Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

"Not even that, Harry. Dr. Berlin certainly existed, was quite definitely brought up in Liege in his early days and started his business as a book dealer there. There are still people who remember him. Vaguely."

Fondberg shook his head and lit a cigar. "I am lost. Which, I suspect, is your intention, you bastard." He turned to Louise and bowed formally. "Please excuse my language, but you work with him, so…"

"I agree with you," Louise assured him.

"Let's try to find you since you're lost, Harry," Beaurain continued imperturbably. "Dr. Theodor Norling's background is vague because his parents vanished from his life early on, because his life-style was that of a hermit, because he travelled a lot on business and was seen very little before he came to live permanently in Stockholm. Two years ago."

"All that is in the goddam folder," Fondberg pointed out.

"Or Otto Berlin's background is vague because Liege is a large city, because he had no relatives and few acquaintances, because he also travelled a lot owing to the nature of his business. His character, too, was hermit-like. Perhaps it goes with the trade. So again, as with Norling, old acquaintances shown a photograph say "Yes, that's him," or "No, doesn't look much like him." Only one photograph is available of Berlin. These men seem to be very camera-shy."

"I am still lost," Fondberg growled.

"The third man was note the past tense Dr. Benny Horn who now lives in Copenhagen but originally came from Elsinore. And while I remember it, when do you think Dr. Otto Berlin moved himself from Liege to Bruges? About two years ago! "

"It is getting interesting," Fondberg was compelled to admit. He glanced at Louise. "This dishonest and devious man you choose to work for plays these games with me whenever he gets the opportunity. In England I think they call it dangling you on a string."

"Benny Horn's background antecedents are equally vague when you go into them with a sceptical eye," Beaurain continued. "He was in the book dealer business for fifteen years in Elsinore before he moved suddenly to Copenhagen. Since then, no-one in Elsinore has seen him — not that there are many who would be interested."

"Another hermit?" Fondberg enquired.

"As I said, it seems to go with the trade. So, although he has a solid background of fifteen years' residence on the outskirts of Elsinore you can't track down many who actually knew him and then only vaguely. The local police produce his photograph and we get a repeat performance. Some say "yes" and some say "no" when asked to identify Horn. It's quite normal, as you know."

"I still don't understand it," complained Fondberg. "They're not sleepers, they're not dummy men."

"Someone went to a lot of trouble in Belgium, in Denmark, and here in Sweden searching out these men, Harry. The whole thing is quite horribly sinister — worked out by a brilliant mind and manipulated in a diabolical manner. What we are actually looking for is the fourth man."

" The fourth man? "

"The one they call Hugo, the man whose very name evokes terror, sheer terror."

The temperature was a comparatively pleasant 42 FV an east wind sweeping over the airport chilled the face, the expressions of the airport staff were sombre; a prejudiced observer might even have used the word 'sour'. As far as the eye could see the landscape and buildings were depressing. Scandinavian Airlines Flight SK 732 from Stockholm had just touched down at Leningrad.

Ignoring the stewardesses waiting by the exit, Viktor Rashkin left the plane and walked briskly to the waiting black Zil limousine. The KGB guard saluted, held open the rear door while Rashkin stepped inside, closed it and motioned to the chauffeur who started the machine moving at once. Rashkin was known for his impatience.

The cavalcade — a Volga car full of KGB agents preceded the Zil limousine while another followed in the rear — sped away from the airport and Rashkin glanced outside unenthusiastically. Why the hell did Brezhnev need to have personal reports on progress of Operation Snowbird? Rashkin suspected the old boy, surrounded by old-age pensioners, simply wanted a few hours of his company. He always asked for impersonations and roared his head off while Rashkin mimicked his victims.

Relaxing back against the amply-cushioned seat he gazed out through the amber-coloured curtains masking the windows. In the streets the people were curious — and resentful. Apparatchiki were on their way to some unknown destination and, ahead of the cavalcade, police were stopping all traffic to allow Viktor Rashkin swift passage. The driver of one car forced to halt by the kerb carefully waited until the second car-load of KGB men had passed and then spat out of the window.

"Arrogant sods living off our backs."

It was a common sentiment Rashkin would have seen in the eyes of the staring pedestrians had he looked up. He didn't bother. He knew what he would see. One day the lid would come off. There had to be a limit to the patience of even these stupid serfs.

Earlier at the Europe Hotel situated off the Nevsky Prospekt there had been more dissatisfaction as all visitors had been moved out of their rooms to other hotels at a moment's notice. No explanation had been given as squads of KGB agents moved in to replace the normal staff.

Now the Europe resembled more a fortress than a hotel with special squads of agents checking the identity of everyone who approached the entrance. Guards patrolled all the corridors and armed men displayed their presence aggressively. First Secretary Brezhnev was in town. His announced purpose was to visit Leningrad.

His real purpose was to confer with his protege, Viktor Rashkin.

"So," Leonid Brezhnev continued, 'the Stockholm Syndicate can be said to be flourishing?"

"We can say more than that," Rashkin announced confidently, his manner totally lacking in the usual servility shown to the master of the Soviet Union. "We can say that we have now placed puppets under our control in most of the key positions in Western Europe — chairmen of huge industrial concerns, heads of transport systems, controllers of some of the great banks and — above all — certain cabinet ministers. By involving them — through one method or another — in the Syndicate, we have compromised them so all they can do is to obey our instructions."

"A takeover without war, a takeover which is invisible and not even seen by the masses to have taken place!" Brezhnev's tone expressed his immense satisfaction with what he obviously regarded as a great victory.

"It is like Hitler's Fifth Column practised on a far vaster scale," Rashkin commented.

"These three men you found who form the directorate — Berlin in Bruges, Horn in Copenhagen and Norling in Stockholm. Why are they needed?"

Rashkin prevented a sigh of exasperation escaping. This was caused by the First Secretary's advancing years — his infuriating habit of changing the subject for no apparent reason. Yet oddly it was combined with a flair for remembering an extraordinary amount of detail over a vast range of projects. You had to watch the old boy underestimate him and he'd catch you out in the flick of a horse's tail. And that, Rashkin reminded himself grimly, only happened once. He explained crisply, careful not to appear patronising.

"These three men are essential. Each controls a certain geographical sector — Berlin, the Mediterranean up to the mouth of the Rhine, Horn the United States…"

"Yes, yes, I remember that bit."

"So any member of the Syndicate in that sector cooperates with the sector commander, who is a West European. This camouflages totally the fact that real control is in our hands.

"How do you explain to them why the conference is taking place aboard a Soviet vessel the hydrofoil, Kometa?"