Lunch over, Riordan elected to continue the journey in the truck, earphones still in place. He ensconced himself In the right-hand corner of the rear bench seat and seemed to approve of the heavy side curtain which he pushed as far forward as possible. Vasco drove south during the dark afternoon making the best speed possible which, because of the near zero visibility, was no speed at all. Van Effen was particularly impressed by the careful)y polite attention Vasco paid to Agnelli’s would-be meticulous instruction as how to drive through Utrecht. As Vasco had beer born, bred, lived all his life and been a police driver in Utrecht, it said much for Vasco’s heroic patience that he three times followed directions that he must have known to be wrong. About mid-afternoon, Riordan unhooked his earphones. ‘Progress, gentlemen, progress. The Dutch Foreign Minister and Defence Minister — that’s that excellent Mr Wieringa of theirs — arrived in London this afternoon and are meeting with their counterparts. A communique is expected. It shows that we are being taken seriously.’ Van Effen said: ‘After those scare headlines, those banner headlines in the papers today, and all the emergency news flashes on TV and radio, did you seriously expect not to be taken seriously?’
‘No. But gratifying, none the less, gratifying.’ Riordan re-affixed his earphones and leaned back into his corner. The expression on his face was an odd mixture of the expectant and the beatific. A man with a mission, Riordan wasn’t going to miss out on anything.
Some twenty minutes later the truck pulled off to the right on to a B-road and, a couple of kilometres further on, left on to a still more minor road. It stopped at a building which appeared to be fronted by a brightly-lit porch.
‘Journey’s end,’ Agnelli said. ‘Our headquarters — well, one of them — and our overnight stop. I think you’ll be quite comfortable here.’ ‘A windmill,’ van Effen said.
‘You seem surprised,’ Agnelli said. ‘Hardly uncommon in these par-ts. Disused but still functional, which is also not unusual. Large extensions and quite modernized. It has the additional attraction of being a long way from anywhere. If you look to this side you’ll see the place of concealment I promised for the truck. Disused barn.’
‘And that other barn-like structure beside it?’
‘State secret.’
‘Helicopter.’
Agnelli laughed in the darkness. ‘End of state secret. Obvious, I suppose, since we told people that we had taken aerial photographs of those rather stirring scenes north of Alkmaar on the Noord Holland canal.’ ‘So you’re now the happy owner of both army and air-force property?’ ‘No. Not air force. Indistinguishable, though. A lick of paint here, a lick of paint there, some carefully selected registration numbers — but it’s unimportant. Let’s go inside and see what we can find in the way of old Dutch cheer and hospitality.’ Now that he had, as he thought, completed his mission with a hundred per cent degree of success he was positively radiating a genial cordiality. It could well, van Effen thought, represent his true nature: nature had not designed him for the cut and thrust, riposte and parry that he had been through that afternoon. ‘Not for me,’George said. ‘I’m a businessman and a businessman always likes to — ‘
‘If you’re referring to payment, George, I can assure you ‘Payment? I’m not referring to payment.’ George sounded pained. ‘I’m referring to standard business practices. Lieutenant, is there an overhead light? Thank you.’ George produced a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and handed them to Agnelli. ‘Inventory of goods. You have to sign the receipt but not until I have checked the conditions of all the items — you will understand that I had no time to do so this morning — and see how they survived the transport. Standard business ethics. ‘No one seemed to find it peculiar that George should use the word ‘ethics’ in connection with stolen goods. ‘But some of that hospitality wouldn’t come amiss. Beer for me?’ ‘Of course,’ Agnelli said, then added delicately: ‘Would you be requiring any help?’
‘Not really. But it is customary for a purchaser or purchaser’s agent to be present. I would suggest Mr O’Brien. Electronics experts are accustomed to small fiddly things and detonators are small fiddly things. A carelessly dropped detonator, Mr Agnelli, and there wouldn’t be a great deal left of your windmill. There wouldn’t be a great deal left of the people inside it, either.’
Agnelli nodded his satisfaction and led the way to the porch that had been added to the windmill. A tall, shock-haired and unshaven youth whose most notable facial characteristic was the negligible clearance between eyebrows and hairline, moved to bar their entrance. A machine-pistol was held loosely in his right hand.
‘One side, Willi. ‘Agnelli’s voice was sharp. ‘It’s me.’ ‘I can see that,’ Willi scowled — it was the kind of face that wasn’t built for much else — and stared truculently at van Effen. ‘Who’s he?’ ‘Hospitality,’van Effen said. ‘Our genial host, no doubt. God help us. Is this the kind of hired help you have around here?’ Willi took a threatening step forward, lifting his gun as he did so, then subsided gently to the ground, clutching his midriff as he did so: the blow he had received there had been no friendly tap. Van Effen took his gun, removed the magazine and dropped the gun on top of the wheezing Willi. Van Effen stared at Agnelli, his expression a nice mix of consternation and disbelief
‘Frankly, I’m appalled. I don’t like this one little bit. Is this — I mean, is he typical — you have retarded morons like this on your team? People who are going to hold — no, people who are holding nations to ransom having — having — words fail me. Have you never heard of the weakest link in the chain?’
‘My own sentiments exactly,’Riordan said gravely. ‘You will remember, Romero, that I expressed my reservations about this fellow. Even as a guard, the only possible function he could serve, his limitations have been cruelly exposed.’
‘I agree, Mr Riordan, I agree.’ It would have been untrue to say that Agnelli was discomfited, but his ebullience was in temporary abeyance. ‘Willi is a disappointment. He shall have to go. I Willi had now slipped over on to his side. He was conscious enough, propped on one shaky elbow and grimacing with pain. Van Effen looked over his all but prone form to the opened doorway beyond. His sister was there, Annemarie by her side, Samuelson just behind them. The expression on both girls’ faces were markedly similar — slightly wide-eyed, slightly shocked, totally uncomprehending. Van Effen let his eyes rest on them for a brief moment then looked indifferently away.
‘Have to go, Mr Agnelli? Have to go? If he goes, I go. Can’t you see that you’re stuck with him, want it or not. Stuck with him either above ground or below. Let him go and the first thing he’ll do is talk his head off to the first policeman he meets. No drastic methods, preferably, but his silence must be assured. I hope the rest of your Praetorian guard is a cut above this character.’
‘The rest of the Praetorian guard, as you call them, are more than a cut above this unfortunate.’ Samuelson, rubicund, smiling and looking even more prosperous than the previous evening, had gently pushed the girls apart and stepped out on to the stoop. He smelt of some very expensive after-shave lotion. Rubbing his chin with an immaculately manicured hand, he peered down at Willi then looked up at van Effen. ‘You do have a direct way with you, my friend. At the same time one must admit that you come to some remarkably quick conclusions in a commendably short time. I must confess that I have occasionally felt tempted to do just what you have done, but, well, explosive violence of that kind is not my forte. Ah, yes, I saw it all. Very economical, very.’ He extended a hand. ‘Samuelson.’
‘Danilov.’ Judging from both his bearing and his speech, van Effen was in no doubt that he was in the presence of the man who mattered. His speech. Samuelson had said so few words the previous evening that his country of origin had remained uncertain. De Graaf had thought him Irish-American. De Graaf, van Effen thought, had been wrong. This man was English-American. Perhaps even an Englishman who had spent just long enough in the United States to pick up a slight American over-tone. Van Effen gestured to the fallen man. ‘Sorry about this, Mr Samuelson. One does not usually treat a host’s staff in — so summary a fashion. On the other hand you must admit that it’s not the average guest who finds himself confronted with a sub-machine gun.’
‘A well-taken point, Mr Danilov.’ Like Agnelli, Samuelson seemed much given to warm and friendly smiles. ‘A breach of hospitality. It will be the last — as you yourself have personally assured. All is well, Romero? ‘Perfect, Mr Samuelson. Everything there, everything in order. Exactly as Mr Danilov guaranteed.’
‘Splendid. Mr Danilov does have a certain aura of competence about him. Come in, come in. Wretched evening. Absolutely wretched.’ That, thought van Effen, made him English for sure. ‘And good evening to you, Captain. I understood you were a lieutenant.’
‘A very very recent captain,’ Vasco said hoarsely. ‘Sorry about this throat.’
‘Dear me, dear me.’ Samuelson sounded genuinely concerned. ‘A hot toddy, and at once.’ Samuelson did not seem to find it at all amiss that a regular army captain should be in their company: but a man with so smoothly unlined a face could take many things in his stride without registering reactions of any kind. ‘Let me introduce our
