Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

It was a potentially dangerous situation. Jumping down from the wagon, leaving Beaurain to wrestle with the compressed paper, Marker advanced to meet three uniformed policemen running down by the side of the wagon, waving his identification card in their faces and gesturing for them to get back. The chubby-faced Dane was magnificent in the emergency, talking non-stop in Danish, ushering the three men back towards the ferry terminal like a shepherd driving sheep.

"Get back out of this area! I have the whole place infiltrated with undercover men! Coming in here with your bloody siren wailing — you may have ruined an international operation planned for months! What the hell brought you here in the first place?"

"We received a message that there was terrorist activity in the regionof this ferry terminal."

"And the caller gave you his name and address, of course?" Marker demanded with bitter sarcasm.

"Well… no, sir," the driver of the car admitted as he continued backing away with his two companions. They had almost reached the road now. "It was the inspector on duty — said we had to get here as fast as we could we were on patrol when he radioed us."

" The inspector on duty! " Sometimes a stray shot hit the bull's eye, Marker thought with a tingle of excitement. No such order would normally be transmitted by the station inspector. The Stockholm Syndicate was here in Elsinore, its corrupt fingers reaching into the local police station. Because of one thing Marker was certain: the patrol car had been sent to disperse and interfere with Telescope's search for the huge heroin haul.

"Have you ever received a direct order personally from the inspector before over the radio?" he asked, sure that he was right in his incredible long shot.

"First time it's ever happened in my experience," the man told him, 'and I've been driving a patrol car for five years. I said to my mate it was odd."

I'm now going to tell you exactly what to do," Marker told the driver, his expression grim. "You will carry out my order to the letter or forget about any further career with the police. Wait in your vehicle. If you receive any further orders or questions from this inspector, tell him your car has broken down, that you have found nothing happening at the ferry terminal after a thorough search. And then, in a few minutes, you will drive me to your station," he looked back to where Beaurain was still inside the rail wagon and saw nothing. God he was taking a gamble!

"What is the name of this inspector?" he asked.

The man gave him a name and then the trio of policemen returned to their car. It now all depended on Beaurain finding the heroin. He made his way back to the wagon where the man he knew as Foxbel stood on guard with the girl. At the foot of the wagon he stared up at the Belgian whose head was just visible above a huge sheet of packing material.

"Get up here fast, Bodel," Beaurain called down.

"You haven't… not already?" Marker began.

"I said get up here, for Christ's sake. The timing is everything."

It was so simple Marker was overwhelmed with a mixture of disbelief and relief. In the darkened confines of the rail wagon he stared at what Beaurain's torch beam showed him. Then he was filled with sheer fury when he remembered that less than three hours earlier he had been ordered not to carry his investigations any further by one of the most powerful figures in the Danish police service.

Beaurain had used a nail file borrowed from Louise to pick the locks of the suitcase. Inside the case, which lay in a narrow defile between walls of the packing material, was a collection of transparent bags containing powder. The case was full, the haul enormous.

"Inside there? As simple as that?"

"As simple as that. I was careful not to break the seals."

The hole had been carefully hollowed out of the second wadge of packing material — just where the rail guard had told Kellerman he would find it. Propped against the wadge was the thick panel of the same material which slotted into grooves and was then held firmly in place with transparent sealing material.

"Simple but effective," Beaurain continued. "The sealing material coincides with the labels designating its alleged destination. We have to take a very quick decision, Bodel, my friend. Only you and I and the two people standing guard outside this wagon yet know we have discovered the consignment."

"Which is on its way to Stockholm apparently. If we let it go through, can your people really watch it closely enough?"

"We'll need help from Harry Fondberg, head of Sapo in Stockholm."

Sapo was the Swedish secret police, a department which operated quite apart from the normal law-enforcement agencies. It was becoming stifling inside the wagon and there was a growing stench of something unpleasant like powerful glue. Beaurain assumed it was resin inside the material.

"Who contacts Fondberg — you or me?" Marker asked simply.

It took Beaurain a moment to grasp the significance of what Marker had said. Then he was carefully closing the suitcase, re-locking it and calling for Louise to come up inside the wagon so he could instruct her.

"I'd better not hear you for the next few minutes," Bodel said. "Then if anything goes wrong you'll know I didn't betray you it has become a way of life you know — betrayal."

"You're actually leaving this enormous haul?" Louise asked when the Intelligence chief had gone. Having closed the case, the Belgian was easing it back inside its secret compartment, prior to replacing the panel and the self-adhering sealer he had taken so much trouble to preserve. "How do you know you can trust Marker?" she whispered.

"I don't — we have to gamble."

"He kept those policemen from the patrol-car away — perhaps it was to protect the consignment."

"So we don't tell him everything we plan. Now, relay all these instructions to Henderson as soon as you can." As he spoke he was continuing the delicate task of replacing the suitcase in its original hiding-place so there would be no signs it had been tampered with.

"Henderson must radio a signal to Firestorm. I want Anderson to use his Sikorsky to shadow the express hauling these two wagons all the way to Stockholm. He's to have two men on board he can land if necessary. Anderson is to be warned that the suitcase is likely to be dropped somewhere en route between here and Stockholm."

"And how's Anderson going to see all that in the dark?"

"Because it's likely to be some place out in the wilds, which means they'll need some kind of signal exchanged between the man inside the wagon and those waiting close to the track — a flare, the flashing lights of a parked car, something Anderson will be able to spot from the air."

"Anything else?"

"Plenty. Anderson must have a method of communication with Fondberg of Sapo. I'll phone Fond-berg myself as soon as we get clear of this damned wagon. He has a radio outfit and we can send a second message to Anderson letting him know how to radio signals to Stockholm. There, I really don't think anyone could tell we had tampered with their secret compartment. What is it, Max?"

"A suggestion. I travel inside this wagon." Kellerman, who had been standing just below them and listening to the conversation, had shinned up to join them. "Plenty of places to hide," he said, looking round the gloomy interior, "and that way the consignment is under close Telescope observation. Henderson gave me this water bottle."

"One man alone? It could be dangerous," Beaurain commented dubiously.

"I never thought I'd joined a kindergarten," the German said drily.

"You're right," Beaurain murmured. "And this is something we don't let Marker know about," he said firmly.

"Weapon, Max?" Louise offered the pistol she had collected while on board Firestorm. Kellerman shook his head, pulled up his right trouser leg and showed them a knife sheathed inside his sock. "If I need something it has to be quiet, I suspect. What's the priority?" he asked Beaurain. "Risking letting the consignment go or trying to track the Syndicate at all cost?"