that was all right. Hollis eased into the doorway of a disused building that may have once been a storage shed or something similar. One good Scottish gale would surely have flattened it. Finding good shadow cover, he settled down to wait and watch.
Five minutes to twelve and the short man was close enough for Hollis to note his appearance and the newspaper carried in the single-gloved left hand. No-one else was in sight in either direction but Hollis made no move. The newcomer stepped across the grass verge from the path to the roadway. Hollis noted with approval the way in which he casually but carefully checked the area before walking up onto the bridge. At least he wasn't having to deal with a total amateur. He stayed put and waited. Five minutes, ten. Nothing moved anywhere in sight.
Fifteen. The grey haired man, who appeared to be in his fifties was checking his watch impatiently for the seventh time and making up his mind. When he started walking back Hollis did one more check of the area and moved to meet him. 'Is this where I get the bus for the Keukenhof Tour?'
'Only on a Friday. You're late!'
'It's a hard life.'
Len Harrison took in the medium height figure with a scrub of thick sandy coloured hair and the hard, rough-hewn features. The expressionless grey-blue eyes, lined at the corners, watched him steadily, with total equanimity. Jesus , thought Harrison, I wouldn’t like to play poker with this guy .
'It's a nice day, let's take a walk.'
Harrison noted with interest the American accent. When Manson had told him that the rendezvous was arranged there had been no mention of nationalities. Not that it mattered at all. 'Very well.'
They made no attempt to introduce themselves. Names were irrelevant––neither would have given his real one anyway. Hollis, for his part, was trying to figure whether this contact was just a flunky or his main, possibly sole, employer. Prospective employer, he corrected himself.
'Do you know Amsterdam at all?'
Hollis shrugged. 'I've been here a few times.'
'It's a strange mixture of the beautiful and the ugly. I thought of living here some years ago, when my wife was still alive.' Harrison waved a hand in the general direction of the city. 'A remarkably cosmopolitan place, truly European. But then it also has another side, riddled with crime and corruption. You can buy anything here, anything at all.'
'You sure can,' Hollis said, trying to read between the lines.
Privately, Harrison thought his companion probably knew more about the Amsterdam underworld than he himself ever would. Or ever wanted to. 'I represent a group of people who believe very strongly in the concept of a free market. No stupid trading barriers, no petty legislation, no interfering governments shouting dubious morality whenever an election year comes around.'
'There's been a free market in Europe for years. Look how many countries now use the Euro––'
Harrison shook his head. 'These things mean nothing, Mr … um … Smith. The supposedly “free” market is only as free as the authorities want it to be at any given time. The European Community has never achieved true union, despite the best efforts of a few far-sighted people who have spent their lives working towards making Europe a real power in the twenty first century.' Harrison paused for comment, but there was none. He was pleased to see that the other man was listening intently.
Hollis was in fact listening very carefully indeed. He had always been pro-European. Bringing together the various states and territories and forming the United States of America had been a long and tortuous process, but it had conclusively proved the maxim which said that the whole can indeed be greater than the sum of the parts. He could see little reason why a United States of Europe should be any less successful.
'The problem is that one or two countries are extremely resistant to giving up any degree of national sovereignty. And by doing so they undermine
Five minutes to twelve and the short man was close enough for Hollis to note his appearance and the newspaper carried in the single-gloved left hand. No-one else was in sight in either direction but Hollis made no move. The newcomer stepped across the grass verge from the path to the roadway. Hollis noted with approval the way in which he casually but carefully checked the area before walking up onto the bridge. At least he wasn't having to deal with a total amateur. He stayed put and waited. Five minutes, ten. Nothing moved anywhere in sight.
Fifteen. The grey haired man, who appeared to be in his fifties was checking his watch impatiently for the seventh time and making up his mind. When he started walking back Hollis did one more check of the area and moved to meet him. 'Is this where I get the bus for the Keukenhof Tour?'
'Only on a Friday. You're late!'
'It's a hard life.'
Len Harrison took in the medium height figure with a scrub of thick sandy coloured hair and the hard, rough-hewn features. The expressionless grey-blue eyes, lined at the corners, watched him steadily, with total equanimity. Jesus , thought Harrison, I wouldn’t like to play poker with this guy .
'It's a nice day, let's take a walk.'
Harrison noted with interest the American accent. When Manson had told him that the rendezvous was arranged there had been no mention of nationalities. Not that it mattered at all. 'Very well.'
They made no attempt to introduce themselves. Names were irrelevant––neither would have given his real one anyway. Hollis, for his part, was trying to figure whether this contact was just a flunky or his main, possibly sole, employer. Prospective employer, he corrected himself.
'Do you know Amsterdam at all?'
Hollis shrugged. 'I've been here a few times.'
'It's a strange mixture of the beautiful and the ugly. I thought of living here some years ago, when my wife was still alive.' Harrison waved a hand in the general direction of the city. 'A remarkably cosmopolitan place, truly European. But then it also has another side, riddled with crime and corruption. You can buy anything here, anything at all.'
'You sure can,' Hollis said, trying to read between the lines.
Privately, Harrison thought his companion probably knew more about the Amsterdam underworld than he himself ever would. Or ever wanted to. 'I represent a group of people who believe very strongly in the concept of a free market. No stupid trading barriers, no petty legislation, no interfering governments shouting dubious morality whenever an election year comes around.'
'There's been a free market in Europe for years. Look how many countries now use the Euro––'
Harrison shook his head. 'These things mean nothing, Mr … um … Smith. The supposedly “free” market is only as free as the authorities want it to be at any given time. The European Community has never achieved true union, despite the best efforts of a few far-sighted people who have spent their lives working towards making Europe a real power in the twenty first century.' Harrison paused for comment, but there was none. He was pleased to see that the other man was listening intently.
Hollis was in fact listening very carefully indeed. He had always been pro-European. Bringing together the various states and territories and forming the United States of America had been a long and tortuous process, but it had conclusively proved the maxim which said that the whole can indeed be greater than the sum of the parts. He could see little reason why a United States of Europe should be any less successful.
'The problem is that one or two countries are extremely resistant to giving up any degree of national sovereignty. And by doing so they undermine
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