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 Vas...o...b..ing 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 ca.n.a.l, 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 remarkable what a single black glove does. It becomes the focal point for identification in nearly everyone's mind and if you're not wearing it, you're not you, if you follow me. And don't call Krakerdom a ghetto - it's an insult to decent Jews.'

'I didn't mean to -'

'I know. I'm sorry. Call Henri, tell him it's OK and to let a few minutes pa.s.s before giving Vasco the nod.'

She made the call and hung up. 'Everything seems all right. A few minutes. 'She looked at van Effen. 'You already have all the details you want. Why have Vasco make the call?'

'Why have Vasco make the call?' Van Effen tried to look patient. 'Vasco goes back every afternoon to this empty block of flats that they've taken over under so-called squatters' rights. He's been under surveillance since his meeting with the council or whatever they call themselves since last night and it's a safe a.s.sumption that he'll remain under surveillance until the time of the meeting in the Hunter's Horn. How's he supposed to have communicated with me to arrange this meeting? Telepathy?'

De Graaf cleared his throat and looked at Annemarie. 'You must forgive our Lieutenant his old-world gallantry. Do you go back to the dreadful place now?'

'Very soon.'

'And you stay there overnight?'

She gave a mock shudder. 'There are limits, sir, to my loyalty to the police force. No, I don't sleep there at nights.'

'No raised eyebrows among the fraternity?'

'Not at all, sir. I have a gentleman friend who comes calling for me every evening. The Krakers; understand this sort of thing.' 'And you go back in the morning?'

'Yes, sir.' She put her hand to her mouth to cover a smile but de Graaf had seen it.

'You are amused, young lady.' His tone had lost some warmth. 'Well, yes, I am a little, sir. Your voice and expression of disapproval and disappointment. This friend is really a very gallant gentleman. Especially as he's married.'

'Inevitably.' De Graaf was not amused.

'He takes me to his cousin's house, leaves me there and comes for me in the morning. That's why he's gallant, because he's very much in love with his own wife. His cousin, Colonel de Graaf, is a lady.' De Graaf said: 'The Chief of Police is in his usual condition, namely, out of his depth.' He was noticeably relieved. 'You will, of course, Peter, have carried out a check on this cousin, this lady?' 'No I have not.' Van Effen spoke with some feeling. 'I wouldn't dare.' De Graaf frowned briefly then leaned back and laughed. 'Behold our intrepid Lieutenant, Annemarie. He's terrified of his young sister. So you're staying with Julie?'

'You know her then, sir?'

'My favourite lady in all Amsterdam. Except, of course, for my wife and two daughters. I'm her G.o.dfather. Well, well.'

The phone rang. Van Effen picked it up and listened for perhaps half a minute then said: 'Can anyone overhear my voice if I speak?' Apparently n.o.body could for van Effen said: 'Say that you'll give me half a minute to think it over.' At the end of that period van Effen spoke again: 'Say to me: "Stephan, I swear to you it's no police trap. My life on it. And if it were a police trap what would my life be worth then? Don't be silly."' A few moments later van Effen said: 'That was fine. Will you be coming with them? Fine? Be sure to tell whoever comes with you - I'm sure it won't be the gentlemen who have you under surveillance at the moment - that I have a police record in Poland and have a United States extradition warrant out against me. I shall be wearing a black leather glove.' He hung up. 'Nice touch about the police record and extradition warrant,' de Graaf said. 'Nice criminal touch and two statements they have no way of checking on. You will be carrying a gun, I a.s.sume?'

'Certainly. It would be expected of me and I'll have it in a shoulder holster that should make it obvious to even the most myopic that I am armed.'

Annemarie said doubtfully: 'Perhaps they will take it off you before discussions start. just as a precaution, I mean.'

'One must take a chance about those things. I shall be brave.' 'What Peter means,' de Graaf said drily, 'is that he always carries a second gun. It's like his single glove theory, that people only concentrate on one thing at a time. It's in that book of his, I'm sure. If a person finds a gun on you he's got to be almost pathologically suspicious to start looking for another.'

'It's not in the book. I don't put thoughts like those in criminal minds. Curious, sir, that we'll both be engaged in something interesting at exactly four-thirty - you and the Minister, schnapps in hand, peering down at the Texel sea d.y.k.e from the safety of your helicopter seats while I am entering the lion's den.'

'I'd switch with you any time,' de Graaf said morosely. 'I should be back from Texel by six - d.a.m.n all I can do up there anyway. Let's meet at seven.'

'Provided we both survive - you the schnapps, me the lions. The 444 would be in order, sir?'

De Graaf didn't say that the 444 would be in order: on the other hand he didn't say it wouldn't.

Three.

The Chinook helicopter, a big, fast experimental model on demonstration loan from the US Army of the Rhine, suffered from the same defect as other, smaller and less advanced models in that it was extremely noisy, the rackety clamour of the engines making conversation difficult and at times impossible. This wasn't helped by the fact that it had two rotors instead of the customary one.

The pa.s.sengers were a very mixed bag indeed. Apart from de Graaf and his justice Minister, Robert Kondstall, there were four cabinet ministers, of whom only the Minister of Defence could claim any right to be aboard. The other three, including, incredibly, the Minister of Education, were aboard only because of the influence they wielded and their curiosity about things that in no way concerned them. Much the same could have been said about the senior air force officer, the brigadier and rear-admiral who sat together behind de Graaf. Flight evaluation purposes had been their claim. The evaluation tests had been completed a week ago: they were along purely as rubber-neckers. The same could be said of the two experts from the Rijkswaterstaat and the two from the Delft Hydraulics laboratory. Superficially, it would have seemed, their presence could be more than justified, but as the pilot had firmly stated that he had no intention of setting his Chinook down in floodwaters and the experts, portly gentlemen all, had indicated that they had no intention of descending by winch or rope ladder only to be swept away, it was difficult to see how their presence could be justified. The handful of journalists and cameramen aboard could have claimed a right to be there: but even they were to admit later that their trip had hardly been worthwhile.

The Chinook, flying at no more than two hundred metres and about half a kilometre out to sea, was directly opposite Oosterend when the sea d.y.k.e broke. It was a singularly unspectacular explosion - a little sound, a little smoke, a little rubble, a little spray - but effective enough for all that: the Waddenzee was already rushing through the narrow gap and into the polder beyond. Less than half a kilometre from the entrance to the gap an ocean-going tug was already headed towards the breach. As the pilot turned his Chinook westwards, presumably to see what the conditions were like in the polder, de Graaf leaned over to one of the Rijkswaterstaat experts. He had to shout to make himself heard. 'How bad is it, Mr Okkerse? How long do you think it will take to seal off the break?'

'Well, d.a.m.n their souls, d.a.m.n their souls! Villains, devils, monsters!' Okkerse clenched and unclenched his hands. 'Monsters, I tell you, sir, monsters!' Okkerse was understandably upset. d.y.k.es, the construction, care and maintenance of, were his raison detre.

'Yes, yes, monsters,' de Graaf shouted. 'How long to fix that?' 'Moment.' Okkerse rose, lurched forwards, spoke briefly to the pilot and lurched his way back to his seat. 'Got to see it first. Pilot's taking us down.'