Sun of the Sleepless Read Online Free Page B
SLEEPLESS
Chapter I
'The wheels of my chariot roll in the thunder'
The Challenge of Thor - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The plan had been simple enough, but it simply had not worked. The distraction from his original operation, the last-minute trip, the waiting, all had been for nothing and a complete waste of time when it came to the moment of truth but not for the reasons the man had initially considered.
Reflecting on the morning's events he sat back in his creaking wooden chair and quickly raised a finger to get the attention of the waitress as he saw his commander enter the almost empty bar, nodding to him as he caught his eye.
'Frans, take a seat.'
The man's boss broke into a big grin, raised a hand in greeting and hurried over to the table. He shrugged off his warm overcoat and as he hung it on a nearby coat-stand he beamed back over his shoulder, ' Meneer Faber, sorry dat ik laat ben !'
'English please, you know my Dutch is practically non-existent - it's that or German.'
Rubbing his hands together to warm them, Frans chuckled impishly. 'I think we'll stick to English then, after I've ordered a dubel that is!'
Rey smiled to himself as he watched his boss ordering a dark beer from the waitress. Frans always had a cheerful demeanour even in the direst of circumstances. He had a mischievous personality with a dry sense of humour packed into a short wiry frame. Although a young and sprightly fifty-eight years of age, at only five feet four inches tall he could easily be underestimated, an attribute that Frans had periodically used to great advantage when he had been called upon to engage in physical combat with opponents during his younger years. His promotion through the ranks to the position of a senior commander had attracted a more sedentary lifestyle and even a slight paunch, but he always jumped at the chance to get back into the field.
Walking over to the chair opposite Rey, Frans sat down with a satisfied sigh, his face lighting up with a grin from ear to ear.
'So, we had a bit of a cock-up this morning, eh?' he questioned sarcastically, leaning in and chortling in accented English.
Rey closed his eyes and stifled a resigned laugh, 'Don't, just don't. You couldn't make it up could you?'
The morning's events had indeed been cocked-up. It had started well enough for Rey in comparison to the boredom and waiting he had endured for the last couple of days; a leisurely breakfast as planned, a short tram ride through the shopping district, past the parliament buildings to the Central Station, there to meet with Frans.
He had spotted the closely cropped silver-grey hair of his boss amongst a throng of passengers on the main platform, seeing him sipping from a cup of coffee handed out free of charge by the train operators in recognition and compensation of the extreme cold. Rey doubted that such appeasement would be offered by an English railway operator.
Frans had also spotted him and his face had broken into a smile as he came over to greet him, discarding the hastily drained cup into a recycling bin on the way. Together they had wandered outside and across the main tram station, idly chit-chatting about the weather and the spate of train cancellations before settling into a relaxed walk along the bank of the canal drifting slowly by the Zwarteweg road, the motion of a bevy of swans paralleling their progress between the creeping ice sheets upon the inert waters.
They could talk freely; the occasional pedestrians who scurried by were shoppers concerned only with the fastest route to the warmth of the next store or marching office workers preoccupied with meetings in one or another of the numerous ministries that dotted this area of The Hague. They wandered past the Ministry of Health, Welfare and Sport and Frans started to brief Rey on their mission, if indeed it actually qualified as such.
'Short notice I know, but you know how it is,' Frans chuckled apologetically, 'this has come down from
Chapter I
'The wheels of my chariot roll in the thunder'
The Challenge of Thor - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The plan had been simple enough, but it simply had not worked. The distraction from his original operation, the last-minute trip, the waiting, all had been for nothing and a complete waste of time when it came to the moment of truth but not for the reasons the man had initially considered.
Reflecting on the morning's events he sat back in his creaking wooden chair and quickly raised a finger to get the attention of the waitress as he saw his commander enter the almost empty bar, nodding to him as he caught his eye.
'Frans, take a seat.'
The man's boss broke into a big grin, raised a hand in greeting and hurried over to the table. He shrugged off his warm overcoat and as he hung it on a nearby coat-stand he beamed back over his shoulder, ' Meneer Faber, sorry dat ik laat ben !'
'English please, you know my Dutch is practically non-existent - it's that or German.'
Rubbing his hands together to warm them, Frans chuckled impishly. 'I think we'll stick to English then, after I've ordered a dubel that is!'
Rey smiled to himself as he watched his boss ordering a dark beer from the waitress. Frans always had a cheerful demeanour even in the direst of circumstances. He had a mischievous personality with a dry sense of humour packed into a short wiry frame. Although a young and sprightly fifty-eight years of age, at only five feet four inches tall he could easily be underestimated, an attribute that Frans had periodically used to great advantage when he had been called upon to engage in physical combat with opponents during his younger years. His promotion through the ranks to the position of a senior commander had attracted a more sedentary lifestyle and even a slight paunch, but he always jumped at the chance to get back into the field.
Walking over to the chair opposite Rey, Frans sat down with a satisfied sigh, his face lighting up with a grin from ear to ear.
'So, we had a bit of a cock-up this morning, eh?' he questioned sarcastically, leaning in and chortling in accented English.
Rey closed his eyes and stifled a resigned laugh, 'Don't, just don't. You couldn't make it up could you?'
The morning's events had indeed been cocked-up. It had started well enough for Rey in comparison to the boredom and waiting he had endured for the last couple of days; a leisurely breakfast as planned, a short tram ride through the shopping district, past the parliament buildings to the Central Station, there to meet with Frans.
He had spotted the closely cropped silver-grey hair of his boss amongst a throng of passengers on the main platform, seeing him sipping from a cup of coffee handed out free of charge by the train operators in recognition and compensation of the extreme cold. Rey doubted that such appeasement would be offered by an English railway operator.
Frans had also spotted him and his face had broken into a smile as he came over to greet him, discarding the hastily drained cup into a recycling bin on the way. Together they had wandered outside and across the main tram station, idly chit-chatting about the weather and the spate of train cancellations before settling into a relaxed walk along the bank of the canal drifting slowly by the Zwarteweg road, the motion of a bevy of swans paralleling their progress between the creeping ice sheets upon the inert waters.
They could talk freely; the occasional pedestrians who scurried by were shoppers concerned only with the fastest route to the warmth of the next store or marching office workers preoccupied with meetings in one or another of the numerous ministries that dotted this area of The Hague. They wandered past the Ministry of Health, Welfare and Sport and Frans started to brief Rey on their mission, if indeed it actually qualified as such.
'Short notice I know, but you know how it is,' Frans chuckled apologetically, 'this has come down from
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