Алистер Маклин - Floodgate

Van Effen nodded. ‘Julie. Could be Annemarie, but my hunch is Julie.’ He looked across at the loft door where the sentry was now pacing to and fro, perfectly steady on his feet and looking every inch a man devoted to his job. ‘When we get back inside – which will be in a very few seconds, it’s like an ice-box out here – I want you to wait a few discreet minutes, then wander aimlessly around, playing the role of a genial, middle-aged Lothario – just act your natural self, that is – and see if you can’t have a word with Julie. Just a few words and don’t let her talk more than a few words with you. If necessary, just say the word “helicopter”. She’ll know what I mean, I’ll try to get next to her and no one can hear a word on a helicopter. I don’t want to go near her myself. If Samuelson has got a leary eye for anyone, it’s for me.’

‘A bagatelle,’ George said.

They re-entered the living-room, both van Effen and Vasco giving exaggerated shudders: George was too big and well-covered for that sort of thing.

Romero Agnelli smiled. ‘Back so soon, gentlemen?’

‘Fresh air is one thing,’ van Effen said. ‘The Polar ice-cap another.’ He looked up at the flickering but silent TV set. ‘Mr Samuelson not down yet?’

‘He’s hardly had time to get upstairs and back, has he,’ Agnelli said reasonably. ‘Your glasses, gentlemen.’

At the bar, van Effen said: ‘It’s a wild night outside and getting wilder. Do you seriously think it’s safe to fly tomorrow?’

‘Do you fly?’

‘As a passenger, a lot. I have – had – a pilot’s licence. Never been in a helicopter in my life.’

‘I have a licence for a helicopter. Total solo flying time – about three hours. In weather like this, you wouldn’t get me within a hundred miles of the pilot’s seat in a helicopter. Daniken’s had thousands of hours. Superb pilot.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Van Effen was aware that George and Vasco had drifted away: his eyes made no attempt to follow them. ‘Nice to think we might get there – wherever there is.’

‘If Daniken wasn’t sure he wouldn’t take off.’

They continued an amicable discussion along those lines for two or three minutes until Samuelson reappeared, to all appearances his usual urbane and good-humoured self.

‘Any moment now, ladies and gendemen. I think we should take our seats.’

It was the same lugubrious announcer and he seemed to have aged considerably since his last appearance.

‘We have two announcements to make, both concerning the FFF. The first is that London and Stormont, the Northern Ireland parliament, have arrived at an agreement to begin active and immediate negotiations with our government. Such negotiations have, in fact, already begun.’

Samuelson beamed.

‘The second is that the government advises all citizens of the Netherlands to be of good heart. The Ministry of Defence suspects, although it has no reason to believe, that the FFF will be switching its scene of operations from the Ijsselmeer, where the dyke breaches and the explosion of this nuclear device are promised to take place tomorrow. This is because the FFF have established a practice of not striking twice in the same area. The balance of opinion is that they will concentrate on the southwest, most likely in the Rotterdam – Scheldt. The reason given for this announcement is that the government wants every citizen in that area – repeat every – because it affects every citizen, to be on continuous alert and report anything in the slightest way abnormal to the nearest police or army post. It is appreciated that this statement will also be picked up by the FFF, but the government regards this as the lesser of two evils compared to whatever use it may be to the FFF.’

Samuelson was no longer beaming. Van Effen, forehead furrowed and lips pursed, looked at George, then, without altering his expression, at Samuelson and said: ‘I don’t think I like this very much.’

‘I don’t like it at all.’ His expression was almost a mirror image of van Effen’s and the fingers of both hands were drumming on the arms of his chair. After a few seconds he turned to van Effen and said: ‘And what do you make of this development?’ It was significant, van Effen thought, that Samuelson should have asked him first: it didn’t speak too highly for his confidence in his associates. Van Effen waited about twenty seconds before he replied: he already had the answers to most possible questions but Samuelson wouldn’t have been too impressed by an immediate answer.

‘I think they’re bluffing. Or, at least, counter or double bluffing. They may believe that you intend to strike next in some other spot entirely and that this is intended to put you off your guard and relax while they close in on where they fondly imagine you are, or they may not be bluffing and this may be intended to restrict your movements. Either way, they’re not very bright, but, then, the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Defence and the Chief of Police of Amsterdam are hardly renowned for their outstanding intelligence.’ George coughed softly into his hand but retained an impassive expression.

Samuelson looked doubtful. ‘Don’t forget I’ve met Wieringa. He didn’t strike me as a fool.’

‘He’s not a fool. He’s honest, straightforward and the most popular man in government but lacks the devious intelligence to rise to the very top. Plots and counter-plots are not for him. Another thing, if the authorities knew where we were don’t you think we’d have had a visit from a battalion of paratroopers or commandos – or both – quite some time ago?’

‘Ah!’ The thought seemed to cheer Samuelson up.

‘And still another thing. I’m told you have another operations centre somewhere. Why don’t you call them and see if they’ve suffered any harassment?’

‘An excellent idea.’ Samuelson nodded to Romero Agnelli, who dialled a number, spoke briefly and hung up.

‘Nothing,’ he said.

‘Again excellent,’ Samuelson said. ‘So we’re in the clear.’

‘No, we’re not.’ Van Effen shook his head in a discouragingly definite fashion. ‘Lieutenant, is there any chance that it may have been discovered that the truck and weapons are missing from the armoury from which we took them?’

‘The truck?’ Vasco said hoarsely. ‘Possible but unlikely. The weapons, no. The regular inventory isn’t due for another two weeks.’

Van Effen said: ‘Mr Samuelson, it’s not really for me to say, but shouldn’t we change the identification numbers on that truck?’

Samuelson also smirked. ‘Already done.’

‘Well done. But there’s more to it than that.’ Vasco spoke huskily and unhappily. ‘The authorities, as Mr Danilov says, may be operating in this area. Mention was made of both police and army posts. That means there may be police and army road blocks. Police road blocks present no danger. Army ones do. They know the missiles in transport – which is in itself an extremely rare occurrence – always travel in convoy. If you want to get them to their destination they’ll have to travel by helicopter.’

‘Not in my helicopter, they won’t,’ Daniken said firmly.

‘Mr Daniken, I believe you to be an expert helicopter pilot.’ Vasco’s voice being in the assumed condition it was, it was difficult for him to speak coldly, but his eyes were cold enough. ‘The cobbler should stick to his last. I’m an expert on missiles. A missile cannot be armed until it’s in flight. It’s obvious that you’ve never been in military helicopters. What do you think the Russian gunships use in Afghanistan? Pea-shooters?’ Daniken remained silent. ‘I also think the other weapons and explosives should be removed otherwise you’re more than liable to be asked what armoury you’ve taken them from and to what armoury or army unit you’re taking them. Mobile army controls tend to be very curious, very alert and very persistent – especially when they know there’s a national emergency alert out.’