Алистер Маклин - Floodgate

‘Not at all.’ Samuelson was positively beaming. ‘The nation now knows that the government has received details of our demands and, as they have not outright rejected them it probably means that they are going to accede to them. It also shows how weak the government is and in how strong a position we are.’

‘That’s not what I mean. They’ve been stupid. They didn’t have to make that announcement at all.’

‘Oh, yes, they did. They were told that if they didn’t we would radio the communiqué to Warsaw who would be just too delighted to rebroadcast it to Western Europe.’

‘You have a transmitter that can reach as far as Warsaw?’

‘We haven’t got a transmitter, period. Nor do we know anyone in Warsaw. The threat was enough. Your government,’ Samuelson said with considerable satisfaction, ‘is now reduced to such a state of fear and trepidation, that they believe anything we say. Besides, they would look pretty silly, wouldn’t they, if the announcement came through Poland?’

Van Effen refused the offer of a second brandy, he had every reason to keep a clear mind for the next hour or two, and said goodnight.

Samuelson looked at him in some surprise. ‘But you’ll be coming down to see the midnight broadcast?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t doubt your ability to carry out your threat.’

‘I’m going too,’ George said, ‘but I shall be back down. Just going to see how the Lieutenant is. Incidentally, Mr Samuelson, if I may –’

‘Another toddy for the young lieutenant. Certainly, my friend, certainly.’

‘He may have a bit of a head in the morning,’ George said, ‘but he should be halfway towards recovery in the morning.’

Vasco, was in fact, in excellent health and showing no signs of an incipient headache.

‘Still the same lad. I should imagine the changeover will be at nine. Some guard. Spends most of the time with his chin on his chest then jerks awake.’

‘Let’s hope his relief is of the same cast of mind. Me, I’m going to have a snooze. If he’s still there at, say, nine-twenty, give me a shake. If he’s relieved at nine, shake me at ten. How do you operate the radio on that army truck? And what’s its range?’

‘Unlimited. Well, a hundred, two hundred kilometres, I’m not sure. Operation is simple. Just lift the receiver and press the red button. The transmitter is pre-set to the nearest army command base which is always manned.’

‘I particularly don’t want to talk to the army. I want to talk to Marnixstraat.’

‘Easy. Standard tuning dial, standard wavebands and a switch beside the button for illumination that picks out the wave-lengths very easily indeed.’

Van Effen nodded, stretched out on a bed and closed his eyes.

George woke van Effen at 10 p.m.

‘New sentry took over at nine. Hardly seems an improvement on the other one except, that is, from your point of view. He’s middle-aged, fat, wears two overcoats, is sitting in the armchair with a rug over his knees and, you’ll be pleased to hear, also has a bottle in his hand.’

‘Sounds like my kind of man.’ Van Effen rose and changed his trousers for a pair of denims.

Vasco said: ‘What’s that? Your battle uniform?’

‘What’s Samuelson going to say if he sees me in sodden trousers or even dry trousers that are so wrinkled that it will look as if I’d fallen into a river?’

‘Ah. Well, you’re going to get wet enough, that’s for sure. Rain’s heavier than ever. There are times when we can hardly see the lad in the loft doorway.’

‘Suits me fine. That barn wasn’t built yesterday and old floor-boards in old lofts tend to creak. With rain like this drumming on the roof he won’t be able to hear a thing. Besides, judging from George’s general description, the sentry is probably half deaf anyway.’ He strapped on his Smith and Wesson, shrugged into his jacket and put the aerosol can in one pocket and the hooded torch in the other.

‘Velvet gloves,’ George said.

Vasco said: ‘What’s that?’

‘Silenced pistol and a knockout gas canister. That’s what he calls velvet gloves.’

Van Effen dug into an inside pocket, brought out a small leather wallet, unzipped it, took out the metallic contents, examined them, then returned them to the wallet and pocket.

‘Skeleton keys and picklocks,’ George said approvingly. ‘No self-respecting detective should be without them.’

Vasco said: ‘What happens if you don’t come back, sir?’

‘I shall be back. It’s five past ten now. I should be back by ten-thirty. If I’m not back by eleven go downstairs. Say nothing. No doomladen speeches, no warnings that their end is nigh. Kill Samuelson. Cripple the Agnelli brothers and Daniken, and, if Riordan is there, him also. Remove all weapons of course and one of you keep an eye on them and make sure that nobody tries to stagger out of the room and summon help while the other gets the girls. As your guns are silenced, there should be no interruptions. Then get the hell out of it. If anyone gets in your way, you know what to do.’

‘I see.’ Vasco looked and sounded more than slightly shocked. ‘And how do we get the hell out of it?’

Van Effen touched the pocket where he had replaced his wallet of skeleton keys and picklocks. ‘What do you think those are for?’

‘Ah. The army truck.’

‘Indeed. As soon as you get under way, call up the army or the cops. Give them the approximate location of this place – we know it’s somewhere between Leerdam and Gorinchen – and leave the rest to them.’

Vasco said: ‘They might try to escape by helicopter.’

‘You have the alternative of shooting Daniken in both shoulders or taking him with you. I’m virtually certain that none of this will happen. I don’t want it to happen and that’s not primarily because by the time it happens I’ll probably be dead. It would be a confession of failure and I don’t like being associated with failure. It would be a most unsatisfactory conclusion: in fact, it would be no conclusion at all. Samuelson has another headquarters and, as we have agreed, other associates: O’Brien has almost certainly departed this evening to associate with those other associates. Even although I doubt it, some of those associates may – I repeat may – be in a position to carry out his plans to a successful conclusion.’ He opened the window. ‘Back at ten-thirty.’

He slid down the two knotted sheets and vanished into the shadows.

George and Vasco went into the darkened bathroom. Vasco said: ‘He is a cold-blooded bastard, isn’t he?’

George said: ‘Um.’

‘But he’s a killer.’

‘I know he has killed and would do so again. But he’s very selective, is our Peter. Nobody who has ever departed this world and at his hands has ever been mourned by society.’

Four minutes later Vasco caught George by the arm. ‘See?’

They saw. The sentry had just taken a long swig from his bottle, laid it on the floor beside him, clasped his hands over his rug and appeared to relapse into some kind of yoga-like contemplation. The shadow that had loomed behind him resolved itself into the unmistakable form of van Effen, whose right hand curved round and held the aerosol can an inch or two from the sentry’s face for a period of not more than two seconds. He then pocketed the aerosol, hooked his hands under the man’s knees and eased him forward several inches to ensure that he wouldn’t topple sideways from his armchair, picked up a bottle from the floor, poured some of the contents over the sentry’s face, emptied the remainder of the contents over the front of his clothes, wrapped the fingers of the unconscious man’s right hand round the bottle, thrust hand and bottle partly under the rug, tightened the rug to ensure that hand and bottle would remain where they were then vanished into the gloom.