaris said, "but maybe you should take a look."
Ambulances climbed the dike crying plaintively with their sirens. A motorcycle cop rode slowly along the path reserved for cyclists. "Hey!" Cardozo shouted. "Watch it! Officer, that ambulance has flattened Samuel's bike. Oh, no. Officer, do something. I've got to bring that bike back, it belongs to my brother."
The cop took off his helmet. "Hello, Hylkje," the commissaris said. He introduced Cardozo.
"Will you be writing a report?" Cardozo asked. "I'll need it for the insurance."
Hylkje staggered off.
"Too many dead Chinese," the commissaris said. "Do you recognize any, Cardozo?"
"Here," Cardozo said. "Wo Hop's mate. This man who's missing an eye." Cardozo staggered off too.
Cardozo turned, grabbing hold of afencepost. "What are the commandos doing here, sir? Paratroopers? Is there a war? I haven't been reading the paper for a few days."
The commander of the Arrest Team reported to the commissaris. "Do you know what was going on here, sir? We were on our way to Leeuwarden, when we came upon these cyclists gunning each other down."
"I'm going to Leeuwarden too," the commissaris said. "I'll construct a theory on my way up. You'll be hearing from me."
"Chinese, all of them," the commander said.
"I was just going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "I jumped off my bike. And suddenly, from nowhere, slaughter all over."
"You're on our side, right?" the commander asked. "And your chief was looking for you? He seemed to know that something was amiss."
"I'll reconstruct an acceptable situation," the commissaris said. "You'll be the first to know. You'll be securing the cattle market against predicted trouble?"
"You know about that too?"
"I heard rumors."
The commander took his helmet off and put it on again. "The Chinese are cattle dealers?"
"I hardly think so," the commissaris said.
A State Police Land Rover climbed the dike. A sergeant and a corporal got out. "What is going on here?"
"I was going to eat an apple," Cardozo said. "But I had to peel it first."
"Cycling Chinese," the commander said.
Hylkje came closer, holding a ballpoint pen and a notepad. "Who owned the bicycle that has just been totaled?"
"Any witnesses?" the state cops asked. "Why is everybody dead? Is the army involved?"
"Can we pick up the corpses now?" an ambulance attendant asked.
"I'll come up with a suitable hypothesis," the commissaris said.
"Did we manage to hit anyone?" the commander asked. "Hey. You and you. Did you get anyone?"
'This is where I jumped off my bike," Cardozo said. "They were all coming at me. Three from the rear and three from ahead."
"Not the army," the commander said, "although technically we might be, of course. An Arrest Team, trained in the south. I'm in charge."
"I got one, Captain, the man over there. I was spraying low, and as he fell I must have hit him in the head," a military policeman said.
"We're not authorized to pronounce them dead," the ambulance attendant said, "but they are, they're ripped to pieces."
"I'm going to call everybody in here," the State Police sergeant said. "Anyone I can think of. This is not for me. I can't even look at this mess. What could have done it?"
"I'll pass my solution to your Colonel Kopinie," the commissaris said, "and he'll pass it on to you."
"A battle," the State Police corporal was yelling into his microphone. "Maybe an attempted invasion. Come here, I say. The Chinese are losing."
"Come along, Cardozo," the commissaris said. "This is no place for us."
"I'll guide the way," Hylkje said. "There's cattle plague around again, and the north exit of the dike is clogged because of checks. I'll get you through them."
"I'm going to Dingjum," the commissaris said. "Put your bike in my car."
"Are you in a hurry?" Hylkje asked.
"Yes," the commissaris said. "No time to lose."
"Siren?"
"If you please."
"Two hundred kilometers an hour," the commissaris said. "Hylkje certai
nly knows her job."
"Are you sure we're in a hurry?" Cardozo asked.
"I think better at high speeds," the commissaris said. 'Tell me now, what were you doing with the Chinese suspects last night?"
Cardozo reported.
"Of course," the commissaris said.
"Is it clear to you now, sir?"
"Surely," the commissaris said, "but my explanation might be farfetched, and the theory cannot be confirmed, as both parties have left the situation. But that's the way it all fits."
"What way?" Cardozo asked.
"Just one little question," the commissaris said. "Do you recall having stated in public that you would be cycling along this dike starting early this morning? Think carefully, Cardozo."
Cardozo thought carefully.
"Yes," Cardozo said. "On the way, between the station in the Red Quarter and Troelstra's bar, I did make such a statement. Karate and Ketchup refused to believe me. Then I said it again and they repeated what I said, loudly. By bicycle. Six AM. TO Friesland. Along the dike"
"Aha," the commissaris said.
"It's really all clear to you now, sir?"
"Two hundred and five kilometers per hour," the commissaris said. "A most helpful speed. Pity. We're slowing down already. There's the end of the dike."
Hylkje chose the emergency lane. The Citroen followed. "This is the way it came about, Cardozo," the commissaris said. "Heroin dealing in Amsterdam is at present controlled by two Triads, secret Chinese societies that have been active here for years. Each Triad wants a monopoly, so friction results. The Hong Kong-based society fights the Singapore society here, in our city." The commissaris raised a slender finger. "Always the same thing. Conflicting interests. They could join and share, but that's too much to expect, when we consider human greed. So now what do we get?"
"Dead Chinese?"
"Ah," the commissaris said. "This part of the trip may be even better. Narrow country roads, Cardozo—we'll see what this exclusive car can do. We'll be glued to that motorcycle no matter what the corporal has us do. Just pay attention."
"Yes," Cardozo said. "Easy now, sir. Blind corners. Easy now."
Hylkje turned sharply, and the Citroen equaled her performance. "A hundred kilometers an hour," the commissaris said. "That's an easy speed, but in view of the road condition it's still an appreciable figure."
"So what would the Triad members want of me, sir?"
"Postulating," the commissaris said, "that this Adjutant Oppenhuyzen, who you found in Hop's restaurant contacting young Chinese toughs—assuming that this colleague, let's say, entertained intimate communication with the opposing party, we might possibly conclude"—the commissaris raised a finger again—"that the enemy, seeing you with the adjutant, surmised that you were in their business too. Moreover, they saw you having dinner with two uniformed constables. So they now know you're a police officer too. Look at it through their eyes, Cardozo, what do you see?"
The Citroen leaned into the next tight curve.
"Couldn't we park somewhere?" Cardozo asked. "It's hard to concentrate when I try to imagine what may happen any minute now."
"Close your eyes," the commissaris said. "Darkness helps at times. After you had dinner with the Red District constables, you were seen again, liberating two members of one Triad from the sadistic claws of the other. Where does that place you now?"
"On Hop's side?" Cardozo asked. "But I arrested both sides."
"And you let one side go later," the commissaris said. "Become a Chinese gangster for a moment, Cardozo. What is your aim? You're trying to increase your own happiness and possessions. Always the same motivation. Strengthening of one's own position. What's your next step?"
"I was going home."
"No, no," the commissaris said. "Switch your position. You're them now. See through their eyes. You'd be after a considerable sum of money. How would you plan to get that? What do cops have that the other side wants? Heroin, of course. We confiscate the drug and sell it back to the suppliers."
A straight line of road loomed up. Trees swishing by changed into a hedge of solid green, which broke for a moment and showed black and white dots—cows. Ahead of the Citroen, the large white motorcycle picked up speed. The siren sang her song.
"No!" Cardozo yelled, as a railway crossing humped up ahead. Motorcycle and car took the bulge spectacularly.
"Yes," the commissaris said. "The Chinese like to complicate simplicity. Ever interrogated a Chinese? They even change their names every two minutes. They expect the enemy, us, to like complications too. In order to get wise to what you would be planning, they dogged your steps. You were heard to say that you'd be bicycling to Friesland. Who would you want to visit out there?"
"Frisians?"
"More Chinese," the commissaris said. "Chinese finding refuge there because we hunt them out of Amsterdam. And what would you be taking to more Chinese?"
"Really?" Cardozo asked. "They thought my tin lunch box was filled with dope?"
•They did."
"Now where were the Chinese who were cycling toward me coming from, sir?"
"From Triad headquarters in Friesland."
"Please," Cardozo said. "You're driving too fast, sir, do please slow down."
"Had to pass that slowpoke," the commissaris said. "If I hadn't, Hylkje would have lost us. Now do you understand?"
"No."
"Betrayal?" the commissaris suggested. "There's always betrayal. Evil can't help betraying itself, we see that so often."
"The refugees in Friesland had been informed by a spy in the Amsterdam Triad that I would be taking them supplies? And that I would be followed? But there were only cheese sandwiches in my lunch box. And the apple that I was about to peel."
"Evil is suspicious—paranoid, in fact," the commissaris said. "If it weren't, it wouldn't destroy itself, but keep growing and eventually take over. I've always wondered about that theoretical possibility," the commissaris said softly. "If evil took over completely, what would happen to our struggle? If it swallowed the last vestige of good, would it become good itself?"
Hylkje switched off her siren and applied her brakes.
"Dingjum," the commissaris said. "And that dear little house where Lieutenant Sudema lives, in the company of his lovely wife, Gyske. Such a delightful woman."
Gyske welcomed them at her gate. Hylkje placed her helmet on the saddle of the Guzzi. "It's you again?" Gyske asked. "I owe you thanks for bringing Sjurd home this morning. He's still asleep, thank God. When he wakes up he'll be tearing down the wall, after he rips out the cupboard."
"Pity," Hylkje said. "Such a nice wall. He'll kill the ivy and climbing roses. Can't he forgive the cupboard?"
"The cupboard of my sin," Gyske said sadly.
"Didn't you have a good time in there?" Hylkje asked. "Wasn't your lover a therapist? If it was part of the treatment, it should have been fun."
"It wasn't," Hylkje said disgustedly.
"Would you happen to know," the commissaris asked, "how we can get to Mrs. Scherjoen's home? I've been there before, but I can't remember the way."
Gyske pointed. 'That way, hard to miss."
"Will I see you both tonight?" Hylkje asked. "Rinus invited me to dinner. He's picking up some fresh sole in Ameland."
"More trouble?" Cardozo asked. "Mrs. Sudema didn't look too happy."
The commissaris and Cardozo were walking. "A marriage crisis," the commissaris explained. "Sjurd Sudema did not properly love his beautiful wife, and then she picked on a certain Anne."
"A lesbian affair?" Cardozo asked. "Do they have that here too? It's quite popular nowadays, understandably so. If I were a woman, I would go after women too."
The commissaris was quietly thoughtful.
"You disapprove of normal abnormalities, sir?"
"I watched it once," the commissaris said. "In Paris, an age ago. Most interesting. But that Anne is a man."
"Homosexual?" Cardozo asked, shocked. "No wonder that lieutenant is about
to demolish his house. A homosexual raping his wife, in his very own cupboard."
"No, no," the commissaris said. "And the fellow supposedly looks like me. Are you trying to upset me, Cardozo?"
"/'m upset," Cardozo said. "I still can't understand why the Chinese cycling behind me would invite the Chinese cycling toward me to have themselves shot."
"Themselves?"
"The behind-me Chinese, sir."
"Oh, those Chinese," the commissaris said. Chinese," the commissaris said. "Because, no, that was different, someone else again, another Chinese, must have heard the behind-you Chinese plan their trip on the dike, and passed that information to the toward-you Chinese."
"Right," Cardozo said doubtfully.
"Are you pretending to be that stupid," the commissaris said, "or are you trying to prove that I've underestimated you for the last few years? The Chinese have nothing to do with us. You shouldn't have been on the dike. If I hadn't thought of phoning your mother, I wouldn't even have known that you were trying to peel apples on the dike. That conceited attitude of yours, Cardozo, I don't know whether I like it."
"I'm doing everything wrong," Cardozo said. "Uncle Ezra wants me to take over his market stall, but I don't feel like doing that either. I don't feel like doing anything at all."
"Feelings will change,** the commissaris said. "Where is this Scheijoen house? Didn't Gyske say we couldn't miss it?"
"It's beautiful out here," Cardozo said. 'The soft, lush shades of summer, the flowering bushes."
'This would be quite a simple case," the commissaris said, If Mrs. Scherjoen would confess."
"No houses here," Cardozo said. "The emptiness of the past. I feel rather empty myself, I'm quite hollow inside, even my cold is gone. Maybe I'm about to disappear."
"Mem is Frisian," the commissaris said. "Perhaps she thinks that what she did is justified. The way society views the law doesn't equate with the individual's attitude, lake Mem Scherjoen, for instance. We see her as a dear rustic old lady and she probably is, but just how far can such a sweet soul be pushed?"
The Rattle-Rat Page 15
