‘Missiles and their launching platforms. We’ll have one facing the North Sea, the other the river. Ground-to-ground missiles and ground-to-air missiles. Heat-seeking. Lethal.’ Agnelli did not add that they could be swivelled on their platforms to cover both road approaches to the Haringvliet dam. ‘Totally superfluous precaution. The FFF are a mad lot but not mad enough to launch a frontal attack on the Haringvliet dam. We expect a destroyer and patrol boats to be standing by shortly. Again, quite unnecessary.’
‘Unnecessary or not, you’ve taken a great load off my mind. Who are those two rather portly and harmless-looking civilians?’ ‘Portly they may be. Harmless they are not. Senior police officers from Amsterdam. Very much specialists in a very specialist anti-terrorist squad. They’ll be wanting to look for any weak spots in your defences. Pure formality but they insist. We shall leave two soldiers by the missiles to keep watch. Inspector Danilov — that’s the less portly one — also insists that my men accompany us. He wants, understandably, that they should familiarise themselves with the general layout of the interior of the dam.’
Twenty minutes it was and a very surprising twenty minutes it turned out to be for Mr Borodin, not least when four blue-overalled mechanics produced Kalashnikov machine guns which had been assembled from their tool bags. It was a completely painless — physically, that is, but not mentally for many of those concerned — and bloodless operation. Borodin, his staff and his guards had simply no chance. They all finished up in one of the many giant cellars in which the darn abounded. Agnelli was about to turn the key in the lock when van Effen stopped him. ‘No. Rope. Tie them. Come, come, Mr Agnelli, you’re the man who never overlooks anything.’
‘I’ve overlooked something?’
‘You’ve overlooked the fact that O’Brien may not be the only man in the world who can pick any lock in the world.’
Agnelli nodded. ‘Of course. Rope.’ Rope was fetched, enough to secure a hundred men. When Borodin and his men had been bound hand and foot, Samuelson, looking every inch the successful Roman general back from Gaul and making his ritual entry of triumph into the city of Rome, led them all up to the control room. Van Effen and his two friends lingered some way behind while van Effen opened a small tin and brought out six sodden balls of cotton-wool. These they stuffed into their nostrils. Vasco winced.
‘What the hell is this? Sulphuric acid?’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ van Effen said.
‘And what was this rigmarole about people being able to pick locks? It’s a million to one against there being another O’Brien down there.’ ‘We’re going to need rope. Lots of it. There’s a couple of hundred yards of it down there.’
Vasco looked at George. ‘The man thinks of everything. ‘He shook his head. ‘Agnelli is not the only one who overlooks things.’ They entered the control room. It was wide and very spacious with serried ranks of control panels lining the right-hand wall and paralleling tables. O’Brien was in the vicinity of them but not examining them: van Effen knew he didn’t have to.
‘Ah!’ Samuelson said. ‘The very man, Lieutenant. I want to talk to Wieringa, the Minister of Defence.’
Vasco showed no surprise, merely thought for a few seconds. ‘The Defence Minister will be out at Volkendam, I imagine. Doesn’t matter where he is. No problem. Wherever he is, office, car or plane, he’s never more than an arm’s length from a telephone. IT call the War Office and they’ll patch him in.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘A minute. Less.’
‘A minute!’
‘In the Netherlands,’ Vasco said with a trace of loftiness, ‘the Army has overriding priority.’ In less than the specified time he handed the phone to Samuelson, who took it, his eyes the eyes of a man whose dreams have come true. Or a madman whose dreams have come true. ‘Mr Wieringa? This is the leader of the FFF, the Fighters For Freedom. I trust you appreciated our little demonstration in the Markerwaard this afternoon. I have some more rather unwelcome news for you. We have taken over the Haringvliet dam. I repeat, we are in complete control of the Haringvljet.’ There ensued quite a lengthy pause, at least on Samuelson’s part before he continued: ‘I am glad, Mr Wieringa that you appreciate the significance of this. Any attempt to retake the Haringvliet, by force or by stealth, will have disastrous effects on Holland. I m;,-ht also add that we have mined the dykes at Hollandsch Diep and the Volkeral. We have observers there.
Any attempts to send divers to investigate will compel us to radio-detonate those mines.
‘At 4 p.m. we will be giving a slight demonstration of what awaits your country if our demands are not met immediately by opening a few sluice gates for a few minutes. You might find it instructive to have a helicopter around to take a. few pictures so that the people of the Netherlands may understand what lies in store for them.
‘I do hope you speed up negotiations with the British government.’ ‘That was quite a performance, Mr Samuelson,’ van Effen said. ‘You really do have those two dykes mined?’
Samuelson laughed. ‘Of course not. Why should 1. That pusillanimous lot now take our every word for gospel.’
Van Effen and his two friends drifted unobtrusively into the space between the table and wall controls and opened their satchels while Samuelson and his men talked excitedly and congratulated themselves. In the space of just over two seconds ten gas grenades, fairly evenly spaced around the room, exploded. The effects were spectacular. Within a few seconds everyone was staggering about and most were unconscious before they crumpled to the floor. Van Effen snatched a key from Agnelli’s pocket and the three men hastily left the room, closing the door behind them. Their noses were protected but they could hold their breath for only so long. ‘Five minutes and we’ll be able to go back in there,’van Effen said. ‘They’ll be asleep for half an hour at least.’ He handed Vasco the key. ‘The ropes. Cut Borodin free and tell him to do the same for the others. Explain.’
Vasco entered the cellar and cut an astonished Borodin free, then handed him the knife. ‘Cut the others free. We’re police officers — genuine ones. The one with the scarred face is Lieutenant van Effen of the Amsterdam police.’ ‘Van Effen? Borodin was, understandably dazed. ‘I’ve seen his picture. Mat’s not him. I know his face.’
‘Use your head. So does nearly every criminal in Holland.’
‘But the FFF — ‘
‘Are having a short nap.’ Vasco gathered up the spare ropes and left at a run.
Van Effen approached the man on the seaside missile site. ‘Mr Samuelson wants you. Quickly. Control room. I’ll keep watch.’ The man was just disappearing from sight when van Effen crossed to the other man on the river missile site, his hand round the burgundy Yves Saint-Laurent aerosol with the special fragrance. He lowered the man to the roadway and headed for the helicopter.
The man from the first missile site that van Effen had visited stopped when he saw George, who waved him on encouragingly. As the man passed, George chopped him on the back of the neck. For George, it was just a little chop, but the man, had he retained consciousness would probably have regarded it in a different light. George lowered him gently to the floor.