Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

be said about the area they drove through was that the Dutch appeared to live moderately well. The district of The Hague was about as far removed from Kane’s usual South London beat as it possibly could be. Their destination appeared to be the centre of the city. Curiouser and curiouser, Kane thought. The police car eventually stopped in front of an imposing six-storey modern all-white building whose entrance was festooned with the various flags of the twenty-seven members of the European Union.

“We’re here,” Davenport said as they passed through the tank trap and pulled up before the front door of the building.

“Where exactly is here?” Kane asked, trying to sound as bored as possible but intrigued by the array of flags bedecking the building.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Davenport said opening the door of the car and climbing out. “We’re having a meeting with our friends at Europol.”

“Europol!” Kane had never worked with the European police operation. He’d read about them but he hadn’t bothered to retain anything. He’d dealt with Interpol in the past and had found them to be good guys. As far as he could remember, Europol was another Euro-quango set up to satisfy some bureaucratic arsehole’s need to see his name up in lights.

As soon as Davenport opened the car door, a young man dressed like a city banker approached them. “Superintendent Davenport?” he asked.

“Pleased to meet you.” Davenport stuffed his papers into a battered leather briefcase.

“Ah yes, so pleased to meet you, sir.” The young man extended his hand. “Luc de Vries. I’ve been sent to escort you to my director’s office. And this would be Detective Sergeant Kane?”

“Right on, Luc,” Kane said without offering his hand. De Vries was slim, blue-eyed, and good looking with a shock of curly blond hair. A very civil servant if Kane had read his man. Very civil and very servile. De Vries was an example of ‘new copper’. A university graduate in a pinstripe suit who believes you catch villains with computers and who views the detecting business as a PlayStation game. He reminded Kane of the young Robert Redford. He had a habit of thinking of people in terms of movie actors. He always reckoned Davenport to resemble a six-foot-four version of Charles Laughton playing Quasimodo. He glanced up at the office of the famed pan-European police force. “Nice building.”

“Very modern,” de Vries said leading them up some steps to the entrance. He slipped easily into lecture mode. “We moved here in 2011. Our original office was in the suburbs. It was very pretty and was initially a Jesuit convent. During the war, the Gestapo made it their headquarters and before we took it over it was the seat of the Dutch criminal police. Our current home was purpose-built here in the International Quarter of the Hague.” He stopped and looked at his two charges the way a teacher regards his pupils. “We are very security conscious so please stay with me until we reach the director’s office. The entrance is a revolving steel affair and most of the inside doors are magnetically activated.” He pushed a magnetic card into a slot beside the door and the outer steel casing began to revolve.

Kane followed de Vries and Davenport into the main hall of the building. More like the offices of an investment bank than a nick. The corporate surroundings suited de Vries who looked more like a young investment banker. Although he spoke English like a native, Kane assumed that he was either Dutch or Belgian but he would never have guessed it from listening to him speak. He wondered what these intellectual besuited coppers would be like in a tight corner. Chances were that they might ruin their nice silk suits by voiding the contents of their bowels into them. De Vries was right about the security. Kane had never seen anything quite like the number of locked doors they passed on their progress to their destination.

“Otto Strofeld.” The director of operations stuck out his hand and shook first Davenport’s hand and then Kane’s. “Welcome to Europol, gentlemen. Some refreshments. Coffee, tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” Davenport said.

Always the perfect bloody gentleman, Kane thought and didn’t bother to reply. His role was to keep his mouth shut and let his superior do all the talking. The rule was when in the presence of a senior officer ‘speak when spoken to’. Strofeld spoke English with a correct but heavy Teutonic accent. Kane shuffled from one foot to another as he watched his chief and the director play the getting-to-know-you game. All the hierarchy were the same, British or continental. Maybe they learned the rituals at their local lodge. This kind of diplomatic bullshit always gave him a pain in the arse. Tea and crumpets were alright for the brass but when you spent your life living on the edge you tended to dispense with the lace doilies and the crooked little finger on the teacup. You could be bloody sure that the opposition team didn’t sit around all day offering each other cups of tea and playing footsie. The other team were hustling from morning to night turning merchandise into money. If the cops were going to get to grips with the drug barons, they would have to give up the niceties and learn how to fight fire with fire.

Strofeld nodded at de Vries and the young policeman disappeared.

The world is full of sycophants, Kane thought as he watched de Vries’ pin-striped back disappear from the room. He looked around Strofeld’s office. It was very much executive chic from the soothing grey carpet which muffled their footsteps to the modern paintings that were carefully selected to set off the Scandinavian furniture. A large collection of personal memorabilia was carefully displayed on Strofeld’s desk to add a friendly personal touch. To become the director of Europol you had to be half copper half diplomat and probably all pile-sucker.

“Superintendent Davenport, as you are aware our cooperation is a trifle problematic.