Floodgate Part 28

'The RAFV' It was, almost inevitably, Bernhard Dessens, the Justice Minister, who rarely if ever contributed anything of significance to any discussion. 'You suggest that the British Air Force is supplied -' 'Be quiet, you idiot.' Riordan, it seemed, could descend below the rhetorical level he usually set for himself. 'I refer to the Red Army Faction, the inheritors of the b.l.o.o.d.y mantle of the Baader-Meinhof gangsters of the early seventies. Some go to the Sicilian-controlled Mafia-type criminal organizations that are springing up all over Western Germany. But the bulk goes to Eire.

'Do you know what it's like in Northern Ireland, Mr Minister?' n.o.body bothered to follow his line of vision to know that he was addressing the Minister of Defence and not the Minister of Justice. 'Can you imagine the h.e.l.lish conditions that exist there, the hideous tortures practised by both the IRA and UVF, the homicidal insanity that has ruled there for fourteen years? A country ruled by fear that is tearing it to pieces. Northern Ireland will never be governed by representatives of the two communities, Protestant and Catholic working together, because they are far too bitterly divided by religion and, to a lesser extent, race. There are one and a half million people living together in a small area, but in spite of their divisions ninety-nine point nine per cent on either side have never harmed anyone or ever wished to. That ninety-nine point nine per cent on either side are united in only one thing - in abhorring terrorism and in their desire to live only in peace. It is a desire that, as matters stand, can never be realized. Conventional politicians, with all the faults and frailties of their kind, are still those who observe the conventions. In Ulster, conventional politicians are an extinct breed. Moderation has ceased to exist. Demagogues and gunmen rule. The country is ruled by a handful of crazed murderers.'

Riordan paused for the first time, probably as much for breath as anything else, but no one seemed inclined to take advantage of the hiatus.

'But murderers, even crazed murderers, must have their murder weapons, must they not?' Riordan said. 'And so the murder weapons are shipped from Amsterdam, usually, but not always, inside furniture. The weapons are sealed in containers, of course, and if the Amsterdam customs are unaware of this they must be the worst, the blindest, or the most corrupt and avaricious in Europe. Nine times out of ten, the ships unload in Dublin. How they - the containers, I mean - get past the Dublin customs I don't profess to know but I don't think there's any question of collusion - if there were the customs wouldn't have turned up a million dollars' worth of illegally imported arms destined for the IRA four years ago. But most of the guns do get through. From Dublin the arms containers variously labelled, but popularly as household goods, are trucked to a warehouse in County Monaghan and from there to a horticultural nursery in County Louth. Don't ask me how I know but it would be rather difficult not to know: the people thereabouts know but don't talk. From there the weapons are taken to Northern Ireland, not smuggled over the border in the middle of the night by daredevil IRA members, but brought in during daylight hours in cars driven by women, mostly young, surrounded by laughing kids. All very innocuous.

'It's a long, long way from where a machine-pistol is purchased in a mid-Western state until it's in the hands of some maniacal killer crouched in the shadows of some back street in Belfast or Londonderry. A long way. But in that long way the vital stage, the focal point, the nodal point, the venturi in the funnel, is Amsterdam. And so we have come to Amsterdam.' Riordan sat down.

The breaking of the ensuing silence was far from immediate. There were, altogether, eight men in Dessen's luxurious lounge. Three men had accompanied Riordan to the Minister of justice's house - Samuelson, whom de Graaf had described to van Effen, O'Brien, who had come to the Trianon, and Agnelli, the man who George had forecast would be there. Samuelson and O'Brien probably thought there was nothing they could profitably add to what Riordan had said and Agnelli had probably yet to recover his full powers of speech. When he had entered the room and seen van Effen, appearance returned to normal, sitting there, his eyes had momentarily widened, his lips momentarily parted and a slight but noticeable amount of colour had left his checks, and not momentarily either. Almost certainly van Effen was the only person who had noticed the fleeting sea-change that had overcome Agnelli, but, then, probably, van Effen had been the only person who had been looking for it. There were also four men on the other side of the negotiating table; the two ministers, de Graaf and van Effen, and they had nothing to say either, and this for two excellent

reasons: there was nothing they could immediately say that would be in any way helpful and all had to admit to themselves that Riordan had expressed his viewpoint with a certain degree of logical persuasion, however unreasonable, threatening and preposterous his accompanying demands might have been. It was Aaron Wieringa, glancing in turn at each of his three companions, who broke the silence.

'Before I speak, gentlemen, have any of you any comment to make?' Van Effen said: 'I have.'

'Lieutenant?'

'Mr Riordan has been surprisingly reticent about one thing. He hasn't said why he wants all British influence removed from Northern Ireland. If we are to negotiate on his behalf I think we should have the right to know something of his motivation, his intentions. It may be that his intentions are so awful, so appalling, that we would risk any disaster-to our country sooner than comply with his wishes. We have, of course, no reason to believe that Mr Riordan wW tell us the truth.' 'The point is well taken,'Wieringa said. 'Well, Mr Riordan?' 'There's no point in swearing that IT tell the truth, because any liar would say the same.' Riordan had again risen to his menacing height, he seemed to find talking easier that way. 'I have talked about the ninety-nine point nine per cent of good and decent people in that war-torn country who are utterly dominated by the point one per cent of those maniacal killers. Our sole objective is to eliminate this point one per cent and enable the people of Ulster to resolve their own future in an atmosphere of calm and peace and quiet and hope.' 'Elimination?'Wieringa said cautiously. 'What precisely do you mean by that?'

'We will exterminate the evil b.a.s.t.a.r.ds on both sides. We will excise the cancer. Is that blunt enough for you?' Riordan sat down. 'It sounds like a high purpose,' van Effen said. He made no attempt to disguise the contemptuous disbelief in his voice. 'n.o.ble and humane. Let them resolve their own future. Hardly ties in, does it, with your earlier statement that Northern Ireland will never be governed by representatives of the two communities? Has it not occurred to you that if the most conceivably rabid IRA leader were sitting in that chair he would talk exactly as you are talking now, in order to achieve the same end as you are seeking - to get the British out of Northern Ireland at all costs. What a.s.surance do we have that you are not, in fact, that rabid IRA leader?'

'You have none.' This time Riordan had riot risen from his chair and his voice was remarkably calm. 'I can do no more. If you cannot see that I detest the IRA and all its manifestations, you must be blind. I am so appalled at the suggestion that I cannot easily find words to counter it.' There was another and even longer silence, then Wieringa said: 'I believe one calls this an impa.s.se.'

'Impa.s.se, as you say,' Riordan said. He was still seated, the time for rhetoric had apparently pa.s.sed. 'But surely there are certain salient factors that should resolve the impa.s.se. Oostlijk -Flevoland, for instance. Leeuwarden. The Noordoost polder. Wieringermeer, Putten, Petten, Schouwen, Walchcren and others. And I did mention that we have the Royal Palace mined?'

'The Palace?' Wieringa said. He didn't seem particularly overcome. 'Tonight's little demonstration was just that. A little demonstration. just to prove how pathetically easy it is to circ.u.mvent your alleged security precautions.'

'Save your breath, Riordan.' Wieringa's voice was curt. No 'Mr' this time. 'The time for threats is past. Only moral considerations remain.' 'Fifty-fifty,' van Effen said.

Wieringa looked at him for some moments, then nodded. 'My way of thinking, too. Thank you, Lieutenant. It is difficult to decide to drown one's country on the basis of a gamble.' He looked at Riordan. 'I am empowered to make decisions. I will call the British amba.s.sador. He will call the Foreign Office in London. We shall make a radio announcement - worded in a suitably cautious fashion, you understand. Those three things I can promise. The outcome of the negotiations, of course, are not for me to predict or influence. That is understood?'

'That is understood. Thank you, Minister.' There was no hint of triumph, not even satisfaction, in Riordan's voice. He stood. 'Your integrity is a byword throughout Europe. I am content. Goodnight, gentlemen.' No one wished him goodnight in return.

After the departure of Riordan and his a.s.sociates there was silence in the room until Wieringa had put through his; telephone call. When he had replaced the receiver, he sipped delicately from ", brandy gla.s.s, smiled and said: 'Comments, gentlemen?'He was a remarkably calm 'It's outrageous, disgraceful and dastardly,' Dessens said, loudly and predictably. Now that the need for action and decision-making was over, he was all fire and fury. 'The good name, the honour of the Netherlands lies in the dust.'

'Better, perhaps, than that its citizens should lie under the flood-waters,'Wicrinp said. 'Colonel?'

'You had to consider the balance of probabilities,' de Graaf said. 'Your decision, sir, was not only the correct one: it was the inevitable one.' 'Thank you, Colonel. Lieutenant?'

'What can I usefully add, sir?'

'Quite frankly, I don't know. But, according to the Colonel -and it is, I must say, a most handsome admission on his part -you are closer to those villains than anyone else in Amsterdam.' He smiled. 'I do not, of course, use the word "closer" in a pejorative sense.' 'Thank you, sir. I'd hoped not.'

'You're not really very forthcoming, are you, Lieutenant?' 'A certain uncharacteristic diffidence, sir. I may be the senior detective-lieutenant in the city, but I'm pretty junior in this exalted company. What do you want me to be forthcoming about, sir?' Wieringa regarded the roof and said, almost inconsequentially: 'I had to make a pretty important decision there.' He dropped his gaze and looked at van Effen. 'Did you believe Riordan?'

Van Effen picked up his gla.s.s and considered it without drinking from it. He was obviously marshalling his thoughts. Then he said: 'Four points, Minister. There are two things I believe about Riordan, one point I'm not sure whether to believe or disbelieve and a fourth where I definitely disbelieve.'

'Ah! Hence your cryptic remark fifty-fifty?'

'I suppose. First, I believe he is definitely not IRA.'

'You do, Lieutenant? In that case, am I not ent.i.tled to ask why you pushed him?'

'Confirmation. But I was sure before. That speech of his -that impa.s.sioned and violent denunciation of the IRA and all its methods. You'd have to be an exceptional actor to get that amount of hatred into your voice: but you'd have to be an impossibly good one to have a pulse beat like a trip-hammer in your throat.'

'I missed that.' Wieringa said. He looked at de Graaf and Dessens. 'Either of you gentlemen -' He broke off at their mute headshakes. 'Secondly,' continued van Effen, 'I believe that Riordan is not the leader, the driving force, the man in charge. Why do I believe that?. I can't give a shred of evidence, of proof. But he's too fiery, too unbalanced, too unpredictable to be a general.'

'You wouldn't fight under him, van Effen?' Wieringa was half-smiling, half curious.

'No, sir. There's someone else. I'm certain it's not Agnelli. I would take long odds it's not O'Brien - he's got sergeant-major written all over him. I'm not saying it's Samuelson. He's an enigma, a mystery. But his presence is totally unexplained and when any presence is as inexplicable as that then a very big explanation would seem to be called for. 'Where I'm uncertain whether to believe his story or not, is about Northern Ireland. Riordan said his only aim was to eliminate the monsters. His voice did carry what might have been regarded as the authentic ring of sincerity and, as I've said, I don't believe he's all that good an actor.' Van Effen sighed briefly, shook his head and sipped his brandy. 'I know this is all rather confusing, gentlemen. Let me put it this way. I believe that he believes what he says, but I don't believe that what he believes is necessarily true. It's one of the reasons why I'm convinced he's not the king-pin. Two things. He was caught outright in a flat contradiction yet appeared to be unaware that any such contradiction existed. Then he seems to be unaware that there could be three sets of fanatics around - the extremist Protestants, the extremist Catholics and the Mediators. That's them. The Mediators could be the most irresponsibly dangerous of all. To achieve the final solution, the Mediators are prepared to drown a million. One could imagine what the final solution would be like in Ulster. No. Let me rephrase that. I can't imagine that.' 'The same thought was in my mind.' Wieringa spoke very slowly. 'The very same. Although not so clearly formulated. In my mind, I mean.' He smiled. 'Well, that should be enough for a day - but you did mention that there was something you didn't believe.'

'Yes, sir. I don't believe his threats. His immediate threats, that is. His long-range threats are a different matter. But the ones he mentioned here tonight - and the ones outlined to Colonel de Graaf earlier this evening - I do not believe, with the exception of the threat to Helystad in Oostlijk-Fllevoland. The rest I believe to be bluff. Especially the threat to destroy the Palace.'

'If you say that, Lieutenant,'Wieringa said, 'I'm d.a.m.ned if I don't believe you. Why do you say that?'

'Because I don't believe they have any mines laid inside the Palace. They were concerned that the explosion inside the Palace tonight would be heard over a considerable area to convince you that they had, indeed, the ability to carry out their promise.'

Wieringa regarded him with a puzzled expression. 'You sound fairly sure about this, Lieutenant.'

'No, sir. I'm certain.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'I have inside information.'

Wieringa looked at him in a speculative fashion but said nothing. Not so Dessens. He had been totally out of his depth all evening but now he thought he was on secure and known footing and that it was time to a.s.sert himself.

"What were the sources of your information, Lieutenant?' 'That's confidential.'

'Confidential!' Whether the source of Dessens' immediate anger was due to the reply or the fact that van Effen had omitted the mandatory 'minister' or 'sir' was difficult to say: he probably didn't know himself. 'Confidential!'

'I'm trying to be discreet, sir, that's all. I don't want to divulge my sources because it may cause acute and unnecessary embarra.s.sment. Surely you can understand that - it's so commonplace in the police world that it's hardly worth the mentioning. Why don't you just take my word for it?'

'Understand it! Commonplace! Take your word!' Dessens' mottling complexion was rapidly a.s.suming the hue of a turkey wattle. 'You arrogant - you arrogant - you -'He made a visible effort to ward off the onset of apoplexy. 'I would remind you, Lieutenant'- he put a heavy accent on the word 'Lieutenant' 'that I am the Minister of Justice'- he put a very heavy accent on that, too -'whereas you are only a junior officer in the force which I personally -'

'That's unfair, sir.' De Graaf's voice was impersonal. 'Next to me, van Effen is the senior police officer in the city of -' 'Keep out of this, de Graaf.' Dessens tried to let ice creep into his voice but his temperature control had slipped. 'Van Effen! You heard me.' 'I heard you,' van Effen said, then added 'sir' almost as an afterthought. 'I know what I'm talking about because I'm the person who placed that charge in the cellars of the Royal Palace.' 'What! What!' Dessens' complexion would now have made any turkey-c.o.c.k look to his laurels. 'Good G.o.d! I can't believe it.' He was halfway out of his chair. 'My cars deceive me!'

'They don't. Sir. I was also the person who pressed the b.u.t.ton that detonated the explosives.'

Dessens said nothing, not immediately. The shocked horror of this threat to the safety of the royal family, this dreadful majesty, held him in thrall. Van Effen returned to his brandy and made no attempt to keep his opinion of the Minister of Justice out of his face. 'Arrest this man, de Graaf,' Dessens shouted. 'This moment' 'On what charges, sir?'

'On what charges! Have you gone mad as well as - as well as -Treason, man, treason!'

'Yes, sir. This raises problems.'

'Problems? Your duty, man, your duty!'

'Problems, sir. I'm the city's Chief of Police. All other policemen in Amsterdam are junior to me.' Every century of de Graaf's aristocratic lineage was showing. 'n.o.body in Amsterdam has the authority to arrest me.'