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    Sheets of water strike the windshield of the 50-ton Volvo tank truck with each gust of air, and the wipers, even at the highest setting can no longer sweep it away. Shrieking winds shake the truck violently, but its twelve wheels and polycarbonate tires grip the road's asphalt, and its trajectory does not deviate an inch. One hundred metres in its wake, shrouded in a blur of vaporized rain, a second tank truck follows exactly in its course. Plumes of water splash right up to the tops of their glossy Shell logo-embellished tanks.
    In the dim truck cabs, an alarm suddenly flares on the dashboard swarming with a galaxy of electronic controls. A luminous message in red letters scrolls across the top of the windscreen, in three languages -- Dutch, English and German. CHECK POINT IN 500 METERS - REQUIRED STOP.
    The two trucks brake with the regularity and perfect synchrony of automatic pilot. The leading truck stops with a schuss before the flashing barrier, which blocks access to the Zurich interchange at the edge of the Wadden Sea. Beyond the freeway lanes, transformed more or less into torrents of water, furious waves smash into the coastal dike, sowing the greenish-grey landscape with yellowish salt foam. The deafening, threatening rumble of the waves overwhelms even the screams of the hurricane. Wind turbines that line the edge of Ijssel Lake have been locked down -- too much wind -- but the blades vibrate and oscillate dangerously at the top of their masts, adding their lugubrious complaint to the general chaos. One of them spins madly -- must be a bug in the security system -- droning like a crazed hornet. It could break at any moment, and if swept up by the storm, its 40-meter long blades risk beheading whatever stands in their path.
    The flashing barrier is flanked by pre-fab guard shacks, a precarious shelter in the heart of these unleashed elements. The police guards don't risk putting their noses outside, preferring instead to communicate by radio with the driver of the leading tank truck.
    "Identify yourself, please."
    "Transports 106A and 106B, for Shell."
    Silence.
    "You're not listed. What are you transporting?"
    Lemonade, you jerk, thinks the driver, with a frown. He responds with a neutral tone.
    "LPG. Emergency delivery."
    "Where are you delivering it?"
    "Den Helder."
    "On the other side? The Afsluitdijk is closed due to the storm. You'll have to turn around."
    Damn. The driver considers the possibility of breaking through the barrier but the guards could order the bridges spanning the Lorentz locks to open up, far before the trucks could get to them, and the mission would fail. He chooses to negotiate, a foreseen probability, and uses phrases prepared and rehearsed. Nevertheless, this remains the weak point of the plan.
    "That is not a possibility. They're in the dark at Den Helder. Fifteen wind turbines have fallen, electricity is out, and the hospital and airport are no longer functioning. That means they urgently need this fuel for their generators."
    The driver sends a discreet signal to his colleague on an encrypted channel, warning him to be ready to apply Phase 1-B of the plan if the cop proves to be obtuse or too finicky.
    "Listen, I have priority traffic orders from Shell, countersigned by the authorities at Groningen, allowing me to complete this delivery as quickly as possible and by the shortest route, whatever the weather conditions. Do you want to see them?"
    Another silence. Then another voice resounds through the headphones, deeper, older -- undoubtedly the boss.
    "Why do you want to take the Afsluitdijk?"
    The driver explains it all over again, patting under his seat in the meanwhile, searching to put his hands on his mini-Uzi. The boss just might think to verify his statement, in which case he will have to apply Phase 1-B at once. But this guard proves to be more comprehending, or just does not want to risk getting reprimanded.
    "Okay, I'll open it up for you. But I'm warning you, it's at your own risk and peril. That's some wild, dirty weather on the dike."
    "Thanks, chief."
    "I'll alert my colleagues on the other side that I made an exception, and let you pass."
    "Understood."
    The flashing light changes to green and the barrier goes up. The driver slides his hand machine-gun back under the seat, disconnects the autopilot, and shifts into second. The heavy tanker truck sets off, followed by its twin, drenching the guard huts with sprays of muddy water as they roll past.