The Stockholm Syndicate (14 page)

The Danish antiquarian book dealer, known by the few Danes who met him as Dr. Benny Horn, sat in the darkened room polishing his rimless spectacles and fidgeting as he checked the illuminated hands of his watch. His companion, a girl, smiled in the dark and listened to the gentle lapping of the water which came through the open window from the basin of the Nyhavn harbour outside.

"There could have been trouble at the airport," he fussed.

"Let us suppose Litov was followed it is to be expected …" "Then George Land will have dealt with the follower. And that might explain the delay."

"Unless Litov involved himself in the fracas."

"He has his instructions which he won't disobey." The girl was amused by his exhibition of an irritable and pedantic dealer in rare books. Outside the open window headlights appeared, an engine stopped. Sonia Karnell saw a cab had arrived. "Make sure he has not been followed," Horn called to her.

"We are very close to Nyhavn," Kellerman's driver said. They had driven through a maze of streets and squares lined with ancient buildings and the German would have been hard put to it to trace the route on a map. He was fairly sure they were moving in a northerly direction. What the hell was Nyhavn? He waited, hoping the driver would elaborate, and the Dane obliged.

"Nyhavn is the old port area - seamen's bars to the left of the water and tourist trap shops to the right. That's our friend's likely destination."

The cab ahead was the only vehicle in sight now. If they kept on driving much further it was only a matter of time before Litov spotted that he had a tail. The cab in front turned sharp right and the German guessed they had reached Nyhavn.

The middle of the street was occupied by a long, straight basin of water with its level well below that of the street, like a canal in Amsterdam. A forest of masts projected into the night sky. On either side of the brightly-lit street overlooking the waterway was a wall of seventeenth-century houses.

Kellerman's driver earned his tip. Instead of turning right alongside the basin he drove straight on past the end of the water, round a corner, and stopped. The brilliant lighting vanished. There were shadows everywhere.

"He would have seen us. I'm sure he's stopping somewhere down Nyhavn and it's a short distance before you're on the waterfront."

"Thank you." Kellerman gave him money. "Would you wait? I shan't be long."

The problem was that he would be conspicuous walking along Nyhavn carrying a suitcase. It also restricted his movements if he were attacked - and he had not forgotten the assault with the umbrella. That weapon was reminiscent of Bulgarian techniques.

Free of his suitcase, he strolled round the corner back into the lights. Litov was climbing a short flight of steps to a house at the far end. Tourist trap shops on the right..." his driver had said. The Russian was entering one of the houses on the right - easy to pinpoint even from a distance because each house was painted a different colour. A most helpful arrangement.

It was also helpful that there were people about. Kellerman strolled a short distance down the left-hand side and saw the flights of steps leading down to the basement bars. Returning the way he had come, he walked round the end of the harbour basin and continued down the tourist-trap side until he drew level with the house Litov had disappeared into. At the top of a short flight of steps in the blaze of street lights Kellerman could make out a name engraved in large letters on a plate.
Dr. Benny Horn
. He had located the base of another of the three-man directorate running the Stockholm Syndicate.

It was time to meet Louise at the Royal Hotel.

When Serge Litov climbed the steps at the Nyhavn address he was relieved to see the name engraved on a plate to the right of the heavy door.
Dr. Benny Horn
. Litov pressed the bell.

"Come in quickly."

The door closed behind him and he stood in darkness. There was the sound of a lock being turned, of bolts being shot home. Then a blaze of light illuminated the narrow hallway, so strong it made Litov blink. He looked quickly behind him. A slim, dark-haired girl, her hair cut close like a helmet, stood aiming a Walther pistol. It was Sonia Karnell.

Li tov had expected to meet Dr. Otto Berlin, the man who had issued him with his instructions to penetrate Telescope's headquarters. Instead, facing him in the hallway, stood a man wearing a skullcap, a bow-tie and a neat suit which was in considerable contrast to Berlin's careless dress. He was also clean-shaven and stood with his hands clasped across his slim stomach while he contemplated Litov in a manner which irritated the Russian.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded brusquely. "I've come a long way and I'm damned tired."

He stopped as he felt the muzzle of Sonia's Walther press against the back of his neck.

"You are also damned impolite," the man facing him remarked in a cold distant voice. "I am Benny Horn, the man Dr. Berlin ordered you to report to when you had completed your mission, as I believe the phrase goes in your circles."

Litov flinched at the sneer in Horn's voice; he flinched also as he felt the gun barrel jabbing into his neck.

"Come into this room and report at once what you have discovered," Horn ordered and led the way into a room overlooking Nyhavn. Litov sat down in an armchair indicated by Horn, who himself occupied a stiff-backed chair behind an antique desk. Unlike Berlin, who slouched all over the place, Horn sat erect and again clasped his hands as he stared at the new arrival.

"Coffee, Litov?"

Sonia did not wait for a reply as she poured a cup of black coffee from a percolator and added a generous spoonful of sugar. She knew his tastes, Litov observed. The Walther pistol had disappeared. Unlike the hallway, where he had been so dazzled by the glare he had hardly been able to focus on Horn, here in the book-lined room the lighting was dim, but Horn sat in one of the shaded areas. He waited until Litov had drunk half the cup of coffee and then began to fire a barrage of questions at him.

"You located Telescope's base?"

"It is in southern England near Guildford in the county of Surrey."

"How do you know that?"

Litov explaine d how he had seen the red bus with the destination
Guildford
on the front. Horn seemed more interested in the pillar box where letters had been collected. What time of day had the postman collected? Had he seen anyone
post
a letter in the box? The barrage of questions went on and on - almost as though Horn were hoping to catch him out in a lie. Litov couldn't understand the ferocity of the cross-examination.

"How were you able to time the flight of the helicopter in both directions?" Horn demanded at one stage.

"Fortunately they let me keep my watch."

"They
let
you keep your watch? You had it with you all the time? The watch you are wearing at this moment?"

Litov barely concealed his irritation, but remembered the cold, detached look in Horn's eyes and the cold pressure of the p istol against the back of his neck. "Yes," he said. "While I was at the house near Guildford the interrogator, Carder, even mentioned the watch once. He said it would stop me becoming completely disorientated if I knew the time."

Horn went on asking Litov again and again to repeat the story of his experiences since his capture in Brussels. Then it ended abruptly. Horn stood up and came round to the front of his desk, staring down at Litov as he polished his rimless spectacles.

"Wait here," he said suddenly. "On no account attempt to leave this room."

Horn hurried out into the hall followed by the girl who shut the sound-proof door. They went into a room at the back and sat facing each other across a table. "What do you think?" Horn asked, removing his skull-cap.

"The bus convinces me."

"We must send a heavy detachment of specialized troops by air to locate and destroy that base." He stopped speaking as the front door-bell rang. Sonia Karnell slipped into the hall and returned shortly. "It is Danny."

Waiting in the hall was the cab-driver who had transported Kellerman from Kastrup to Nyhavn when they followed Serge Litov.

Max Kellerman had settled himself into Room 1014 at the Royal Hotel - but he was ready for an emergency departure. He chose the quick-service restaurant - where the service lived up to its name and the food was on a par with the service - for several reasons. It was part of the shopping and reception hall complex, which meant that as he ate he was able to observe the reception counter from a discreet distance. This could pay life-saving dividends - as Kellerman had discovered in the past. It enabled you to observe who booked in at the hotel after your own arrival. A method of assassination employed all over the world was for the hired killer to take a room in the same hostelry as his victim.

If - as Kellerman had done - you left your room key with reception while you ate and watched you could sometimes spot a caller making an enquiry about you. The receptionist would swivel his head to see whether your key was on the hook. It was impossible to be sure the receptionist had checked your key but if you were already suspicious it was added confirmation.

Kellerman lingered over his meal, savouring the Scandinavian food. He was already beginning to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere he sensed in the Danes who inhabited Copenhagen, which was refreshingly free of the normal multitude of high-rise blocks. The multi storey Royal Hotel, oddly enough, was an exception. Jules Beaurain and Louise Hamilton arrived at the reception desk at precisely 10.30 p.m.

*

"Louise, I've been to the scene of the murder aboard the barge near Bruges there was
a witness
, a boy who spends half his time in a tree-house he's built."

"Hold on a minute, Willy, here is Jules."

The call came through at the Royal Hotel in response to an earlier call from Beaurain to Willy Flamen at his home address. Flamen had been on his way home and his wife had promised that he would call back the moment he arrived. Beaurain emerged steamily from the bathroom where he had just taken a shower.

"It's Willy Flamen," Louise told him. "About that bar gee and his wife. He says he's found a witness."

"I'll take it. You go downstairs and keep Max from feeling lonely. He's still drinking coffee in that restaurant, watching reception."

Time you gave up," she said to the German when she had joined him and had ordered coffee. Only one man on duty now and a general atmosphere of boredom and closing-down for the night.

"It comes when you least expect it," he replied.

"What does?"

"The breakthrough. The incident which means nothing at the time and everything later on. Waiting is the key to success. Any policeman will tell you that."

"And when you were a lawyer in Munich did you meet a lot of police?"

A flicker of pain crossed his face. He responded in a slightly grating voice behind which she detected a hint of menace - not for herself, but for some unknown killer. She really had blown it. "I'm sorry, Max. It was in the Munich shoot-out that your wife was killed. What was she like?"

"Irreplacea ble."

"Sorry again. I'll keep my big mouth shut."

"You don't have to," he assured her. "And I'm sitting here for a reason I don't understand why the Syndicate mob didn't have more back-up at Kastrup Airport when I arrived with Serge Litov."

"Where is Louise?" asked Beaurain, slipping into the chair alongside Kellerman in the ground floor restaurant.

"She took off after someone."

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Beaurain, his face devoid of expression.

"It's strange," the German commented. "I was just saying it comes when you least expect it. A breakthrough. I was just coming up to your room to tell you. We were sitting here when a girl went up to the reception counter and we saw the clerk turn round and look towards where my key was hanging. She rolled his pen onto the floor behind the counter to keep him busy while she checked the register of guests. She could have been anything European. She had a distinctive hairdo - very black hair cut short and close to her head - like a helmet. What's wrong, Jules?"

Beaurain's eyes were hard. I'm waiting for you to get to the point," he said with an unnerving quietness.

"After she had gone outside, Louise followed her and waited at the door for my signal."

"Why not the other way round? Why didn't
you
take the tail job?"

"For a reason I'll give you in a minute." The German met Beaurain's gaze levelly. "I went up to the receptionist and spun him a story about thinking I'd recognised the girl as a friend of my wife's. He opened up immediately - strange coincidence and all that. The girl was looking for a man who had dropped a wallet her husband had picked up. She described me perfectly and said her husband thought I'd come into this hotel. He - the fictitious husband - had been rushing to a business appointment and would come back in the morning."

"So she got your name?"

"She got that - and my room number."

"And Louise?" asked Beaurain.

"I gave her the go-ahead. The "black helmet" girl got into a car and Louise followed her in the car you hired. I couldn't - just in case I was recognised from the incident at Kastrup."

"I've just heard someone else call the girl Black Helmet, and since it was an intelligent child's description it is likely to be accurate. She was visiting a couple on a barge near Bruges just before they were murdered."