Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

Land briefly grasped the dangling umbrella with his left hand. And then Serge Litov understood as though he had been trained to use the weapon all his life. The umbrella was a camouflaged dagger, spring-loaded and designed so the blade projected from the tip at the touch of a button.

"I'll wait here," he said reluctantly.

"It has been a most profitable conversation, sir," said Land discreetly and proceeded across the almost deserted booking-hall as though bent on making a phone call.

"I said I was watching Litov," repeated Kellerman to Jock Henderson from inside the payphone. "He appears to be waiting for someone to collect him."

"Or he could be playing a game," the Scot pointed out. "He'll still have that ticket to Stockholm."

A large English-looking man was wandering across the hall towards the pay phones He was close enough for Kellerman to see his fleshy cheeks. As he walked with a slow deliberate tread he swung a telescopic umbrella back and forth from his right wrist. Otherwise, the booking-hall was empty. The other passengers had departed for Copenhagen via the airport bus or taxis and no other flight was due to land or take off.

"He's waiting here," Kellerman repeated, 'and…" "You keep repeating yourself, Max," Henderson said sharply. "Is anything wrong?"

"No. From Litov's behaviour I'm sure he's going into Copenhagen — maybe just for the night. I anticipate an attempt to evade surveillance while he's here — then he moves on to his next destination, which may not be Stockholm."

"You think he's spotted you, then?"

"I didn't say th at…" Kellerman's brow was wrinkled as he tried to talk to Henderson and think at the same time."But with a man of Litov's experience I'm assuming he'll expect surveillance."

Kellerman suddenly grasped what had been worrying him outside the payphone. It was the huge English-looking man advancing on the bank of pay phones He hadn't once looked at the booth occupied by Kellerman. Which simply wasn't natural behaviour. In fact he was deliberately not looking at Kellerman's payphone even as he continued his steady, doomsday-like tread towards it. Beaurain came on the line, crisp, decisive.

"Beaurain. Trouble at your end?"

"Yes…"

"Louise books into the Royal Hotel later this evening. Goodbye."

Kellerman carefully did nothing untoward. The large man was close to the door of his box, staring fixedly at an empty booth as his outsize feet continued their purposeful advance. By now Kellerman had noticed the telescopic umbrella swinging back and forth. The man wasn't a poof, he was certain.

He maintained his stance until the last moment: phone held to ear, head half-turned away, suitcase propped against side of payphone with one leg. George Land, jowls shaking, took one final glance round the booking-hall, a sweeping gaze which told him it was empty and that Litov was leaving without looking back. He pressed the button and the spring-loaded stiletto blade shot out of his umbrella which he held like a fencer about to make a savage lunge.

His thick lips slightly parted, he turned back to use his left hand to pull open the door of the booth occupied by Max Kellerman. The door was open.

Kellerman was inside the box, stooping to pick up the suitcase. Land stared at the side of the German's neck. He moved in closer, and took a strong grip on the umbrella ready for the lunge.

Everything moved rapidly out of focus for Land as Kellerman straightened up and slammed the steel-tipped edge of his suitcase into the giant's right kneecap. Land gulped with pain but did not cry out. His large face convulsed in fury. Like a handcuff Kellerman's right hand closed over the wrist which held the umbrella. The handcuff twisted and jerked upward in one violent arc of ninety degrees. The vertical stiletto-like blade entered Land's throat and his eyes bulged.

Kellerman had already transferred his grip to the two lapels of the Englishman's jacket and he spun him round before he could fall and heaved him inside the payphone. The receiver was still swinging from its cord as the Englishman's body began to slide down the rear wall, its feet projecting into the booking-hall over the umbrella on the floor.

Kellerman pulled a soft cap from his pocket and rammed it on his head as he moved swiftly across the still deserted booking-hall with only one idea in mind. To catch up with Serge Litov. The cab carrying Litov was just leaving the kerb as he came into the open air. Kellerman climbed into the next cab and closed the door before giving his instructions.

"Please follow that cab. Do not lose it the passenger inside is responsible for an incident in the airport hall."

The driver was quick-witted. While he checked on the identity of his passenger he was driving away from the airport, making sure he did not lose the vehicle ahead. He could take his passenger back to the airport if the replies were unsatisfactory. His passenger over-rode his questions by volunteering information.

"You will read about the airport incident in the morning papers. I am Kriminalpolizei working in liaison with the Belgians and your own people. Here is my card." Kellerman flashed an identity paper which the driver hardly saw. To build up confidence and dispel all doubts, keep talking fluently, confidently…

"Do not crowd that cab, please. It is vital the passenger does not know he is being followed. There will, of course, be a large tip for your co-operation. Please, also, be careful when the cab approaches its destination. I must not be just behind when it stops. I appreciate it will not be easy."

"I will manage it. No problem," the Dane replied. Kellerman sank back into his seat and kept quiet. It had worked. Near the end of the conversation give them a problem to occupy their minds, then shut up!

"Serge Litov should be here by now. I cannot imagine what is detaining him. One thing I insist on is punctuality."

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.