Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

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 Citroen 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 Citroen were driven at reasonable speed and had to pull up sharply for any reason: Bang! If the Citroen 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 Helsingor — 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."