Алистер Маклин - Floodgate

Van Effen said: ‘Julie, Annemarie?’

‘Yes. How do you know?’

‘Valken, your face, brandy. Bad?’

‘Bad enough. Phone call from the brothers. They say the girls are as well as can be expected which can mean anything or nothing. They also say they’ve sent a telegram of condolences to Rotterdam.’ He’d picked up the piece of paper he’d scribbled on. ‘To David Joseph Karlmann Meijer.’

Van Effen sipped his brandy and said nothing. George and Vasco exchanged glances of incomprehension. At length George said: ‘And who might he be?’

‘I forgot,’ de Graaf said. ‘You don’t know, of course. Anne’s – Annemarie’s – father.’

‘Yes,’ George said. ‘I mean no. I don’t understand, Colonel. What about Annemarie?’

De Graaf stared incredulously at van Effen. ‘You mean, you haven’t told them?’

‘I don’t believe I have.’

‘Good God!’ De Graaf shook his head. ‘The need-to-know principle, I suppose. One of those days, Peter, you’re going to forget to remind yourself of something and that will be the end of you.’ De Graaf looked from George to Vasco. ‘Annemarie and Julie – Lieutenant van Effen’s sister – have been kidnapped. The Annecy brothers.’

‘The Annecy brothers.’ George was silent for a moment. ‘Those murderous fiends. You put two of them away for fifteen years.’

‘Correction. Lieutenant van Effen put them away and the two that escaped have been threatening to get him ever since. They’ve gone one better. They’ve got Julie.’

‘I know Julie well. And what’s the significance of this message to Annemarie’s father?’

‘The significance lies in her father. You will find it hard to believe, George, but the father of that fearful frump who used to frequent La Caracha is one of the wealthiest men in the Netherlands. Maybe the wealthiest. And a very powerful man. He has the ear of the government. He’s in a position rather similar to Dassault, the plane maker, in France. There are some areas in which they don’t move without consulting him at first or, at least, listening to what he says. He has power and wealth and a daughter and now they have the daughter and may well turn his power and wealth to their own advantage. Anne Meijer is any crim-inal’s dream hostage come true.’

Van Effen put down his glass and looked at his watch. ‘It’s time, George.’

‘God in heaven! I don’t believe it. You look at your damned watch and say it’s time to go. Doesn’t it occur to you to wonder how in the hell they got that information about David Meijer.’

‘Some sort of persuasion, I suppose.’

‘Persuasion! Torture. They tortured the poor girl!’

‘What poor girl?’

‘Are you all right, Lieutenant? Annemarie, of course.’

The shake of van Effen’s head was very positive. ‘No. Not Annemarie. The Annecy brothers – or at least the two we put away – never tortured without a reason, however twisted that reason might be. The reason was either revenge or to get information. Why should they revenge themselves on Annemarie – what has she ever done to anyone? And information – what information could they possibly get from her. They don’t know who she is, who her father is. Didn’t, rather. As far as they are concerned she’s only a friend of Julie’s and they took her along for no reason other than the fact that she happened to be there. If they tortured anybody – and I suspect it was only a threat of torture, to get information about me – it would have been Julie. My guess is that Annemarie volunteered that information about herself as a sop to the Annecys, to turn their minds to the thought of unlimited ransom money – maybe she even mentioned her father’s influence with the government although people like the Annecys would almost certainly have been aware of that anyway – anything to distract attention from Julie. Annemarie’s no fool – if she were, I wouldn’t have brought her up from Rotterdam. She knows that the Annecys of this world are above all pragmatists and that anything that would further their plans would be of a great deal more interest to them than hurting me by proxy.’

‘Cold-blooded fish,’ de Graaf muttered.

‘Pardon, sir?’

‘You could be right or you could be wrong. Damage both ways. If you’re right the Annecys’ hands have been greatly strengthened and David Meijer’s pocket almost certainly lightened, or will be in the very near future. If you’re wrong, you’re putting your head in that charming hangman’s noose that the Annecy brothers put on their postcards. If you’re wrong she’d have talked of many things, principally that Stephan Danilov is Peter van Effen. I can’t take the chance that you’re not wrong. My orders are that you are not to go through with this.’

George said: ‘Normally, Colonel, I wouldn’t dream of not complying with your wishes. But these aren’t normal circumstances. By refusing your request, I’m not stepping outside the law nor am I making the point that I’m no longer a policeman. I’m just going my own way.’

De Graaf nodded. ‘I can’t stop you. But I can –’

‘You can force him to go his own way, too,’ George said. ‘By resigning. You’d never forgive yourself, Colonel.’

De Graaf scowled, refilled his glass, sank into an armchair and gazed into the fire. Van Effen nodded to Vasco and the three men left the room.

Van Effen and George returned to the Trianon to find that the usual watch-dog was not in his usual place. But there was another and, if possible, even more insignificant character seated some distance from the desk and sipping beer instead of jonge jenever. Van Effen had no doubt that this was a replacement from the same stable. The manager called to them as they passed the desk.

‘This message has just come for you, Mr Danilov.’ He handed van Effen a slip of paper which read: ‘May I see you in your room? Two minutes.’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’ Van Effen folded the paper into his pocket and led George to the lift. The promised two minutes later the manager arrived in van Effen’s room. He closed the door behind him, looked doubtfully at George and seemed to hesitate.

‘No problem,’ van Effen said. ‘My friend here is on the side of the angels. George, Charles. The manager. Charles, George. George is police.’

‘Ah. A word of warning, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t use the back entrance tonight – somebody, a stranger to anyone round here – has taken up more or less permanent residence by the back door. He’s in an old DAF. And you will have noticed that your old looker-after in the lobby has been replaced by an even more obvious one. There’s another man who has just started a meal in the dining-room. He’s seated conveniently by the door so that he can see anyone who crosses the lobby. He knows the new shadow. No words exchanged, just a brief look and an even briefer nod. No risk in that, they must have thought – they have no reason to suspect my interest in them. That’s why I waited two minutes, to see if either of them made a move. No disappointment – our dining-room friend was at the public phone almost before the lift doors closed behind you. I waited until he finished his call to whatever person he was reporting your arrival. I was watching them from the mirror as the diner left the booth. Brief nod again, no words.’

‘When you go bankrupt, Charles, apply to me any time. I’ll watch the bogeymen.’ The manager left.

‘So,’ George said. ‘We can expect that phone call any minute now. The man in the restaurant has tipped off Agnelli that Stephan Danilov has returned accompanied by George, the explosives expert and illegal arms supplier. One wonders what lions’ den or nest of cobras they’ve chosen for the rendezvous.’