At 8.49 a.m., Daniken lifted off and headed towards the south-south-east.
Also at 8.49 a.m., Sergeant Druckmann reported: ‘Tracking Target Zero at two kilometres. Target Zero is now one kilometre north of Gorinchen. From there the three main exit routes are east, south and west. Two minutes and we should be able to let you know which direction he is heading.’
Van Effen turned to Romero Agnelli, who was sitting beside him, cupped his hand to his ear and said: ‘Two things intrigue me.
Agnelli smiled and lifted his eyebrows.
‘I was led to believe that the armament on this gunship had been dismantled and replaced by dummies. Those guns arc for real.’ ‘The armament was dismantled and replaced by dummies. Then we replaced-the dummies. These things aren’t hard to come by if you know where to look. What was the other thing?’
‘Why isn’t Daniken climbing? We’re still under a hundred metres.’ ‘Look to your left and you’ll see why.’
Van Effen looked. Less than fifty metres away another, much smaller helicopter, was flying alongside them. Even as van Effen looked the pilot slid back his window and waved an arm. Van Effen looked forward. Daniken was waving in return. The pilot of the small helicopter closed his window and began to climb. Daniken gently eased the gunship around until it was heading due south.
‘Neat,’ van Effen said. ‘Very, very neat. In weather like this there will be precious little private flying in the country today. The odd bored air controller might just amuse himself by tracking this helicopter to Valkenburg. That helicopter, of course, is heading for Valkenburg. ‘Agnelli nodded. ‘Your idea, of course.’, Agnelli smiled and made a deprecating motion with his hand.
‘Target Zero is heading west on the Sliedrecht road,’ Druckmann report. ‘Which patrol is in the vicinity?’
‘Patrol A.’
‘Ah! Colonel Gropious, sir?’
‘Yes. I am seeing a road block one kilometre east of Sliedrecht. Close up until you have them visually. But not too close.’ ‘I understand, sir. Target Zero is travelling at a very leisurely pace — perhaps “circumspect” is the word I’m looking for. just below fifty kilometres. I estimate they should be with you in just under twenty minutes.’
‘Thank you, sergeant.’
Ylvisaker leaned back luxuriously in his seat and lit a cigar. ‘This,’ he said with a sigh, ‘is the life. Thank God we’re not aboard that damned helicopter.’
That damned helicopter was bumping and lurching its way in a generally west-by-south direction. ‘Generally’, because Daniken was at pains to avoid towns, villages or settlements of any size. It was, van Effen thought, a totally superfluous precaution. There was no earthly reason why, say, a lone farmer should report the passage of an unidentified and probably unidentifiable helicopter. Helicopters were ten a penny in the Netherlands. Van Effen looked around the gunship. Most of the passengers looked distinctly unhappy and their complexions offered an interesting variety of shades of colour. Annemarie and Julie, who were sitting together, had adopted remarkably similar attitudes — clenched fists and eyes screwed tightly shut. Van Effen himself was untroubled: Daniken was a superb pilot. He cupped his hand to Agnelli’s ear. ‘How much further?’ ‘About fifteen minutes.’
‘Reasonable accommodation?’
Agnelli smiled. ‘It’s a nice little place.’ judging by the standards of Samuelson’s taste, the nice little place, van Effen thought, was probably about the size of the royal palace in the Dam Square.
The blue and yellow sign read: ‘ROAD CHECK AHEAD. PLEASE STOP AT THE RED LIGHT’.
Ylvisaker’s driver slowed and said: ‘What do we do now?’ Ylvisaker took a leisurely puff at his cigar. ‘Drive on, my man.’
Gropious’s driver lowered his binoculars. ‘Target Zero for sure, Sir.’ He raised his binoculars again. ‘And the given number.’ F.-K 289
Gropious’s vehicle was in the left-hand lane, facing oncoming traffic. On the right-hand side, and slightly behind them, was another troop carrier. Two soldiers, both holding umbrellas, were leaning against their vehicle. Both were smoking cigarettes.
‘Would you look at that sloppy bunch,’ Ylvisaker said. ‘Umbrellas! Cigarettes! I’ll bet there’s not an officer nearer than Rotterdam. And these, mind you, are the gallant troops sworn to defend NATO to the death.’
As they came to a halt at the red light, Gropious and his two men, all three trailing machine-pistols in their left hands, approached the stolen army truck, Gropious going to the front of the truck and his two men to the rear. Ylvisaker opened his door.
‘What’s all this then, Corporal?’
‘Colonel’ An embarrassed Gropious, perceptibly stiffening, executed as military a salute as could be expected from a slovenly corporal. ‘Colonel. If I had known — ‘
Ylvisaker smiled tolerantly. ‘What is it, Corporal?’ ‘Orders, sir. We are under instructions to stop and examine all vehicles, army trucks included, which may be carrying illegally obtained weapons. We were given the registration number of one particular army truck. This is not the one.’
Ylvisaker displayed some mild interest. ‘Are you searching for anything in particular?’
‘Missiles, sir. Ground-to-ground and ground-to-air missiles. I must admit, sir, that I don’t even know what they look like except that they’re copper coloured and over two metres long.’ ‘Duty is duty, Corporal. I see you have two men at the rear. Instruct them to open up and search. just, you know, for the records.’ Gropious gave the instructions, the rear doors were opened and no missiles were found.
‘My apologies, Colonel,’ Gropious said. He hesitated, then produced a notebook and pencil. ‘My instructions are to make a note of the identification of every person passing through this check-point.’
Ylvisaker reached inside his uniform jacket. Gropious said: ‘No, no, sir. In your case, no papers are necessary. just your name, Colonel.’ ‘Ylvisaker.’
‘Colonel Ylvisaker.’ Rather laboriously, Gropious wrote down the name in his notebook. How ironic, he thought, that such a confrontation should occur between a lieutenant-colonel posing as a fake corporal and a civilian — and criminal — posing as a lieutenant-colonel. He put his notebook away and lifted his machine-pistol at the same instant as his two soldiers at the rear of the truck.
‘Move,’Gropious said, ‘and you’re dead.’
No sooner had Gropious and his men brought Ylvisaker and his two men out on to the roadside than Sergeant Druckmann’s car drew — up behind them. Druckmann and his men got out, Druckmann carrying a considerable number of metal objects in his hand. Druckmann looked at the scruffy corporal with the straggling blond locks and said hesitantly: ‘Colonel Gropious?’ ‘it is indeed.’ Gropious removed his hat, took off his wig and threw it beyond the roadside. ‘Those damn things itch.’
Druckmann said: ‘Congratulations, sir.’
Gropious, who without his wig now looked remarkably like a lieutenant-colonel, shook his hand warmly. ‘And the very same to you, Sergeant. Your name, please? All I know is that all the police cars were manned by sergeants.’
‘Druckmann, Colonel.’
An excellent piece of work, Sergeant Druckmann. Most professional. And what, may I enquire, is all that. ironmongery you’re carrying?’ ‘Handcuffs and leg irons, sir. I understand that those are not standard army issue.’
‘Splendid. Kindly have one of your men attach them at once.’ He turned to one of his soldiers. ‘Instruct all patrols to return to base. I suggest, Sergeant Druckmann, that you instruct one of your men to do the same for the police cars. Emphasising, of course, the need for complete secrecy.’