What I hadn’t counted on when formulating my plan was for dispatch to over-react and send a fully armed response unit who arrive just as we get there, blue lights flickering in the dusk. There are six of them, including the leader, a short man called Mark Rutte who makes up for his lack of height by spending time in the gym. Rutte takes one look at us and decides we’re nowhere near hardcore enough for this kind of thing.
‘Let us handle this,’ he says whilst his team are prepping with military precision.
‘We’ll go in after you,’ Vermeer tells him. ‘Cover your back.’
Rutte stares at her for a moment, then tosses us each a bulletproof vest.
The man at the front desk’s eyes pop out of his head as we storm into the building, weapons drawn, Rutte yelling for him to stay where he is. His team spread out just as a door opens and a woman steps through. She’s tall and thin, with cheekbones you could slice meat on. For some reason I can see her in an eighties exercise video, neon tracksuit with a matching towelled headband. The real version, in a black suit, doesn’t look happy. Vermeer steps behind me, trying to keep out of view.
‘What is this?’ she demands of the room at large.
Rutte steps up. ‘We received reports of shots being fired.’
‘Here?’ She’s incredulous.
‘The caller said they were here for treatment and one of the other patients has gone crazy with a gun. They said there were shots fired. Have you not heard anything?’
‘No. That’s … No one here has a gun. We wouldn’t let a bunch of druggies … patients walk around with guns.’
‘So you’ve heard nothing?’
‘No, and they’re not allowed phones either. So I don’t know how they could have called. Seems to me you’ve been the victim of some kind of joke.’
Rutte stares at her for a few seconds. Then he gets on the phone and has a quick conversation with dispatch. I’m hoping he doesn’t decide to pack it up and I’m just wondering what I can do to influence his decision when he turns and addresses the team.
‘Right, we’re going in. Be prepared.’
‘No, wait, you can’t do that.’
‘I suggest you both wait outside, for your own safety.’
She looks like she’s going to argue, then gives in. As she and the male receptionist walk past Vermeer moves so that her face is out of view.
We’re soon on the move through the corridors, following Rutte’s team, which is a precision-engineered machine, and we make progress clearing the building. Halfway through we reach a door with TREATMENT ROOMS written on it. We go through to another corridor with doors on both sides. Each door has a clipboard hanging from a hook, and on each clipboard is a name. Rutte’s team clear the first room, checking the patient over for guns or a gunshot wound.
I spot, further down the corridor, a door with Huisman’s name on it. I catch Vermeer’s eye. She nods. By the time the team are at Huisman’s door, one officer each side of the door frame, I’m starting to sweat.
They do their countdown hand gestures, then one of them reaches out and turns the handle. Ten seconds later one of them yells ‘Clear’ from inside and they exit and move on to the next. Soon the FRU are moving round the corner like a human millipede.
‘I think I heard something suspicious in there, did you?’
‘I did indeed,’ Vermeer says.
I close the door behind us. It’s sparse inside, with only a small window set high in the wall. There’s a toilet and washbasin in a corner, and a table with a book on it, and a single bed with a man lying on his back.
By now I recognize him.
It’s been years, and the years haven’t been kind, but it’s definitely him.
This is the Huisman we’ve been looking for.
We’ve found him, I think to myself, the thought repeating in an ever-spinning loop.
I find myself soaring, giddy with it all.
‘Did you send the message like we discussed?’
‘Uhhh … You’re not going to believe this. I got all the gear together, went over there, but …’
‘But what?’
‘It was already done. It’s burning right now.’
‘What? How can that be?’
‘I don’t know, I just don’t know.’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know. Jesus. Are we still in control of this thing?’
‘Right now, I’m not sure.’
He hangs up and puts the phone back in the drawer. The desk tilts, the room spins. He picks up his desk phone, takes a few deep breaths, then dials a number. One he’d hoped he was never going to have to call.