The Stockholm Syndicate (17 page)

Unlocking the car, Louise Hamilton glanced round in the darkness, listened for five minutes, which is too long for anyone to keep perfectly quiet. Her next precaution was to take her small torch from her shoulder-bag and shine it on the hood. The hardly visible match was where she had left it; no-one had raised the bonnet in her absence.

As she started the engine and drove slowly out of Elsinore she had the route map of Denmark open on the seat beside her. It took her two minutes to realise she was being followed. She was not surprised. Never underestimate the enemy - one of Jock Henderson's favourite maxims. Louise Hamilton had assumed only a short time after leaving Copenhagen that the couple
must
suspect that her car was a tail.

To escape any risk of detection she could have hung well back and almost certainly lost the van. The other option was to subordinate every other consideration - including personal safety - to making sure she did not lose the van. She had chosen the second option, and must have been spotted within ten minutes of leaving Copenhagen.

Now the roles were reversed. Heading north from Elsinore towards the remote rendezvous on the shoreline with Henderson, Louise was aware of the Porsche following at a discreet distance but not so discreet that there was any danger of the sports car losing her.

Karnell concentrated on the red lights ahead, flicking her eyes away from them at intervals to maintain night vision. The Citroën puzzled her - because of the direction it was taking. The girl behind the wheel then disconcerted her more severely because of a sudden change in her way of driving. The car accelerated and disappeared round a bend in the road. Karnell pressed her foot down, tore round the corner and then jammed on her brakes.

"You stupid little cunning tart."

The contradictions of her insult didn't bother the Swedish girl. Coming round the bend she had found the red lights immediately ahead, the Citroën cruising very slowly like someone looking for a turning.

It wasn't that at all, and Karnell knew it. The girl had speeded up and then braked as soon as she was out of sight beyond the bend. Just far enough from the bend to ensure that the Porsche wouldn't ram her - although it might have skidded off the road.

"Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!" Karnell snarled.

The Citroën was picking up speed again. Karnell glanced at the device on the seat beside her, a device which was protected with foam-rubber inside a cardboard box bearing the name of a well-known Copenhagen florist. Much as she disliked handling explosive, Karnell was beginning to look forward to attaching some extra equipment to the car ahead.

She kept the speed of the Porsche down as the Citroën vanished round another bend at speed. Sure enough, rounding the bend herself she saw the car was only a short distance ahead. Once again the driver had jammed on the brakes as soon as the Citroën was out of sight.

"You caught me once. Twice never, you whore," Karnell said triumphantly.

It happened about two kilometres after these two incidents. It happened without warning. Karnell saw the red lights suddenly leap away and vanish round a fresh bend in the road. It was again impossible for Karnell to see beyond the bend, which was lined with trees and undergrowth. She reduced speed and approached with great caution. Crawling round the bend she gazed stupefied ahead and in her state of shock pulled into the side of the road.

The road ahead was deserted. No red lights. No traffic at all. The Citroën had vanished into thin air.

Chapter Ten

Henderson himself was in command of the dinghy crossing the calm sea under the moonlight to the remote beach where
Firestorm
had seen the flash of Louise Hamilton's headlights from the Citroën. Two other men were aboard and all three were armed with sub-machine guns and hand grenades.

Louise's manoeuvre for losing the Porsche seemed to have worked - for a time. That depended on the determination and ingenuity of the other driver. Everything had hinged on conditioning the Porsche's driver to approaching bends with great caution and
at low speed
. On the third occasion Louise had accelerated as she came up to the bend, swung round the curve, saw the road immediately ahead clear to the next bend and had rammed her foot through the floor. As she roared through the dark she counted the right-hand turnings which were little more than tracks.

Approaching the third, she checked again in her mirror, saw no sign of headlights coming up behind her, slowed and veered sharply off the highway down a tree-lined track which crunched under her wheels. She kept up the maximum possible speed until she had turned a sharp bend in the track, out of sight of the highway. Now she only hoped to God she had chosen the track which led to the remote beach and the sea where
Firestorm
was waiting for her. Five minutes later, standing by the Citroën and watching the incoming outboard, she knew she had chosen well.

Stealthy footsteps in the night - behind her and coming down the track. Above the mutter of the outboard Louise was sure she had heard the hard crunch of slow-moving footsteps, the steps of someone who is careful where they place their feet - but is forced by the thick undergrowth on both sides of the track to make their way along the gravel.

She looked out to sea again and saw the outboard already cutting its motor. Henderson climbed out over the side. Another man disembarked, took hold of the side of the craft and held it in the shallows ready for swift departure. Louise moved along the water's edge towards the Scot who ran to meet her, crouched low and grasping a sub-machine gun in both hands.

"Anything wrong?" were his first words. As he spoke his eyes were scanning the woods and the entrance to the track.

"I thought I heard footsteps - I must be jittery."

"Anyone follow you from Elsinore?"

"One person - in a Porsche."

"Get into the outboard. Tell Adams to start it up."

Stealthy footsteps. Henderson distinctly heard them before the outboard flared into power. The crunch of footsteps on gravel as someone came closer to the parked Citroën. He ran back, keeping a low profile, giving the order as he scrambled aboard in his half-length rubber boots.

"Masks on. Assume we're observed."

Louise looked back briefly to the hired Citroën which looked sad and abandoned on the lonely beach. But she would be returning soon: to pick up that car and drive back to Elsinore.

Sonia Karnell was irked by the crunching sound of the gravel as she moved forward with her gun held out before her. She could normally move as silently as a cat - but confined to the gravel track she made a noise.

But the fact that the track had been made up of pebbles had been of enormous help. When she had lost the girl in the Citroën, Sonia Karnell's stupefaction had been quickly overtaken by the realisation she had been tricked.

There was a series of turnings off to the right - towards the nearby sea. The problem had been to locate which track the bitch had used. Karnell was convinced she had not driven much further along the highway - since she could see too far for the Citroën to have vanished to the north. No, it had been swallowed up by one of the tracks cut through the woods to the sea. The only question: which track?

Crawling along, losing valuable time, but knowing she had to proceed in a systematic manner, the Swedish girl stopped at the entrance to each track, got out of the car and examined it with her torch. At the third track she found skid marks where a car had turned sharply off the highway. She followed her torch beam only a few yards checking the very clear indentations of a car's tyres. When she returned to the Porsche she even saw stones and dirt scattered over the highway.

She drove the Porsche down the track far enough to conceal it from the highway. The last thing she needed at this stage was a Danish patrol-car - and the discovery of the bomb, which would be rather difficult to explain. Then she crunched her way cautiously down towards the beach, her Walther at the ready.

"Oh, I should have bloody known!"

Through the gap in the trees at the end of the track she saw what was responsible for the sudden burst of engine sound - an outboard rapidly growing smaller as it headed for the tip of a headland to the north. Whipping a pair of night glasses from her shoulder-bag, she focused them with expert fingers.

"You clever Telescope bastards! Bastards!"

In the twin lenses the four people crouched in the dinghy came up clearly, but they were all wearing Balaclava helmets which concealed their features. Even with the field glasses, only the eyes showed through slits in the woollen helmets.

There was no vessel in sight they could be making for. What she did not know was that immediately after the outboard had been winched over the side in response to the flash of Louise's headlights, Captain Buckminster - on Henderson's orders - had withdrawn Firestorm out of sight behind the tip of the headland.

"Just in case Louise has been followed," Henderson had observed to the ex-naval captain, "I suggest you pull north behind the headland when we head for the shore."

Then you lack my support," Buckminster had objected.

"At this stage I think it may be more important to conceal from the Syndicate our main and most deadly weapon
Firestorm
."

And so Sonia Karnell was left swearing on the foreshore as the dinghy disappeared. She vented her fury by taking great care over her actions during the next few minutes.

She would have taken great care in any case: you do not fool about with bombs. The extra care she took was to plant the device underneath the Citroën without leaving any clue to its existence. Once the job was complete, she wriggled herself from under the car and shoved the torch back inside her pocket. She had activated all the systems and she walked round the vehicle before leaving it, to make sure there were no tell-tal e traces.

The bomb was controlled by a trembler. If the Citroën were driven at reasonable speed and had to pull up sharply for any reason: Bang! If the Citroën were taken up or down an incline at an angle exceeding twenty degrees, no matter how slowly: Bang! Before leaving the booby-trapped car she took one last look out to sea where Louise Hamilton had vanished on the outboard.

"Don't forget to come back for your car, darling. I just wish I could be here."

On the sidewalk outside the Royal Hotel two men stood studying a street map of Copenhagen. It was 8.30, a glorious morning on the following day, the sun shining brilliantly out of a clear blue sky with a salty breeze in the air.

Rush hour had begun, streets were crowded with traffic, sidewalks crowded with pedestrians, and the two men merged with the background. They were patient men and they had stood in different positions for over an hour - but each position always gave them a clear view of the main exit from the Royal Hotel.

An observer could have concluded that they were used to working together: they rarely exchanged a word. One man was dressed like an American. His companion carried a brief-case.

On the same morning Dr. Henri Goldschmidt of Bruges arrived in Copenhagen aboard a flight from Brussels. A car was waiting for him and the chauffeur transported him to the Hotel d'Angleterre.

He always stayed at the Angleterre when he visited the Danish capital and the manager was waiting to greet his distinguished guest and accompany him to his suite. After seeing that he was satisfied, the manager informed the reception desk that the normal instructions applied: in case of enquiry from the outside world Dr. Goldschmidt was not staying at the hotel.

Up in his suite, the coin dealer was well aware that Jules Beaurain and Louise Hamilton were in the same city. Immediately the couple had left his house in Bruges he had summoned Fritz Dewulf, the Fleming who had operated the camera in the house facing No. 285 Hoogste van Brugge.

"Fritz," he had said, "I want you to proceed immediately to Brussels Airport and take up residence, so to speak."

"Who am I waiting for?"

"Jules Beaurain and, possibly Louise Hamilton. You can obtain their photos from our files."

Among the most important tools of his trade, The Fixer counted his very considerable collection of photographs, many of people who believed no photographs of them existed. Armed with the prints, Dewulf departed for Brussels Airport.

He had to wait for many hours, snatching bites at the buffet, and by evening his eyes were prickling from the strain of checking people's faces. Then he saw both of them Beaurain and Louise boarding a flight for Copenhagen.

"Copenhagen?" Goldschmidt repeated when Dewulf phoned him. "It really is a beautiful city. I think it is time I visited it again."

Jules Beaurain ordered a large breakfast for two and then called Max Kellerman to his bedroom. The sun shone in through the wide picture windows high above the city as they wolfed down the food and consumed cup after cup of steaming coffee. The Tivoli Gardens seemed to be almost below them, although several streets away.

"I've talked to Monique," Beaurain had informed Kellerman when he arrived, 'and she confirmed that Henderson radioed her from
Firestorm
. Louise was picked up and taken aboard. They are landing her again later this morning after I have contacted them again. First, we see Superintendent Bodel Marker at police HQ."

"I don't see the connection," Kellerman said through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

"I can't decide whether Louise should wait for us in Elsinore or drive all the way to Copenhagen and link up with us here. Elsinore could be a diversion, something to distract us from the real action elsewhere."

"I don't see it," said Kellerman. "Louise said when she called us last night that she had followed the girl we saw at the reception counter downstairs. She also mentioned a passenger who could well be Dr. Benny Horn, the Dane your friend Goldschmidt named as one of the three men controlling the Syndicate. They're enough to go after, surely."

Beaurain wiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it on the trolley and went over to stare out across the city. "The van, Max. The van which prominently carries the legend
Helsingør
- and nothing else on the outside. It's too obvious - like a finger pointing us. In the wrong direction."

"Louise did follow it to Elsinore, though."

"Yes, I suppose so. Now, time for us to keep our appointment with my old friend Bodel Marker at police headquarters."

"I thought he was in Intelligence," said Kellerman as he swallowed the rest of his coffee.

"Deliberate camouflage. There he has plenty of protection. No-one is going to notice him coming and going. And he has his own set-up, including his own system of communications."

The phone rang just before they left. It was the American CIA man, who had arrived in Stockholm. His conversation with Beaurain was short.

"Jules, I still can't track down Norling. I'm convinced he's not in Stockholm, but he's expected. I don't think Viktor Rashkin is here either. I gather from certain sources I've screwed the hell out of, that both are expected soon."

"Something wrong, Ed?"

"A funny atmosphere in this city. Noticed it as soon as I began looking up old contacts. Don't think I've gone over the top, but the atmosphere smells of naked and total fear as soon as the Stockholm Syndicate is mentioned. And I've had a weird warning from a Swede I've known for years and whose life I once saved. Oh, I don't know."

"Go on, Ed," Beaurain said quietly, gripping the receiver tightly.

"I was told a signal had been sent naming me. The word
Zenith
was mentioned. Does it mean anything?"

"It means you're on the Syndicate's list. It means you'll be spied upon and your every move reported. It means you're in grave danger. Ed, you need to be armed. There's a place in Stockholm where you can buy..."

Teach your grandmother to suck eggs," Cottel said quickly. "What the hell is this
Zenith
thing? People make it sound like I have the plague."

"That's how you'll be treated unless you use every ounce of clout when you want something from the authorities. I'm about to find out whether there's a
Zenith
signal out for me in Copenhagen. So, from now on, trust no-one. And the higher you go the more dangerous it could get."

"Great. Just great. Anything else before you tell me to have a nice day?" enquired Cottel.

"Yes. Any idea where the
Zenith
signal originated?"

"Washington, DC' There was a glazed look in Beaurain's eyes as he replaced the receiver. A thought occurred to him. Kellerman was gazing out of the window down the street where crowds of cyclists had joined the cars, and the pedestrians were hurrying along the sidewalks. In Denmark people seemed anxious to get to work. Beaurain picked up the receiver again and was put through to Monique in Brussels almost immediately.

"Monique. Check something for me, please. Contact Goldschmidt in Bruges and ask him whether he knows if Dr. Otto Berlin has been seen there - or in Brussels, for that matter - since Louise and I were last there. Call you back later."

He put on his jacket and turned to Kellerman. "We'll leave the second car I hired in the parking lot and walk out the

main entrance. It's only a few minutes on foot and I could do with the exercise."

The front entrance to the Royal Hotel debouches onto a side street. Leaving by this entrance, Beaurain and Kellerman turned right and began walking towards the main street leading to the nearby Radhuspladsen, the main square in the centre of Copenhagen. On the opposite side of the street from the Royal Hotel which rises into the sky on a corner site, is the main railway station. The station building stands back a short distance from the street and in front is a large well about thirty feet deep through which the rail tracks pass.