Page 7 of The Amsterdam Enigma (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #3)

T he door opened, and a young maid entered with a tray of light refreshments. The tray held small silver bowls filled with what appeared to be olives, gherkins, cubes of aged Dutch cheeses, and salted almonds.

“I dine quite late when in Amsterdam, so hopefully this will tide us all over while we chat. Can I get anyone a drink? Perhaps sherry or madeira?”

Melody and Rat both demurred, but Alessandro rose and poured himself a glass of sherry.

Everyone helped themselves to some snacks.

Melody wondered if Fatima would return to join them, but it seemed she was either too much in a pet or didn’t think Alessandro would welcome her.

Either way, Melody relaxed, realising the infuriating woman wouldn’t be returning, at least for now.

“I assume you received my message,” Alessandro asked Rat, who nodded in response.

Melody realised that it was one thing to be reluctantly included in the conversation and another to be treated as a full member of the operation. If she didn’t assert her right to be more than involved in name only from the outset, then it had all been for nothing.

After clearing her throat slightly, Melody said firmly, “Please explain your message. Who is the artist and what has happened to him? Your note was obviously in code, given that there is no memorial service taking place now.”

Rat realised Melody needed to be told everything. If he was going to honour his own words from earlier and involve her, it couldn’t be by cherry picking what information to share. He also suspected that, if given a choice, Alessandro would not be forthcoming.

Putting down his plate, Rat explained, “I have been waiting in a cafe for the past three days for a German defector who has become a British informant. His code name is Vermeer. He claims to have identified a new cypher used by Germany as they attempt to sway Dutch public and political opinion against Britain. As you know, he never showed up. What Alessandro’s note told me was that he is dead. Now, you know as much as I do.”

Melody doubted that was true, but she let the statement stand for now. While she wanted to ask why a German might choose to help Britain, Melody didn’t want to interrupt the story. She could also press Rat for more details on their walk back to the hotel.

“How did you learn of the dead body?” Rat asked Alessandro.

“Through the newspaper I own here in Amsterdam which found out today that a body was found floating in the Prinsengracht canal. Though his body was already waterlogged, Vermeer’s right fist remained firmly clenched.

Perhaps it was rigour mortis that kept it tight.

When the police pried it open, they found a torn scrap of thin paper, smeared, but still legible.

Based on what one of my journalists heard, I am hopeful it might be a torn fragment of a cypher that Matthew can unravel. ”

“How can we be sure the body is Vermeer?” Rat asked.

Alessandro explained, “In his pocket, the dead man had a copy of Anna Karenina.” Melody wondered what the significance of this was, but it seemed it was answer enough for Rat, who nodded his head.

“According to my man, the coroner said the body couldn’t have been in the water for long, given that the paper hadn’t disintegrated. ”

“Is there any way to find out what is written on the paper? Or did your journalist manage to discover that already?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alessandro admitted.

“His body was found drifting near the Westerkerk bell tower, not far from the Bloemgracht bridge, just past dawn on Tuesday. It is being dealt with by the local police force, Bureau Elandsgracht. My journalist, Hans, has a contact over there. He thinks he can find out.”

“Let us hope so. And let us hope that the paper turns out to be decipherable.” His cryptography skills were the aspect of his job in which Rat was the most confident.

However, decoding a fragment of something that might or might not be a cypher on a piece of paper that had been in a canal for days did not seem like a simple proposition, and he was hesitant to raise anyone’s hopes.

When Alessandro returned to nibbling on the cheese on his plate, Melody thought there was nothing to be lost by trying to glean more information.

“While I will admit to not knowing as much about European politics as either of you, I thought that the Netherlands maintained a long-held policy of neutrality. Certainly, I have never heard either of you speak of it in the context of fears of German influence.”

Rat acknowledged the truth of her statement.

“The Netherlands has been famously neutral for many decades. While, of course, Britain would like to think that it would take her side in the event of war with Germany, at the very least it would like to ensure this neutrality remains. Although it is not far across the British Channel to Dutch shores, the country’s shared border with Germany makes it more susceptible to German influence. ”

Alessandro seemed to realise that this conversation was going to take place whether or not he was involved, and he picked up the narrative.

“Apart from how precariously it is located geographically, there are other reasons for the Netherlands to maintain this neutrality: it helps protect its overseas holdings, specifically, in the Dutch East Indies, and trade with both Germany and Britain is important to the local economy.”

While this was all quite interesting, Melody wanted specifics about the mission that Rat and Alessandro were involved in. She feared she would receive nothing more than a history lesson.

“And so, what are you both here to do?” she pressed.

Rat and Alessandro exchanged glances. Then, Rat answered, “There is a fear that Germany is trying to manipulate public or diplomatic opinion to keep the Netherlands out of Britain’s sphere of influence. If it can sway it over to the side of Germany’s Triple Alliance, even better.”

“This is starting to sound a lot like the situation we ended up facing in Morocco,” Melody observed. Then, it had turned out to be the British Foreign Secretary who was trying to turn British public opinion against Germany.

Rat shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t exactly the same, but I understand your point.

Yes, again, this is a covert war to manipulate sentiments against the other side.

We believe that more false flag operations are underway; we learnt that much from Vermeer.

He claimed to have evidence that would prove definitively what Germany was doing and was going to hand it over at our meeting. ”

“So, we believe something is happening. But the only person who could prove what it was is now dead?” Melody summarised. Alessandro and Rat both nodded their heads in a manner that Melody found depressingly defeatist.

“Yet that isn’t all you know, is it?” she pointed out.

Noticing the confusion on the faces of both men, Melody continued, “Who was this Vermeer communicating with before? There must be someone; after all, someone was able to tell you how to contact him. And how did Vermeer even come to the attention of the Secret Service Bureau?”

Whatever reaction Melody had anticipated to this question, it wasn’t the evident discomfort that Rat and Alessandro displayed. Rat began tapping his foot, and Alessandro couldn’t meet Melody’s gaze. What on earth was going on?

When it appeared that neither man was willing to respond to her, Melody demanded, “What is happening here? There is clearly something you do not wish to tell me.”

Alessandro shot Rat a look that was accurately interpreted as, “This one is your problem.”

Rat sighed and explained. “The Foreign Office had been cultivating this informant for some time and had an established communication protocol. Until perhaps six weeks ago, Vermeer’s liaison was Captain William Somerset.

For reasons that I truly do not know, Somerset was sent to Morocco under some kind of cloud.

From what I understand, the events we were involved with in Fes have reflected particularly badly on the captain, coming as they did after whatever occurred here. ”

“William? He was here?” Melody gasped.

When Captain William Somerset walked out of that door on that fateful day in July, Melody resigned herself to the fact that it was the end of their story.

She wasn’t even certain of her emotions regarding this.

William had sensed her feelings for Alessandro, which led her to question whether she had genuinely moved on from her infatuation with the conte.

Now, hearing his name and involvement with whatever they were hoping to do in Amsterdam brought everything to the fore once more.

She hadn’t heard from, or about, the captain since he’d said goodbye.

Of course, she still did not know where he was; she assumed he was in Morocco.

Just because he had been in Amsterdam meant nothing.

Even so, his connection to this city and to this mission caused her enormous discombobulation and, despite her best efforts, Melody blushed deeply.