Алистер Маклин - Floodgate

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The tense tale of a deadly terrorist plot set in Holland, from the acclaimed master of action and suspense.
AMSTERDAM AIRPORT HAS DISAPPEARED
BLACKMAIL. The mass of water in its place is the work of the FFF – an Irish terrorist group who want to force Britain’s hand.
SUBTERFUGE. The Dutch call in Detective Lieutenant van Effen – feared interrogator and undercover intimate of the criminal Krakers gang – to sabotage the FFF’s plan.
DISASTER. If van Effen fails and the FFF get control of the vital dyke, either Holland will sink beneath the sea or Britain will be awash with blood.

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‘Man proposes, God disposes.’ If van Effen was remorse stricken, he concealed it well. ‘Besides, you were being looked after. By proxy. Don’t tell me you didn’t see a rather elderly gentleman hanging around, slightly stooped, grey beard, grey coat and a white stick. He was looking after you.’

‘I saw him. That creature! He couldn’t have looked after a kitten.’

‘Whatever that means. That creature is young, fit, a judo expert and a very accurate shot.’

‘Beards,’ she almost muttered. ‘Beards, moustaches, that’s all they can think of. Disguises! Well, thank you, someone was there, but you broke your promise.’

‘It was politic to do so. I was close behind and you were less than a hundred metres from your rendezvous when I caught sight of none other than Mr Paderiwski following you even more closely than I was. Mr Paderiwski is shrewd, observant and doesn’t like me, which is a nasty combination. He might just have recognized me, especially when I was in close attendance on you. I had taken the precaution of taking two of my detectives with me – think nothing of the fact that we obviously care so much about you – and I decided discretion was the better part of foolhardiness. Hence the switch.’

Engel said through van Effen’s open window: ‘Anything further, sir?’

‘No. Not here. Don’t lose sight of our friend.’

‘Well, I’ve already seen him, sir. There can’t be another bald, pepper and salt beard with a squint around.’

‘Julius Caesar?’ Annemarie said.

‘None other. I didn’t tell Rudolph here what his name was. He wouldn’t have believed me. A close but not too close eye on our Julius. And make sure there are always a few people around. I’d rather lose him than lose you. Don’t forget what happened to your two colleagues yesterday.’

‘I won’t forget, sir.’ The expression on his face was testimony enough to that. He turned and walked away into the rain.

‘Mollified?’ Van Effen started the engine and drove off.

‘A bit.’ She smiled a little. ‘Did you have to tell him I was a coward?’

‘I did not. Someone was, I said.’

‘It doesn’t matter, because I am. I don’t like riding around in this car, for instance.’

‘It takes time to get seats fixed. And what’s that got to do –’

‘Please. I mean that this car is known. To criminals, I mean.’

‘Pfui. There’s a couple of hundred like this in the city.’

She said sweetly: ‘There’s a couple of hundred with the same licence plates?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything? You know the licence number of this car?’

‘More or less. Rotterdam. Three nines. We are trained to be observant, remember?’

‘But not observant enough to notice that these were clip-on plates, not screwed. Today, this car is registered in Paris with a big “F” at the side to prove it. I have access to an unlimited number of plates.’ She made a face but said nothing. ‘You should be interested in more important things. Such as the latest antics of the FFF.’

‘Yes?’

‘There were no antics. They didn’t blow the dyke of the North Holland canal. They called in to both the papers and the police less than ten minutes ago. Positively hugging themselves, they are. Said they never promised they would blow the canal – which is quite true – only that there would be considerable activity in that area at nine o’clock this morning. There were, they reported, scenes of very considerable activity which is again quite true. All rescue and repair teams were there, waiting, as were considerable numbers of police and army, not to mention air force helicopters. They claimed to have taken a good number of aerial photographs of the scenes, just for keepsakes.’

‘You believe that, too?’

‘Certainly. I have no reason to disbelieve it.’

‘But aerial photographs? How could that be possible?’

‘It would be all too simple, I’m afraid. There would be any amount of helicopters buzzing about there this morning. An extra one wouldn’t be noticed especially if, as is highly likely, it was carrying some official markings.’

‘What was the reason behind this pointless and idiotic exercise?’

‘It was far from being idiotic and very much to the point. Just in case we missed the point they spelt it out very clearly. They said that in the space of twenty-four hours they had reduced the country, most especially the authorities, to a state of frustrated helplessness. The so-called authorities – they had a number of cynical and very unpleasant remarks to make about the government, the police, the army and those whose duty it was to look after the safety and welfare of dykes, locks, weirs, sluices, dams and I forget what else – were totally powerless to do anything to stop them. All they had to do, they said, was to stop at home, stick a pin into a map, phone the papers, sit back and never go within a hundred kilometres but still guarantee that the law, the army, the repair and rescue teams would be out in full force. It was, they said, both an entertaining and gratifying situation. One can readily understand why they feel that way.’

‘And not a word about their purposes, no hint as to what lies behind it all?’

‘No hint, but a suggestion that we might soon know what their demands are going to be. They didn’t use the word “demands” but they can have meant nothing else. Tomorrow, they said, they were going to flood a really large area of the country and after that they would probably have talks with the government. Can you imagine? The sheer cold arrogance of it all. They speak as if they are an independent sovereign state. Next, one supposes, they’ll be calling for an open debate in the UNO.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Plenty of time. Two minutes to remove this outfit – no washing or soaking required – and five minutes to put on my Hunter’s Horn uniform. I suggest coffee.’

She put a hand on his arm. ‘You really are going there, aren’t you, Peter.’

‘Of course. I’ve said so. Somebody has to and as I am the only person who’s been in contact with them, it has to be me. How else do you think the law would ever get anywhere unless it’s prepared, just once in a while, to take the initiative?’

‘I wish you weren’t going. I feel certain something is going to happen. Something awful. You could be hurt, even killed, or, maybe even worse, crippled for life. You know what they did to those two men. Oh Peter!’ She was silent for a moment, then said: ‘If I were your wife, I’d stop you.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said miserably. ‘Appeal to your better nature, love for me, something like, “For my sake, if you care about me, please don’t go.” Something clever like that,’ she said bitterly.

‘Well, you’re not my wife, and, even if you were, I’d still go. I’m sorry that sounds hard and selfish and cruel, but it’s my job and I have to go.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘You’re a very kind girl and I do appreciate your concern.’

‘Kind? Concern?’ She caught his wrist and gently removed his hand from her arm. ‘Concern!’

‘Annemarie!’ Van Effen’s surprise was genuine. ‘What on earth’s wrong.’

‘Nothing. Just nothing.’

Van Effen gazed ahead for some moments, sighed and said: ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand women.’

‘I don’t think so either.’ She seemed to hesitate, then said: ‘I don’t much fancy going to a coffee-shop.’

‘If you wish we won’t. But why not?’

‘I don’t much care for wearing this face in public. Where there are decent people around. It doesn’t matter back there. And I don’t think you are particularly keen on being seen among the same public with a freak like me.’

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