Алистер Маклин - Floodgate

‘Neither can I. We’re doing nothing. There’s nothing, as far as I can see, that we can do.’

‘One or two small things, perhaps. Alfred van Rees, to start with.’

‘What’s van Rees got to do with Agnelli and the Annecys?’

‘Nothing. As far as we know. But we would at least be doing something about something. I suggest two tails on van Rees. One to keep an eye on van Rees, the other to keep an eye on the first tail. Just consider how lucky Mas Voight is to be still alive. Then I suggest we investigate van Rees’s bank statements.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘This pillar of the Rijkswaterstaat may be giving the dyke-blowers information that they couldn’t get elsewhere. Selling, not giving. Could be, of course, that if he’s picking up some money that he shouldn’t, he might have it stashed away in another account under another name. But criminals – especially people who are not habitual criminals, and I assume van Rees is not – often overlook the obvious.’

‘Can’t be done. Illegal. Man hasn’t even been charged, far less convicted of anything.’

‘They’ve got Julie and Annemarie.’

‘So. What connection do they have with van Rees?’

‘None. Again, as far as we know. Although I was just thinking of one of the last things Julie said to me, that how extraordinarily odd it was that the dyke-breakers, the palace bombers and the Annecy brothers should all happen along at the same time. Could be a coincidence. Could be too much of a coincidence. Or nothing. Maybe I just hate the whole wide criminal world. Forget it, sir. Just a suggestion.’

The phone rang. Van Effen picked it up, listened, said thank you and hung up. ‘This should cheer us all up. There’s going to be a radio broadcast of the FFF’s latest communiqué in about ten minutes.’

‘Inevitable, I suppose. Your suggestion, Peter. Normally, I should dismiss it out of hand. But your suggestions have an extraordinary habit of turning up something.’ He smiled without any humour. ‘Maybe you share – what’s the word? – this precognition with your sister. We’ll put those two tails on van Rees – my God, the very idea of putting tails on van Rees – and have his liquid assets discreetly investigated. I shall probably be arraigned before Parliament for this. Drag you down with me, of course.’ He reached for the phone. ‘Let me handle this.’

After he had arranged matters in his customary imperious fashion and put the phone down, van Effen said: ‘Thank you. Tell me, sir, do your linguistic friends at the University have all the tapes? Including the one I brought from the Hunter’s Horn?’ De Graaf nodded. ‘When do you expect them to be ready?’

‘When they’re ready, one supposes. Things move leisurely in the groves of Academe.’

‘Think you could hurry them up, sir? National emergency, something like that.’

‘I can but try.’ De Graaf called a number, spoke to someone he called Hector then, still holding the phone, turned to van Effen. ‘Six o’clock?’

‘Five forty-five, if possible.’

De Graaf spoke briefly, hung up and said: ‘Very precise about our timing, aren’t we?’

‘Person coming round at six-thirty to the Trianon to give me the radio data for detonating this bomb in the palace cellars.’

‘First I heard of it. One finds it uncommonly difficult to keep up with your activities. One finds it rather droll, if I may say so, to find a police officer paying the courtesy of punctuality to a criminal.’

‘Yes, sir. Do you know – personally, I mean – any plastic surgeons?’

‘Plastic surgeons! What on earth do you want with – well, I should know better, you’ll have your reasons. But plastic surgeons? Do you think I know everyone in this city?’

‘To my knowledge, sir, yes. Or nearly everyone.’

‘I could talk to the police surgeon.’

‘De Wit is not a plastic surgeon, sir.’

‘Ah! I have it. My old friend Hugh. Outstanding. Professor Hugh Johnson.’

‘Doesn’t sound like a Dutch surgeon to me. I mean, he’s not Dutch, is he?’

‘English. Trained at East Grinstead. I’m told that’s the best plastic surgery unit in Europe, if not the world. Man’s a genius.’ De Graaf smiled. ‘Not as smart as the Dutch, though. Not, specifically, as clever as one Dutch lady, a native of Amsterdam, whom he met here on an exchange visit. Six months after they got married he found himself domiciled in this country. Still doesn’t know how it happened to him. The very man.’ De Graaf cleared his throat in a delicate fashion. ‘If you could give me some slight indication as to what you want –’

‘Certainly. In the guise in which I meet Agnelli I have scars on my face and hands – remind me to tell you what I’ll look like tonight when we meet at the University otherwise you won’t recognize me. I want those scars to look even more realistic and, more important to be of such a nature that they can’t easily be pulled off, washed off or scrubbed off.’

‘Ah. I see. I mean, I don’t see.’ De Graaf pondered briefly. ‘Don’t like this at all. You are referring, of course, to Agnelli and his friends and any suspicions they may harbour. I thought you were of the opinion that your bona fide status as an internationally wanted criminal was fairly secure.’

‘I increasingly believe so, sir. But they don’t sound like a lot with whom one can safely take any chances. Might even find a reason tonight to prove – without seeming to, of course – the genuineness and permanence of those scars.’

De Graaf sighed. ‘We live in a devious world, a very devious world. Without wishing to give offence, Peter, I must say you seem perfectly at home in it. See what I can do. Damned phone again.’

Van Effen picked it up, listened and said: ‘Send a man around with them, will you? Wait a minute.’ He turned to de Graaf. ‘Sergeant Oudshoorn. Says number thirty-eight is deserted. Neighbours say nobody has lived there for years. Most of the furniture is gone, too. Sergeant Oudshoorn – he’s young, enthusiastic, I told you he’d relish this assignment and we did give him a sort of carte blanche – has been investigating some locked cupboards and desk drawers.’

‘With the aid of crowbars and chisels, I suppose.’

‘I imagine so. I also imagine that it’s extremely doubtful that we’ll ever have any complaints on that score. Thing is, he says he’s come across some odd-looking maps, charts and plans that he can’t make head or tail of. Probably of no importance whatsoever. But we’re in no position to overlook one chance in a thousand. I’ve asked Oudshoorn to have them sent round. Do you think that, en route, this messenger might pick up some knowledgeable lad from the City Surveyor’s office who might just be able to enlighten us about those maps?’

‘Chance in a thousand, as you say. Suppose you want me to do the dirty work?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He spoke into the phone. ‘Tell whoever it is that’s bringing the papers round to stop by the City Surveyor’s office and pick up someone who will accompany him here. The Colonel is arranging it.’

While de Graaf was issuing his instructions over the phone – he never made requests – van Effen turned on the radio and kept the volume low. When the Colonel hung up the phone he still kept the volume low – the cacophonous racket of the latest number one on the hit parade was not to van Effen’s taste – but turned it up when the noise stopped. The modulated voice of an announcer took over.

‘We interrupt this programme with a special news bulletin. The FFF, about whose activities you must have all heard or read in the past forty-eight hours, have issued another statement. It reads as follows: