'Good, excellent, well, I'll formalise the authorisation and request for secondment from the Netherlands sub-section and I guess we can expect to see you in a couple of weeks. Have a great trip Jackson.'
With his smile remaining static until he had exited the office, Jackson softly closed the door behind him; he guessed that Dick's smile had also then evaporated into thin air. He was under no illusion that the previous conversation had been a rhetorical engagement in an otherwise pointless negotiation. Neither party had immersed themselves particularly deeply into their respective role plays.
Richard Clayton considered Jackson's proposed trip a complete and utter waste of time, judging Jackson himself as a product of a bygone era. In contrast, three decades of service had bought the older man leverage and favours at higher levels than his immediate line manager inhabited and once Manson had agreed to the travel request and secondment proposal he knew that he was home and dry.
As it was, he was not entirely clear as to who had found the formal sign-off more painful. In any event, Jackson now had a plane to catch and before he would be ready for take-off he needed to download his reference material to a secure memory stick, make a couple of calls to organise logistics and return home to pack some luggage in preparation for a chilly two weeks in mainland Europe.
Something for the weekend -
The Embassy of the United States within The Netherlands resembled a large grey monolith horizontally pock-marked with repetitions of an ancient Mayan pictograph, the windows designed as an array of inverted trapezoidal recesses to offset the banality of the blunt exterior. The building's austere character exuded utilitarian purpose and was perhaps more commonly associated with the archetypal image of a Gulag headquarters as opposed to the residence of a bilateral diplomatic mission between friendly governments.
On rainy Northern European days the bunkered exoskeleton was prone to emanate an even greater depressive funk as the severe façade of stark concrete walls became stained with patches of precipitation and creeping damp. If image was everything, the US Embassy would indicate a distinctly lamentable relationship between the two nations, contrary to the reality and in spite of the so-called 'Hague Invasion Clause' of the 'National Defense Authorization Act' which had been signed as federal law by the Bush Administration.
Passed by Congress in 2002 and officially entitled 'The American Service-Members' Protection Act', the amendment had been dubbed with the somewhat alarmist but derisory nickname in accordance with its intimidatory intentions against the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court.
Its stated purpose was to protect military and official personnel against sequester by
all means necessary and appropriate
, however, since The Hague was essentially the home of the ICC, the act had been characterised as a licence to use
any and all force
against the city should a US citizen be brought to trial there.
Regardless of the inference of a cynically cavalier approach to the concept of international law, official diplomacy between the two countries stretched back to 1782 and the ostensibly congenial relationship between the Dutch and American allies would probably have been better celebrated via a residence that captured and illustrated the old-world architectural style of its situation in The Hague, the political capital of The Netherlands. In spite of the choice of habitat, the Dutch life of an embassy employee of the US government could be good, in fact, Dale Mallory usually considered it to be great, but opinions could change quickly.
Gently but exaggeratedly replacing the handset back onto the cradle of his desk phone, Dale flaked back into his chair as if completely exhausted.
'Damn it!'
His colleague Phil, on the opposite side of the desk, looked up from peering intently at his computer screen and raised his eyebrows.
'Trouble?'
Dale shook his head and glowered, quickly glancing at his wristwatch to check the time.
'I don't believe it! It's just gone three o'clock and I had the OK to take the rest of the afternoon off! That was some guy from Langley,' he checked the notes he had made during the call, 'Jackson Revere from Library Services. Can you believe he wants me to run an errand for him? Today! Right now! Some old book that he needs to have picked up. I cannot believe that they've got us doing their shopping for them now! I can't work like this!'
Phil shrugged and shrunk back behind his monitor.
'Can't be all bad, at least you'll be out and about, you can slink off afterwards.'
'He's sending over the requisition now,' Dale grimaced, 'shit!'
After a short introspection, he resigned himself to his fate.
'I'm going to the coffee machine, you want one?'
'Yeah sure, I'll have a
wiener melange
,' Phil responded without looking up.
Dale grunted and stood, turning on his heel to head out of their cramped shared office to the coffee machine further along the corridor.
It took less than five minutes for the electronic requisition documents to appear in Dale's e-mail in-box with copies to his departmental chief. A second mail contained the details of his short secondment, details which made no sense at all to Dale.
'I'm supposed to be working with the DEA not playing delivery boy! Do they think I sit around all day with a finger up my butt?'
Dale's exclamation was rhetorical although Phil was keen to respond as he supped at his mild chocolate coffee.
'What are you worried about, you were going to take the afternoon off anyway, besides, I thought that you'd just finished your last assignment?'
Although thirty-four years of age, Dale was still regarded as a junior operations manager within the CIA but had demonstrated some notable proficiency in getting to grips with the procedural mechanisms of liaison in global operations and the finalisation of his last assignment had brought him much recognition within the organisation's management team.
The DEA had seconded a couple of Special Agents to the Dutch National Crime Squad and he had shadowed their work as part of a joint law enforcement effort, helping to direct the investigations into a South American related cocaine cartel. Their work had led to the seizure of over five thousand kilograms of cocaine and the arrest of almost forty defendants; statistics which always looked good on a
résumé
and which would stand him in good stead in future promotion stakes.
Ignoring Phil's comment, Dale read through the detail of the request from Jackson Revere, distractedly blowing over his hot black coffee to cool it down.
He had been ordered to retrieve an antiquarian book named
Dirigo Lux
as soon as possible and as far as intelligence was concerned, the required material was most likely in the possession of a dealer named Gertrude Verker, resident in The Hague at an address just a short tram ride away from the embassy, as in fact any address in the city was. A comprehensive physical description of the book followed which had been copied word for word by Jackson directly from the original eBay advert.
That part of the assignment seemed straightforward enough, however, there was a complication; the book had been sold the previous evening and Dale was instructed to convince either Verker or the new owner to part with it as the highest priority.
The suggestion to request a local police officer to aid in the retrieval was a nod to the fact that he had no legal jurisdiction in The Netherlands and his status would need to be implied if not explicitly demonstrated. Basically, he would need to bluff the book out of the hands of the current keeper using a pretext that sounded at least faintly plausible; Jackson had indicated that a lie about it being stolen property from a US museum might suffice.
It was clear that somebody somewhere was serious about this as Dale had been authorised to offer up to five thousand Euros in compensation, a sum that was paltry in comparison to the figures he had seen bandied about within his recent drugs operations but which seemed ridiculous in the context of a musty old book, as he judged it to be.
'If this was the Pope's personal Bible or bin Laden's Koran I could understand it, but this looks like a bunch of gibberish, what the hell do they want this for?'
Dale's eruption elicited an exaggerated sigh from Phil.
'Dale, I'm trying to work here, I need to get this report completed by this evening and I'm not even half way through yet, stop whining and go get the tram.'
Scowling, Dale thought for a moment. If it needed to be done then it needed to be done and if he had to have a chaperone in the form of the local police then he needed to make a call.
Inspector Pieter van Riel abstractedly reached for his desk phone as it started to ring. He took a deep breath and waited for the bell sequence to complete one more cycle before answering the call.
'
Met Brigadier van Riel
.'
'Good afternoon Pieter, this is Chief Inspector Visser, I need to ask a favour of you, how are you fixed for work at the moment?'
Pieter tensed slightly at the implicit suggestion of yet more jobs being added to his overflowing in-tray and decided to respond somewhat vaguely.
'Oh, I have lots of paperwork to do, busy as ever, what do you need?'
Visser hesitated, as if trying to find the words to explain his predicament.
'We've had a request from the American Embassy to escort one of their officials to retrieve some stolen property. It seems that somebody stole a rare book from one of their museums and they would like us to help in retrieving it without making a major legal issue out of it. There is no suggestion that the current owner of the book actually stole it in the first place but they want an officer present just to help in clarifying the situation and if necessary, to act as an interpreter.'
Although Pieter spoke excellent English, he considered it a little strange that a
Brigadier
, an 'Inspector' in the Dutch police ranks, was needed for such a task.
'Alright, that seems simple enough, but may I ask why you have selected me?'
Another pause pervaded the line.
'Well, that is where this whole thing becomes a little strange. A young woman named Gertrude Verker has the book right now. Does the name ring a bell with you?'
Taking a moment to recollect, Pieter became cautious.
'Yes, yes I recognise her; I have an appointment to visit Miss Verker next Tuesday as part of the follow up to a tram fatality. That is a coincidence.'
'Exactly, when they told me the name I did a quick search of our database just to get some background details in case she appeared in our files anywhere and your preliminary report on the tram incident came up with a reference to the very same girl. I don't believe in coincidences, so, it seems appropriate that you go along with this American and find out what this is all about.'
Considering the synchronicity of events, Pieter nodded to himself as his mind whirred.
'Yes, that makes sense, when do the Americans plan to visit the girl?'
The gravel voice assumed a tone of suspicion.
'As you might guess, they would like an officer available as soon as possible, right now in fact.'
'I suppose that they really want their book back! Maybe there is a large library fine outstanding on it!'
Although Visser acknowledged the humour, his gruff voice betrayed the fact that he was uneasy about the request.
'Let's get this dealt with quickly, they will meet you at the girl's address, which of course you already know. I have confirmed with them that I will send an officer and you now seem to be the perfect choice.'
He broke off for emphasis, 'Pieter, be careful on this, I don't want it turning into a diplomatic incident. This is strictly a personal favour for the Americans and not sanctioned by our Superintendent and certainly not by the Chief of Police, so, both our necks are on the block if this turns out to be more than it appears to be! If anything seems wrong just remember who you work for, let me know as soon as this is over.'
'Don't worry Chief; I'll take care of it. I'll call you later!'
'Thank you Pieter, and one last thing, wear your uniform. They want a visible police escort rather than a just an official ID card, look smart eh?
Tot ziens
.'
The line went dead and Pieter van Riel looked at his handset as he conceded to himself that the connection with the girl did seem quite odd, however, he decided that it might be useful to be involved in whatever this was right from the outset; better to contain events than to hear about them on the nightly news round-up.
At around a quarter to four in the late afternoon, Dale hopped lightly off a tram and onto the pavement as he consulted a small yellow note pad on which he had scribbled some address directions. Shivering slightly from the sudden exposure to the cold wind and the light fall of dry snow, he scanned the area and headed off to a side street where he expected to find both Gertrude Verker's apartment and a waiting police officer.
Wandering along the pavement, he could see the white roof of a
Politie
vehicle parked farther along and hastened to approach it, hoping that everything had been taken care of by Chief Inspector Visser. Puffs of white vapour from the rear of the car indicated that the engine was running, at least keeping the two officers inside warmer than Dale felt right now and as he reached the kerbside passenger door he could see the occupants cheerily chatting with each other. He knocked on the window to gain their attention and then took one step back; the window buzzed down.
'
Wat kan ik u helpen
?'
Clasping his gloved hands together in a muffled clap and without even attempting to converse in Dutch, Dale nodded as he responded somewhat unsurely.
'Hi, I'm Dale Mallory from the US Embassy, were you sent to assist me?'
The Inspector had a friendly freckled face topped off with a neatly trimmed mop of strawberry blonde hair and he smiled broadly, nodding and instantly switching to English.
'Ah, yes, I am Inspector van Riel, give me just one moment please.'
He turned to the driver and told him to wait, indicating that he would not be long.
Dale stood back another step as Pieter slipped out of the car and placed his police cap upon his head, fidgeting with it slightly to get it comfortable.
'Are you ready?'
'Do you know which apartment it is?' asked Dale, looking about. 'I have the address but don't know exactly where it is.'