"I'm suspended," de Gier said. He put out his arms and flapped them. "Nice word. Suspension. I feel like I can fly. I'm above it now."
"So was Icarus." The commissaris emptied his glass. "So is Fernandus, or rather, they both think they are. That's why Willem put that angel up in the club's hallway. Pay heed, Rinus. All these symbolic happenings don't come about to be ignored. I think I'll continue as planned. If the baron wants to shoot Carl's turtle, the feat won't impress us. Now why did he take Celine to that hotel?"
"To show her what he's capable of," de Gier said. "To frighten her. The baron suspects that Celine is trying to slip from his grasp. She was with me that night and didn't tip him off, but she hasn't left Fernanda's little band, either."
"We'll let today's assault go." The commissaris pushed his empty glass about. "Heul told Grijpstra and Cardozo today that the Society intends to do away with Ryder. Huip Fernandus will blow up Ryder's speedboat on the Vinker Lakes by making use of some electronic device. I intend to go out there and jump Huip before he can press the button. We'U link the bomb in the boat with the detonator Huip is using, call in the local police at the right time, and have Huip arrested. That way we get to Fernandus via his own son. We'll probably succeed in implicating Fernandus himself as well. Our attack is gaining momentum now, so don't go in for diversions in the meantime. Once we push Fernandus over, the baron will fall too."
The phone rang downstairs. "Jan?" the commissaris's wife called. "It's Fernandus, are you coming down?"
"See?" the commissaris asked.
The commissaris came back. "He's at the cafe at the corner and wants to speak to me, I'm going over."
De Gier got up. "I'll come along."
"No," the commissaris said. "Go down and eat your cake and try to cheer up Katrien. She has her doubts about what I'm doing. Take my car home and report here tomorrow morning. Thanks for your help so far." He thumped de Gier's belly softly. "We'll win this thing, Rinus. If the gods aren't on our side, we'll manufacture our own and pray for their blessing."
\\\\\ 24 /////
"What will it be?" Fernandus asked.
The commissaris looked around the old-fashioned cafS and greeted the waiter. "Just coffee, please. Separate checks."
"Petty," Fernandus said, holding his index finger and thumb close together. "Real small-minded."
"Yes," the commissaris said brightly, rubbing his hands. "I'm here, Willem. Let's hear the next temptation. Every time we meet, I feel like the protagonist in 'The Temptation of Saint Jan.' Your presence flatters me. I never thought that the denizens of the dark would seek me out-me, a petty official in a small-sized city on a minor planet in an unimportant solar system of a negligible galaxy
…"
"… of a piddling universe," Fernandus said.
The waiter brought the coffee, and a gin and tonic for Fernandus. He smiled at the commissaris. "Glad to see you, sir. I read about you in the paper. I wish you strength, we're all with you, sir."
"Thank you," the commissaris said. "I'll survive, Tom. Do you know this man, Mr. Fernandus, the attorney?"
The waiter frowned. "Yes. Friend of yours, sir?" He looked down at Fernandus. "You're not my friend. My useless son gets his dope from one of the canteens that your Society supports. The miserable monkey has to steal bicycles to support his habit. I kicked him out, but my wife feeds him behind my back." He turned back to the commissaris. "This damned welfare system, sir, and there's so much to do."
"Mr. Fernandus is no friend of mine, Tom." The commissaris frowned too. "I met him here because I won't invite him to my home."
"I see," the waiter said. "Anything else, sir? Piece of apple pie on the house?"
"Why not?" the commissaris asked. "Shouldn't, really." He patted his stomach. "My wife'll have my scalp."
The waiter brought the apple pie.
Fernandus, in an impeccable dark suit and a red silk tie, watched the commissaris eat. "Still hobnobbing with the lower classes, eh? Amazing how habits stick. You used to do that when we were students. Such an unnecessary act, they despise us anyway. Jealousy is a fact of life. What do you think that waiter thinks when he bicycles home and you splash him with mud from your steel-belted radials whizzing under your luxury car? He'd like nothing better than to hang you from the nearest lamppost."
"I like waiters," the commissaris said. "Wouldn't mind being one myself. The profession has possibilities, I think. I read an interesting novel once in which Christ was a waiter, in a railway station restaurant. He changed water into any wine the customer preferred."
"You knocked some of my waiters over, I hear," Fernandus said. "Did that give you pleasure too? Another petty performance. Why go to so much trouble to dent my show? That's all you did." He held his finger close to his thumb again. "Just a little dent, easily repaired."
"It wasn't a lot of trouble at all," the commissaris said. "Easy. Anyone can raid you. You have no defense."
Fernandus waved his glass at the waiter. "No defense? Remember Newton? Every action produces a reaction? I could have popped you this afternoon, or Katrien, or any of those so-called witnesses you're sheltering in your ruin."
"Yes?" the waiter asked.
"Another, please."
"The bar is closed," the waiter said, turning away.
"Bring him a glass of water," the commissaris said. "Poor man is sweating." He ate his last crumbs. "Excellent apple pie, Tom. Your wife made this, I'll bet."
"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen. Still comes in most days."
"Good," the commissaris said. "Good. Now…" He swallowed. "… now, Willem, you wouldn't do that. You can't shoot up the home of a chief of detectives, even if I'm not functioning on an official level just now. You could arrange an accident, as you did with Grijpstra and de Gier, but accidents don't fly from the barrel of a rifle. That little incident this afternoon I'll accept as a sick joke. Don't do that again. It upset Katrien."
" 'It upset Katrien,' " Willem said, mimicking the commissaris's high voice. "Do I care about Katrien? I love to play pranks on Katrien. What did she do? Cry? Beg you to give in?"
"No," the commissaris said. "So let's have it, Willem."
"Lay off," Willem said. "I'm tired of this game, you're like a gadfly buzzing about. Buzz off."
The commissaris's eyes twinkled. "What if I do?"
"I talked to your chief," Fernandus said. "He's prepared to reinstate you, not in Homicide, but in something else. I forget what he said now-internal reorganization, I believe. You can keep your rank. Just a few more years and you'll retire anyway."
"And the investigation of Commissaris Voort?"
Fernandus drank his water. "That'll be terminated, of course. Voort came up with a few items that might bother you a bit, but we'll forget about that too."
"We?" the commissaris asked. "You and the Queen?"
"I'm a member of the ruling party," Fernandus said. "I preside over several committees. I whisper into the mayor's ear."
The commissaris brought out a folded handkerchief and shook it out. He carefully blew his nose. "You know what Voort found? Voort found absolutely nothing. He's going back to The Hague. I've produced a lot of nothing during my career, I have no wealth and no important connections. I collect nothing. I'm transparent, you can look right through me. I fade away. Prod me and you stick your finger in thin air. Voort overreached himself constantly. That whole investigation was a mere tumble through clouds. How can he get me if there's nothing there?"
"So now we boast?" Fernandus asked. "Are we starting up our old argument about negativity again? The infinite enters the finite and ultimately there's nothing there and in nothingness everything exists? Wasn't that David Hume? You kept reading those passages to me. But you forgot his conclusions." Fernandus raised a finger. "David Hume, renowned eighteenth-century philosopher who started out as a lawyer and should never have slithered into the unanswerable questions. What did our brilliant thinker come up with in the end?" Fernandus's fist thumped the table. "That he'd rather play backgammon any day than waste any more time on his undeniable conclusion that this creation is empty. He preferred a good time to a logical analysis pointing to the senselessness of life. I quite agree. I'm a better follower of Hume than you are. I provide good times."