‘Rubbish. How are things among your friends? Anything untoward or exciting afoot.’
‘They’re not a very exciting lot, sir. Rather dull, really. Most of them are not the social rebels and anti- authority stormtroopers they would like to be thought to be. Of course, there are the drug-pushers and drug-users, and there is a hard core that trade in armaments, selling Russian small-arms to the Irish Republican Army and other disaffected elements. But Peter has told me not to bother about the arms-running side.’
‘Disaffected elements? I rather like that. So, Peter, the young lady does not concern herself with gun running. Why?’
‘You ask me, sir? America, Russia, Britain, France trade in arms — legally — to the tune of billions of dollars yearly. The Israelis do it, as do the Iranians, Libyans and God knows how many other countries. All with their government’s blessings. Who are we to become all God-fearing, moralistic and holier than-thou when private enterprise move in on a tiny scale? Anyway, I know you’re not really interested in that side, and that the only things you really are interested in are drugs and those mysterious and increasing threats to the Royal family and members of the Government.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Anything interesting to report on any of these fronts?’
Annemarie shook her head. ‘Vasco — you’ve heard of Vasco?’ ‘Yes. Never met him, though. Supposed to meet him today. In fact I thought I was meeting him with you.’
‘I thought so, too. We’d arranged to meet in a cafe close by here almost an hour ago. No signs, which is most unlike Vasco.’ ‘This friend of yours — he’s a dyed-in-the-wool true-blue Kraker?’ ‘Well, he seems to be but he can’t be, can he? They have some kind of leaders, nobody with any personality or charisma, a kind of loose council, and Vasco appears to be a member or close to it. But he says he’s basically against them and I believe him. After all, he works for you. Sort of.’
‘But you’re in two minds about him?’
‘My intelligence, if I have any, says that — well, I’m ambivalent about him. My instincts trust him.’
‘Peter?’
‘Her instincts are right. He’s a cop. Detective sergeant.’ ‘A policeman.’ Annemarie’s lips were compressed, her eyes angry. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’
‘Don’t be childish,’ van Effen said. ‘You told him you were a policewoman?’
She didn’t answer and de Graaf said hastily: ‘It’s the need-to-know principle, my dear. He didn’t even tell me. I take it he thinks I didn’t need to know. You were about to say something about Vasco?’ ‘Yes. Could be important. I don’t know. He told me late last night that he thought he had a lead. He said he had been approached by one of the council, a person who knew that he, Vasco, moved quite often about the outside world — to them, everything beyond their suburban boundaries is the outside world. He said he was being taken to a meeting about midnight to meet someone important. I don’t know who the person was.’ Van Effen said: ‘Who was the person who approached him? Can you describe him?’
‘I can describe him, all right. Short, balding, pepper-and-salt beard and a bad squint in his right eye.’
De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘Another eye disorder, but this one for real. This person have a name?’
‘Julius.’
‘Julius what?’
‘Just — ‘ She hesitated. ‘Julius Caesar. I know it’s crazy, but then they’re crazy. Nobody out there ever uses his real name. Right now, as far as names are concerned, they’re going through an historical phase. That’s the kind of follow-my leader sheep they are. We’ve got Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Charlemagne, Lord Nelson, Helen of Troy, Cleopatra — I could go on. They go for macho men or beautiful women, everything that they’re not. Anyway, Julius Caesar.’
Van Effen said: ‘And that’s all you know? No indications as to what kind of lead it was?’
‘No.’ She pursed her lips. ‘That’s not to say that he didn’t know.’ ‘An odd comment to make,’ de Graaf said. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Nothing. I just don’t know whether he knows or not.’ ‘Lieu me.’ De Graaf studied her quizzically. ‘You don’t trust your fellow officer?’
‘He doesn’t trust me.’
‘Well, once again, dear me. This does make for a happy relationship in the field.’
Van Effen said: ‘Sergeant Westenbrink doesn’t distrust her. It’s just that three years working undercover tends to make you secretive, a loner.’ ‘Westenbrink, is it. I thought I knew all my sergeants.’
‘He’s from Utrecht, sir.’
‘You cast a wide net. Lieutenant van Effen, Annemarie, works on the same principle as Vasco, whose name, I feel quite certain, is not Vasco. The need to know. How can you be hurt when you see me being treated in this cavalier fashion?’
George entered, apologised, picked up a phone set from a side table and placed it in front of Annemarie. She lifted the receiver, listened to the crackling voice for all of two minutes, said: ‘Thank you. Five minutes,’ and hung up.
Van Effen said: ‘The Hunter’s Horn, I presume. What’s the message from Vasco?’
‘The Hunter’s Horn.’ De Graaf frowned. ‘I trust that’s not the Hunter’s Horn that — ‘
‘There’s only one — ah — establishment of that name in Amsterdam. Beggars can’t be choosers. Apart from La Caracha it’s our only safe house in Amsterdam. A private connection, Colonel. The fair name of the Amsterdam police department remains unbesmirched.’
‘Not to know,’ de Graaf muttered. ‘Not to know.’
‘You’re half right,’ Annemarie said, almost reluctantly. ‘It was the Hunter’s Horn. But it wasn’t Vasco.’
‘Never said it was. I said “What’s the message from Vasco?” It was Henri, Henri, sit, is the owner. Vasco is under observation but whoever is tailing him didn’t know, wasn’t to know, that it’s virtually impossible to follow Vasco without Vasco being aware of it. So he couldn’t come here. The person or persons following him would have raised their eyebrows if they saw you here: they’d have gone into shock if they’d found me, which would have been a small disaster for us and the end of the usefulness of both Vasco and yourself. So the only place left for Vasco was the Hunter’s Horn. Even there he couldn’t use the telephone for he would still be being watched. So he wrote a small note for Henri who did the telephoning. You’re to ask me a question and you’re to give Henri my answer inside five minutes.’
Annemarie sighed. ‘Did you have to spoil it for me?’ Then she brightened. ‘But you didn’t get it all, did you?’
‘I’m brilliant at deducing the obvious. I’m not clairvoyant.
The rest, what I didn’t get, can wait, including the reasons why Vasco is going to call me back.’
‘I didn’t say that?’
‘Henri did. The message.’
She made a moue. ‘It went like this. Two tails. Understand can’t ditch. Meet two-‘
De Graaf interrupted. ‘What was that meant to mean?’ ‘Westenbrink’s shorthand, I imagine,’ van Effen said. ‘Only two ways of getting rid of his tails. He could throw them into the nearest canal, which he’s perfectly capable of doing or he could easily have lost them which he is again perfectly capable of doing. Either course of action would have ended any connection he’s succeeded in making.’ Annemarie went on: ‘Meet two, three men four-thirty Hunter’s Horn.’ She pushed across a piece of paper.
‘Stephan Danilov,’ van Effen read. ‘Pole. Radom. Explosives expert. Oil well fires. Texas. Clear enough. Interesting, sir?’ ‘It is indeed. How do you feel about blowing up banks?’, Should be interesting to see the law from the other side. They’ll bring along a Polish speaker, of course.’
Annemarie said: ‘You think this is a Polish criminal group.’ ‘No. just to check on me.’
‘But if they speak to you in
‘If they speak to him in Polish ‘ my dear,’de Graaf said, ‘He’ll answer in Polish, in which language he’s very fluent. Your friend from Utrecht, Peter, of course knew this.’
Annemarie said: ‘But — but you’ll be recognised. Everybody in that — that ghetto knows you, I mean, knows who you are.’
‘Ninny. Sorry, but, please. If you think I’m going to present myself as Lieutenant van Effen you can’t be feeling too well. I shall, in the best traditions as befits the circumstances, be heavily disguised. I shall put on about twenty kilos — I have a suit and shirt designed to cope with the excess avoirdupois — fatten my cheeks, tint hair and moustache, wear a sinister scar and a black leather glove. That’s to disguise the fearful scars and burns I sustained when — let me see, yes, of course — when I was putting out this oil fire in Saudi Arabia or wherever. It’s
