Hemingway’s Chair

in place?’
    ‘All
in place, Nick. Don’t worry, we have done this before.’
    ‘Not
here you haven’t,’ said Devereux, reaching for a plastic cup and tapping the
still-gurgling coffee machine impatiently. ‘You don’t know this country, Matt.
There are going to be a lot of buggers out there hoping we’ll fuck it up.’
    Glenson
laughed gloomily.
    Van
Haren spread a hand towards the window through which the spiky profile of the
communications mast could be seen no more than three hundred yards away, rising
from the superstructure of the old pier. ‘This makes good sense for our
business, I think?’ asked Matt. ‘We are all of us part of the European Union,
after all.’
    Glenson
laughed again. ‘Excuse me, Jimmy!’ he said to Matt. ‘ You ’re part of
Europe. We’re part of Britain.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘It’s not to do with
aerials and tunnels, Matt, it’s in the brain. And that won’t change for a long,
long time.’ He turned to Nick. ‘I mean, if we really believed we were
Europeans we’d have a Dutchman to open this for Christ’s sake. They’ve done all
the work!’
    ‘Oh
come on, Andy,’ Nick said, with a touch of impatience. ‘Not now.’
    ‘Why
do we have to make do with some pillock from Whitehall for a job that’s
nine-tenths financed from Rotterdam?’ Glenson went on. ‘I mean, let’s have Ruud
Gullitt or Marco van Basten or Queen fucking Beatrice, excuse my language,
Matt.’
    ‘Marco
van Basten and Ruud Gullitt were not available, Andy,’ Nick said with a touch
of asperity.
    ‘And
Queen Beatrice said if you're on’t job she’s not coming near the fucking
place,’ added Devereux.
    There
was laughter, but Glenson persisted. ‘But isn’t that crazy?’
    Marshall
made for the door. ‘Not now , Andy, we’ve got a lot to do. Bring the
radios.’
    He
went out into the damp, briny air. Behind him Glenson was warming to his theme.
‘What is the first thing they see in Holland when the world’s first
voice-activated video phone link is established? Some prat who was Minister for
Film and Basketball until yesterday. I mean, come on, Nick, there’s got to be a
better way.’
    Their
voices trailed off into the mist.
     
    *
     
    Martin
Sproale held his breath and watched as the four men left the cabin. The mist
was a blessing. They had taken longer to get the goods aboard than expected and
they were in danger of being spotted now the site was opening up for the day.
To his relief Devereux and Marshall soon climbed into Devereux’s car and drove
away into the town. The other two men, the two wearing hard hats, disappeared
into the main building.
    With
one supreme effort Martin pulled his awkward, bulky cargo clear of the rail on
to the deck of the Nordkom IV. Below him Geraldine kept the outboard
idling, ready to move. They were on the starboard quarter of the yacht, facing
out to sea, out of sight of the harbour, but a pale sun was already beginning
to disperse the mist and there was a lot to be done.
    Martin
hardly had time to savour the pleasure of finally seeing his chair on a boat.
He dragged it across the teak plank floor of the deck and stowed it behind a
bulkhead at the top of the stairs that led down to the saloon.
    He
heard Geraldine’s urgent whisper. ‘I’ve got fifteen minutes!’
    Martin
glanced toward the harbour. There was still no one in sight. ‘All right!’ he
hissed back. ‘Coast’s clear.’ As cautious as she could be on the throttle,
Geraldine eased the dinghy around the stern of the vessel. Here she was exposed
and she knew that anyone watching now could threaten the whole operation. She
had not felt her heart thumping like this since the last very silly thing she’d
done. Which was either free-fall parachuting or skiing blindfold or telling her
parents she was in love with Freda Mitchell. She couldn’t remember which.
    As
the dinghy’s soft rubber side bounced gently against the sheer white hull,
there came the sound of a badly fitted door scraping open on the harbour and
Glenson and van Haren emerged from the control centre. They pointed towards the
pier from which sprouted the slim, lightweight carbon-fibre communications
mast, With its formidable array of dishes and assorted antennae, only a hundred
yards from where Nordkom IV rocked on a gentle ebb tide. They began to
walk purposefully towards it. Martin threw himself down onto the deck.
Geraldine grabbed hold of a fender and pulled herself back and along the