The Stockholm Syndicate (13 page)

Chapter Eight

Beaurain and Louise found Ed Cottel finishing a meal in an elegant café on the Hilton's ground floor. Overlooking a glassed-in veranda with a dense wall of trees and shrubberies, the Café d'Egmont had the atmosphere of somewhere in the country. It was safe to talk - Cottel was almost the only diner.

"Can I get you something?" he asked without ceremony.

"Just coffee, thank you," Louise said. Beaurain also asked for coffee and declined anything to eat. They were short of time; the Belgian was anxious to return to Henderson's headquarters to check on the progress of Serge Litov.

"I hear, Jules, they're thinking of charging you with multiple murder, rape and God knows what other mayhem. I must say you've been busy while I was away."

"Who told you these interesting tit bits Voisin?"

"Who else? He spent the whole time I was with him telling me what an outrage it was that you should control the investigation into the Syndicate. I think what particularly infuriated him is my insistence that he report this fact to all West European police chiefs and heads of counter-espionage. Now, he's trying to unseat you."

"Was he ... nervous?" Beaurain enquired casually.

Cottel crinkled his brow and rubbed his crooked nose, which Louise always found attractive. Now that you mention it," the American decided, "I guess the answer is "yes". Like a man who felt threatened." He sipped at his coffee. "Sounds pretty goddam ridiculous."

"Maybe. Have you dug up any more information about the Syndicate, Ed?"

He waited until their coffee had been served and then started talking.

"First thing is that our latest satellite pictures taken over the Baltic show that big hydrofoil - the Soviet job,
Kometa
- creeping along the coast of Poland and heading for East Germany. It looks as though its ultimate destination could be the port of Sassnitz. And from there it's only a short distance to Trelleborg, a small port in Sweden. There also happens to be a ferry service between Sassnitz and Trelleborg."

"What about that list of people for Voisin - the list you thought might lead to the personnel of Telescope?"

"Dammit! Never did get round to that - you've no idea how these transatlantic trips disappear - you get back and wonder what the hell you accomplished." Cottel drank more coffee. I told Voisin that as soon as I hit his office got in first before he asked."

"You always were a good tactician, Ed," murmured Beaurain. "Do you now have Washington's backing to track down the Stockholm Syndicate?"

"In a word, no." The American looked grim and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Queer atmosphere back home - especially close to the President. No-one wants to know. They all say wait till after the election - concentrate on exposing Telescope. One reason is they're upstaged by Telescope. But more important is the election. The man in the Oval Office isn't exactly the president of the century and there are people who would like to dump him before the Convention. If news of the Stockholm Syndicate ever leaked to the press - the fact that a huge piece of its finance is coming from American conglomerates looking for huge tax-free profits..." Cottel made a gesture with his napkin and then crushed it. "Out of the window would go any chance of the President being re-elected. You can trace a line from the Stockholm Syndicate almost up to the Oval Office."

"You mean that?" Beaurain asked sharply. "You're not guessing?"

"Do I ever guess?" asked Cottel. "I have more news."

"Less unnerving than what you've told us so far, I hope," said Louise.

"Viktor Rashkin fits into this thing somewhere," Cottel said, keeping his voice low. "We keep a close eye on Viktor, who is not a nice person. I can tell you he has just left Brussels Airport this evening aboard his Lear jet."

"Alone?" Beaurain queried.

"No, not alone. He was accompanied by a fat man very muffled so you couldn't see his features - and also a girl, likewise with her features concealed." He finished his coffee. "I wondered whether anyone was interested in the flight plan Rashkin's pilot filed. His destination."

"You're going to tell us anyway," Louise said.

"Copenhagen - and then Stockholm. Which is why I'm catching the first plane out of here for Stockholm in the mor ning," Cottel informed them. "When you need me, you can find me at the Grand Hotel."

"We're going to need your help?" Louise asked innocently.

"We're all going to need each other's help before this develops much further," the American predicted.

The jet taxied to a halt at Copenhagen's Kastrup Airport. Inside the passenger cabin Viktor Rashkin lit a cigarette and gazed at his companion.

"What is your next move, Viktor?" she enquired. "Isn't the opposition beginning to show some teeth?"

"The opposition - Beaurain in particular - is reacting just as I expected." His dark eyes examined the tip of his cigarette. "The important thing is to keep him away from Denmark for the next few days. The big consignment is on its way and nothing can - must - stop it."

"How much is it worth?"

"On the streets something in the region of forty million Swedish kronor. I think we should leave the plane, my dear."

To go where?" Sonia Karnell asked.

"To pay a discreet call on our friend, Dr. Benny Horn."

"Max here, Jock. Speaking from Kastrup Airport. The subject left the flight here instead of proceeding on to Stockholm."

"How can you be sure?" Henderson interjected tersely.

"Because you wait on the plane if you're going on -and the flight is now airborne for Stockholm. Because at this moment I'm watching Serge Litov ..."

The large and heavily-built man he was over six feet tall but like other men conscious of their excessive stature he stooped - had entered the booking-hall and now stood holding a short telescopic umbrella. His gross form was topped by a large head and a tan-coloured hat which partially concealed his strong-boned face. English was the language he used when he conversed with Serge Litov. He appeared unconnected with the Russian.

"Where is the man requiring my attention, sir?" His jowls were heavy and fleshy; he was about sixty years old and the personification of a successful stockbroker. Litov could hardly believe this was the intermediary sent to cut out any intervention he might have spotted.

"Do I know you?" Litov asked sharply, covering his mouth with his hand as he lit a cigarette. The fool had not used the code. Had he himself walked into a trap? But in that case why had the Telescope people released him in the first place?

"I am, of course, sir, George Land. Coining from London you must know and appreciate as I do the beauties of St. James's Park at this time of the year."

His mouth hardly moved - and yet Litov had heard every word quite clearly.
St. James's Park
- that was Land's identification.

"The lake is what I like in St. James's Park," Litov responded, and the word 'lake' completed the code check. "How did you know someone was following me?" George Land gave him the creeps, though he was not easily disturbed. Like a perfect English butler - and he was just about to despatch a fellow human being permanently.

"I knew someone was following you because I watched from outside the entrance doors. I observed your furtive glances in a certain direction. Also, I see now there is perspiration on your brow, if I may make mention of the fact, sir."

The constant use of 'sir' did not help. Land was so cool and collected; his restrained courtesy was beginning to get on Litov's nerves. "You see that man in the payphone?"

"I can see the gentleman quite clearly."

"Get rid of him - permanently. As soon as I've got out of this place."

"It would be helpful if you would remain where you are until I have reached the phone box. In that way he will notice no change in what interests him - yourself."

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."