Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

The German found himself watching the platform clock. In ten seconds the doors would close. Nine-eight-seven-six… Litov had fooled him. He was staying aboard. At the last moment Litov rushed down the train steps, onto the platform and hurried towards the station exit. No-one could have got out in time to follow him. Kellerman smiled grimly and strode towards the exit.

There he saw Joel Wilde, the ex-SAS gunner Henderson had sent to Nord for just this contingency. Kellerman outranked him. "He's mine," he said as he walked past.

He was through the doors in time to see Litov leaving the station on the far side of the booking-hall. He came up behind him as the Russian waited for the next cab. "The airport. Move it," Litov informed the driver and climbed into the back.

He was so confident he had overlooked the obvious precaution of waiting until he was inside the cab to give his destination. It was out of character. Or was it? They had been careful to keep Litov without food for the past twenty-four hours, giving him only fruit juice. He could be light-headed and over-confident. Or that phone call from Brussels Midi could have arranged back-up to any shadow who attached himself to Litov when he left the express. If so, Joel would sort that one out.

Kellerman glanced over his shoulder before climbing inside the next cab which drew up. Joel Wilde was close behind him. You never heard the bastard until it was too late. Kellerman lowered the window and looked up at him.

"Thanks for everything. I'm going to make the airport in good time."

"You're welcome. Our love to Sharon. A smooth flight."

Joel watched the cab pull away and turned round to face the station exits. No-one else was coming for a cab. No-one was heading for a private car. But during the next few hours the Syndicate would send someone to take out any man they detected following Litov.

I'll chew his balls off."

At the headquarters of Operation Leper, Henderson put down the phone, caught Louise Hamilton's amused eye and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"That was Joel Wilde from Nord station. The Leper left the express — as you thought he might — and has taken a cab to the airport. More to the point, Max Kellerman is running his own railway again. He got off too and he's followed the Leper in another cab to the airport."

"Max is a good man, one of our best," Beaurain commented.

"Where is the Leper heading for?"

Henderson stood up and went over to study the air routes marked on his wall-map. He moved a blue pin — Max Kellerman — to a position on the road to the airport. Just ahead of this he placed the red pin representing Serge Litov.

Beaurain joined him and checked his watch against the wall-clock. "You'll hear soon enough. Get someone to look up all the airline flights taking off within the next two hours. I don't think the Leper will linger longer than he need. You mind the shop till we get back, Jock. We're going to take a train to Bruges and have a word with my old friend, Dr. Goldschmidt. It's just conceivable he can tell us the name of the man who is running the Syndicate."

Gunther Baum sat perfectly still in the passenger seat of the Renault, which had been driven by the lean-faced man beside him. On his companion's lap lay the brief-case containing the loaded Luger. Baum had not yet requested the weapon.

As during his visit to Pierre Florin he was proceeding with caution. Again he wore a straw hat and tinted glasses. In his left hand he held a photo of Frans Darras and his wife, Rosa. It was best to proceed in a methodical manner.

"I trust they are both on board," Baum said. "And at least we have found the barge where it was supposed to be you can see the aerial."

He held out his gloved hand. His companion had not replied, knowing Baum often thought aloud to make sure there was nothing he had overlooked before he completed a job. When it involved two people at once it always required a little more finesse.

Baum took the gun, made sure the silencer was screwed on tight and opened the door with his other gloved hand. "You follow with your tool-kit in three minutes counting from now." His companion checked his own watch quickly. In Baum's world seconds counted.

Baum climbed deliberately and slowly. Reaching the towpath he held the Luger behind his back and looked around. The barge was moored and its deck was deserted but he heard voices from the cabin below. There was no-one on the tow-path. The one feature Baum missed was a small boy perched in the branches of an apple tree. Baum stepped aboard and pocketed the photo.

Frans and Rosa Darras were arguing so loudly they did not hear Baum descend the steps into the cabin. They would not have heard him anyway. Coming out of the daylight it was difficult to see clearly in the cabin and behind his tinted glasses Baum blinked.

"I have a message and some money for Frans and Rosa Darras," he said.

Startled, the bargee turned quic kly. "That's us. Who are you?"

"Both of you will turn and face the wall."

Baum had produced the Luger from behind his back and aimed it at a position between them. I have come to remove your transceiver," he continued in his sing-song French. "Face the wall until we have completed the work. Behave yourselves in an orderly manner and you can rest assured no harm…"

They had both turned together to face the wall. Instinctively Frans grasped Rosa's hand to reassure her. Baum was still talking when he pressed the muzzle against the base of Frans Darras' neck and fired once. Darras was falling when the muzzle pressed into the neck of Rosa who, frozen with terror, was unable to move. Baum pressed the trigger a second time.

His companion appeared with his brief-case and tool-kit. Baum handed the Luger to him at once and the weapon w as returned to the brief-case. He stood quite still while his companion swiftly removed the transceiver and its power-operated aerial. On the canal bank above them the little boy in the apple tree had remained in its branches. He was sucking an orange as Baum reappeared at the top of the steps, and it slipped from his fingers, hitting the tow-path with a clunk. Baum turned and scanned the area.

Hidden amid the branches no more than twenty feet away, the boy watched the sunlight flashing off the tinted lenses as Baum continued searching while his companion also reappeared on deck, the brief-case in one hand, the transceiver and aerial awkwardly held under his arm. He was sweating with the effort.

"You heard something?" he asked.

Time to get back to the car," said Baum.

They were driving along the main highway, heading for Brussels, when a train passed in the opposite direction. Inside a first-class compartment Beaurain and Louise sat facing each other, gazing out of the window. They had a glimpse of a canal, of several barges moored close to a lock, barges with clotheslines hung along the decks, TV masts and radio aerials projecting into the sunlight.

"Those people must lead a life of their own they even have TV," Louise remarked.

Beaurain was staring out without seeing anything, his mind on Goldschmidt. He nodded automatically, but registered what she had said to him.

"Shot in the back of the neck? Pierre Florin?"

Chief Inspector Flamen of Homicide sighed inwardly. Voisin had a habit of repeating statements you made.

"Chief Superintendent Beaurain had requested to see him as soon as he returned from sick leave," Flamen continued and then waited for the expected reaction.

"Ex-Chief Superintendent Beaurain, you mean. Is it not peculiar that the policeman Beaurain wished to see should be murdered before he saw him?" demanded Voisin.

"It could have significance," Flamen agreed.

"Had I better see Beaurain?"

"As you wish, sir — but it might be better if I saw him first. That way you won't find yourself in any embarrassing situation, if I may so phrase it."