The Stockholm Syndicate (33 page)

Hugo!

Two things jolted Beaurain - the use of the name Hugo and the fact that the voice was definitely the gravelly tones of Ed Cottel. Also the American had switched on a powerful torch which almost blinded Beaurain - but let him see the barrel of the machine-pistol. Beaurain estimated the muzzle was just about aimed at his gut. At that range and with that weapon the worst shot in the world couldn't miss. And Cottel had taken medals on the firing ranges at Langley. Beaurain dropped his revolver.

"That's better, Hugo. Now let's place our hands on the top of our head, shall we? That's better." The torch light was doused, which again affected Beaurain's vision. But the American didn't need it not with a blaster of a gun at such close range.

Beaurain's excellent night vision was now reasserting itself. He could make out clearly the American's silhouette - and the silhouette of the machine-pistol which never wavered as it remained aimed point-blank at its target. He asked another question, enunciating his words with great clarity so they echoed among the dusk descending on the forest. There was a strong smell of pine in Beaurain's nostrils.

"Who fooled you, Ed? Who took you for a ride in a big way? I have a feeling you've been manipulated like a puppet."

The gravelly voice sank to a monotone as Ed Cottel began reciting a list of events like a litany, his tone remote and cold. "You were in Bruges at the same time as Dr. Otto Berlin, director of the Syndicate's southern sector. Department of Coincidence? You were in Copenhagen when Dr. Benny Horn, director of the Syndicate's central sector, was in the city on one of his rare visits. Department of Coincidence? To say nothing of your presence in Elsinore when God knows how many innocent souls were massacred aboard that ferry to shut the mouth of one man."

"Watch it, Ed," Beaurain said very quietly. "Before I smash your teeth in."

"
No! You watch it, you bastard!
I arrive in Stockholm and try to locate the elusive Dr. Theodor Norling, director of the Syndicate's Scandinavian sector. He can't be found anywhere. Then he arrives. And hell, who do you think also arrives at the same moment? Ex-Chief Superintendent Jules Beaurain."

"If you say "Department of Coincidence" again I'll kick your kneecap off," Beaurain told the American. "Who's been feeding you this poison?"

"Very clever, Jules. You pretend to be tracking down this Hugo, so who is the last person in the world anyone is going to suspect just could be Hugo? Yourself. And now I'm going to feed you on a platter to Washington - unless I have to press this trigger."

"Which would be a very convenient conclusion to the whole complex case from your point of view."

"What do you mean?" Cottel demanded.

Beaurain's voice had hardened when he made his statement and the American detected a subtle change in the Belgian's personality. He noticed there was also a physical change: Beaurain suddenly stopped wriggling his shoulders as though trying to ease the cramp out of his muscles. Cottel was sensitive to personality changes and an interrogator of many years' experience. He was still trying to work it out when a cold hard rim of metal was pressed against the base of his neck.

"You have three seconds to drop the machine-pistol before I blow your head off your shoulders," Palme told him. "My orders are to pull the trigger even if you open fire on Jules Beaurain. I have started counting."

The shock tactic approach had been worked out by Beaurain in advance and was based on his knowledge of the American's psychology. Cottel was a realist and had long ago learned never to buck the odds if there was another option, a chance to live and fight again another day. He didn't hesitate. He dropped the machine-pistol.

"Walk two paces forward," Palme ordered.

The American obeyed and behind him Palme quietly stepped to one side before he scooped up the weapon - in case Cottel had kicked out behind him seeking a vulnerable part of the Swede's anatomy.

"So now, at long last, we get to meet Hugo," Beaurain said, 'and we have penetrated the American connection."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cottel blazed.

"Shut your trap, Ed, for ten seconds. Louise," Beau-rain called out, 'come here and listen to this rubbish." He waited until she had arrived. "Meet Hugo," he invited.

"
Hugo?
"

To cover his tracks he was going to offer me up to his chiefs in Washington - on a platter was the phrase, I believe. Who is the big man in Washington, Ed? The one you really report to? I offer Joel Cody as a suggestion."

"I don't report to anyone back in the States any more than I can," Cottel replied quietly. "And when I do send anything it amounts to no more than meaningless words."

"Why?" Beaurain pounced.

"You should know - because I don't know who I can trust. Your Syndicate has penetrated the highest echelons."

"Someone did tell you I was Hugo." Beaurain was suddenly convinced the American was not lying. And yet there had to be an American connection. He had proof. "Who told you?" Beaurain persisted.

"One of my watchers. No, you don't get his name.

Tell your thug to pull the trigger now, but you still don't get his name."

"Eve n though he was bought?" Beaurain asked softly. "Bought to twist the existing facts in a way only Hugo could have done to make everything seem exactly the opposite to what it is? Have you a transceiver in that Renault? You have? Then get through now to the contact who pointed the finger at me."

"Why?" Cottel asked.

"Because you'll find he's not available. By now he will be dead. He's served his purpose and when a man has served Hugo's purpose he's eliminated. Go on, Ed, get back into that car and use the transceiver to call your contact. He should be available?"

"Round the clock." The American sounded doubtful. "Every one of my watchers is now holding himself available round the clock. I'd expected to clean up the whole business within the next twenty-four hours."

"Starting with me? You were fooled, Ed!
Fooled!
"

"Give me a couple of minutes. Get your man to check me for extra weapons." He waited while Palme obliged. "He can hold me in the sights of his machine-pistol."

Cottel didn't wait for a reply. Slipping behind the wheel of the car he fumbled in the dark, attached a head-set and reached for the microphone. It seemed to Beaurain it was a one-way conversation. Only two minutes later the American climbed slowly out of the car and accepted the cigarette Beaurain offered.

There are things you should know, Jules," he said dully. "And there is an American connection. Stupid Ed Cottel was chosen to come to Europe because Washington thought he was more concerned with tracking down the Telescope organisation. Making enquiries, quote, as to whether the Stockholm Syndicate existed, close quote, was supposed to be a sideline. I think Washington found out I was directing all my resources and firepower on locating the Syndicate after I came over. I've had trouble making contact back home."

"You just tried to call up your contact who said I was Hugo, who
convinced
you I was Hugo. Any reply?"

"None at all. And he was supposed to be waiting for a signal from me, staying up all night if necessary."

"He's probably floating down the Riddarfjärden by now. You see, Ed, he'd served his purpose, so Hugo has disposed of him. You're supposed to have served your purpose now ..."

"Which is?"

"You should have shot me as Hugo. Then sat down and written out your highly confidential report for Washington. End of any rumours about a Stockholm Syndicate, end of any speculation starting in the American press about who was financing it, end of any horrendous scandal which might break and lose the President the coming election."

"I think I got most of it wrong." Ed was deliberately looking at Louise when he made the statement.

"I was conned, but good. Jules, you have any information on the financing of the Syndicate?"

"One of the big contributors is Leo Gehn, chairman of the I.T.E. combine, who is also a generous contributor to the President's campaign war chest. Just imagine those two facts hitting the headlines."

"You think this definitely goes all the way up to the White House?" Cottel asked tersely.

"Harvey Sholto arrived in Stockholm direct from Washington a few days ago," Beaurain threw at him. "Joel Cody phoned the Säpo chief to let him know of Sholto's imminent visit but didn't let him know Sholto was already in the city. Luckily Fondberg's men at Arlanda spotted him coming in, but didn't follow him. Why should they? And Sholto hasn't surfaced. No contact with Fondberg or anyone. He just went to ground."

"Sholto! Jesus Christ!"

"And," Beaurain pressed on, 'neither Cody nor anyone else reported you were coming into Stockholm."

They didn't?" There was sheer incredulity in Cottel's voice. "I kept a low profile to do a better job but I assumed the Säpo people would know I was in town. I don't like this, Jules. Who's next?"

"You are."

Beaurain raised the .38 Smith & Wesson he had picked up from the ground and fired.

*

Further along the road towards the old iron ore mine at Skottvångs Gruva, a large man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and outsize tinted glasses sat behind the wheel of his hired Audi. He had not been able to get any closer for fear of being seen. He heard the sound of three distinct shots being fired.

He waited twenty minutes. Earlier that day he had taken up a position behind a pillar in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. He had seen the Swedish peasant with a head like a melon writing on a notepad. As soon as the man had disappeared inside the elevator he had palmed the pad and walked out. Back at the Hotel Reisen the careful scraping of a pencil had brought up the impression on the next sheet of the pad, showing clearly the words
Skottvångs Gruva
. Now the plan had worked. Cottel's watcher at Bromma had been bought, the information passed to Sholto, who had directed him in turn to pass the misinformation to Cottel, implying that Beaurain was Hugo.

After twenty minutes he drove away towards the mine. In due course he would swing round in a loop which would bring him back onto the E3. A cautious man, Sholto had no desire to encounter any survivors of the forest shooting on his way back to Stockholm -and then on to Trelleborg.

Chapter Twenty

The following morning it was a main item on the news. The mystery lay in the identity and - more precisely - the occupation of the two foreigners who had shot each other. Jules Beaurain had fired the first shot with a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, so the theory went. A Belgian, he had at one time been in the Brussels police and had risen to the rank of Chief Superintendent. This detail alone was enough to give the item major billing in a news editor's eyes.

The American, a visitor to Stockholm identified as Edward Cottel, had fired one shot at Beaurain from a .765 Walther which, oddly enough, was the hand-gun carried by the police. There had been a second bullet from the Smith & Wesson found in Cottel's body and presumably Jules Beaurain had transported him from the scene of the shooting in a hired Renault.

The macabre location of the American's body was the bottom of a deep hole close to the mine. A wire railing which normally protected visitors from any risk of falling into the hole had been flattened, again presumably when Beaurain man-handled the body out of the car and into the pit.

The Belgian's own corpse had been found a short distance away, collapsed as he tried to reach the Renault. End of story. The detective interviewed had been very firm on this last point. "The investigation is proceeding ... no further information available at this stage."

Harvey Sholto used a payphone on his way to Bromma Airport, dialled the Trelleborg number, and identified himself as soon as the familiar voice came on the line. "It worked," he said, hardly able to conceal his satisfaction. "You've seen the news bulletins?"

"Several times. A classic case of the mirror image technique. You show a man what he's waiting to see and he reacts logically."

"Except that the logic isn't there."

"But has it ever been there since we started?" the voice enquired. "I will see you in Trelleborg. The sea is most pleasantly calm."

They watched them flying into the airstrip outside Trelleborg. Using the laundry van which had been Telescope's temporary and mobile headquarters in Stockholm, they sat in a concealed position behind a clump of trees. And they recorded in a notebook the identities of some of the most powerful and wealthy figures in the western world.

"That's Leo Gehn," said Palme, staring through his binoculars from the front passenger seat. "He's chairman of..."

"International Telecommunications and Electronics - I.T.E. for short," Albert said crisply as he noted the details name, time of arrival, type of aircraft and whether guards accompanied the newcomers.

"He's brought someone with him as a passenger - Count Luigi d'Arlezzo, the husband of that poor woman who was strung up at the Grand."

"Does he look very upset?" Albert enquired.

"He looks relaxed and relieved, the bastard. I suppose now his wife is conveniently out of the way he's playing at running his own banking empire. Hence Gehn taking an interest in someone he wouldn't normally give the time of day to bet you anything Gehn is making a play to take over the controlling interest."

"Look at this one who's just arrived aboard a Cessna all by himself," Palme said. Tunny thing is he's landed on a quite different part of the airstrip as though he isn't with the main party. Dr. Henri Goldschmidt of Bruges."

A car was waiting for the coin dealer. It was only later that they learned Goldschmidt had been driven straight to a hotel, that he had stayed in Trelleborg after strolling round the harbour area as though interested to see who was attending the conference. He did not even stay at the hotel overnight; very late in the day he proceeded on to Copenhagen.

And on the sea-front at Trelleborg another Tele scope team was similarly checking the passengers arriving from the airstrip in a steady flow of limousines. The two-man team, sitting in a Peugeot equipped with a transceiver which kept them in direct touch with Henderson, were compiling their own record as the passengers transferred to waiting powerboats which immediately put to sea.

Henderson, who had returned from his second visit of the day to
Firestorm
, took a cab to within a hundred yards of the Savoy Hotel. There he paid off the vehicle, waited until he was sure he was not being followed, and walked the rest of the way to the hotel.

Room 12 was his destination. He had a brief word with the receptionist who phoned Room 12 and then informed Henderson that M. Chavet would be glad if he would go up immediately. The Scot ignored the lift and ran lightly up the stairs. He paused outside Room 12 and then rapped on the door with an irregular tattoo. The door opened almost at once.

"Come in, Jock," said Beaurain. "Louise and I thought you'd have news for us soon."

"And this is Ed Cottel," Beaurain said to Henderson, introducing the American. "He's officially in Room 14, registered under the name Waldo Kramer. You can talk freely in front of him."

The trio - Beaurain, Louise and Cottel listened in concentrated silence while Henderson reported on the intense activity at the airstrip and then on the water front. He handed Beaurain a list of names of all the people who had arrived for the Syndicate's summit conference. Cottel looked over Beaurain's shoulder, ran his eye down the list and whistled.

"God Almighty, there are men there I'd have sworn were completely above suspicion."

"Which is what makes the Syndicate so dangerous," Beaurain murmured.

There were two lists - the one recorded by Stig and Albert and the check list compiled by the two men sitting on the sea-front watching the VIPs transferring from their limousines to the power-boats.

It was the second list Beaurain was studying with a frown; where the watchers had been unable to identify someone and there were very few such cases they had written a brief description of the unknown arrivals. One description read,
Two men. One dressed like an American with a straw hat. His companion carried a brief-case
. With his thumb underlining the comment, he showed the sheet to Henderson.

"That has to be Gunther Baum and his companion, the one who carries the Luger in the brief-case until Baum is ready for it."

"Gunther Baum?" Ed Cottel was interested. "He's reputed to be one of the most professional assassins in the world. From East Germany but nothing to do with the Commie regime according to our information. Not something to be added to the asset side."

"He's in charge of security aboard
Kometa
. I'm convinced of it." Beaurain looked at Henderson. "When you hit the hydrofoil don't underestimate Baum."

"What are we going to do now we know where they're meeting?"

Henderson looked at Beaurain who opened a drawer in the dressing-table, took out a ship's chart and unrolled it on the double bed while Louise held the other end. "This was obtained from a Polish member of Kometa's crew, a man who needs help to get his wife out of East Germany. Remember, Captain Buckminster has stood off Trelleborg for several days. During that time various gunners have been sent ashore in the guise of tourists and made it their business to frequent the waterfront bars. That is how the Pole was found. He is just the man we need secretly working on board that vessel he controls and watches over the radar de fences I'm not even giving you his name, Ed."

"My question was, what are we going to do?" Cottel repeated.

"Destroy them."

"Just like that?"

"Yes - and with the aid of this chart which clearly shows the course planned for Kometa during the four hours of darkness when the actual conference takes place." Cottel was now alongside the Belgian, studying the chart. Beaurain's index finger traced the course of a dotted line drawn on the chart.

*

They met Harry Fondberg at a pre-arranged rendezvous on the outskirts of Trelleborg. Beaurain was behind the wheel of the Mercedes when he picked up the Säpo chief at a bend in the country road. Fondberg's vehicle was nowhere to be seen and the only other occupant of the car was Louise who sat by herself in the rear. Fondberg settled into the front passenger seat alongside Beaurain, and the Mercedes moved off, heading away from Trelleborg.

"East German MfS - state security men - have been coming in on the ferry from Sassnitz both yesterday and today," the Swede told Beaurain. It has almost assumed the proportions of an invasion. A handful linger in the town, trying to look like tourists, which is laughable."

"Why?" asked Louise.

"You know what the weather is like. This marvellous heatwave during the day and it's still warm at ten o'clock at night. These cretins from Sassnitz are all walking around in short leather jackets and trilby hats! My men tell me they have to be careful not to burst out laughing when they see them. But the majority have gone out by power-boat to
Kometa
, presumably - to act as security."

"Under the command of Gunther Baum," Beaurain informed him.

"That homicidal maniac? What does it all mean? He's not MfS."

"Intriguing, isn't it? I think Hugo has waved his wand again. And you did a marvelous promotion job on the "double murder" yesterday night out at the old iron mine of Skottvångs Gruva. Hugo will be bound to be just that little over-confident now he thinks Ed and I are dead."

"Just so long as the media never learn the truth," Fondberg said gloomily. "They'd crucify me. If you're going to launch an all-out assault on
Kometa
from
Firestorm
tonight and officially I've never even heard of either vessel why is it so important you appear to be dead? To make Hugo less cautious I can see that, but..."

To throw him right off-balance when I eventually come face to face with him," Beaurain said grimly. "And that might well not be tonight. I have a funny idea. Hugo could be holding a party and not attending it himself although he's supposed to be the host,"

"No, I don't see," Fondberg said. "I don't see at all. And you might like to know that at this moment I'm in Gothenburg and have witnesses to prove it,"

On the June evening of Beaurain's final attack on the Stockholm Syndicate sunset was at precisely 20.50 hours. Over the Baltic darkness fell, concealing the presence of the 2,500-ton motor ship Firestorm. Against all international regulations Captain "Bucky' Buckminster, the ship's captain, was showing no navigation lights. If any vessel approached him on a collision course the radar screens would warn him in good time. Beaurain was going over the details of the assault plan for the last time in the main cabin.

"I trust that everyone fully understands the complex nature of the deception operation we shall be practising?"

Twenty gunners clad in underwater gear, oxygen cylinders on their backs and an assortment of arms and explosives in their possession, stared back at Beaurain and said nothing. Beaurain sensed the usual tension which was inevitable before a major operation.

"I can now tell you we have an ally on board
Kometa
." Beaurain turned to the outline drawings showing the composition of the various decks of the Soviet hydrofoil. "It is thanks to this ally that we have this diagram which should make all the difference to the success of our attack."

"Don't we help the poor bugger?" muttered Albert rebelliously. "If he's left aboard he'll..."

"I was just coming to that." Beaurain placed his wooden pointer on a particular cabin. That is where you will find him waiting, sitting in front of his apparatus. He is a Pole; he is the sonar controller; his name is Peter Sobieski; he speaks English and the password he will repeat to you to ensure identification is
Waterloo, Waterloo
."

"Pretty bloody appropriate," Albert commented, 'considering we're trying to wipe out the whole lousy outfit with one blow."

"Then don't forget that Wellington said afterwards it was a pretty damn close run thing - and I come from Belgium. Now, any questions?"

"Sobieski's sonar is the one thing which could give us away," Palme observed. "He will see us coming."

"So aren't you pleased we have an ally who will be the only person checking the sonar screens. Next question."

It was important to defuse the tension as much as possible - and yet not let any feeling of complacency or over-confidence arise. A difficult combination. Beaurain tackled the over-confidence problem now.

"But even though we have Sobieski watching those screens don't forget the opposition is - what would you call it, Henderson?"

"Formidable!" Jock Henderson stood up quickly on cue, swung round and addressed the assembled men. "Sobieski reckons the conference will be guarded by thirty heavily-armed state security types from a special unit in East Germany. For some reason not one of them speaks a word of English."

"That," Beaurain interjected, "I suspect is so they don't overhear or understand a word said at the conference which obviously will be conducted in English. Leo Gehn, the boss of I.T.E." for example, has no other language than American."

"I had the funny idea," interjected Ed Cottel who was sitting next to Louise at the back, 'that both languages were the same."

"We all dwell under our illusions," chirped the irrepressible Albert.