The Stockholm Syndicate (8 page)

Stripping off the boiler suit he had been wearing, he stepped out of it. Pulling off the Balaclava helmet, he lifted the top of the couch Litov had been seated on, took out a trilby hat and jammed it on his head. He grabbed a suitcase and a fawn raincoat from inside the couch. The suitcase's corners were tipped with steel to serve as an improvised weapon. Sliding back a plate at the front of the van he spoke to the driver.

"Well?"

"He behaved went straight into the station booking-hall." Kellerman ran to the back of the van and dropped into the street. No-one noticed. Kellerman walked across to one of the swing doors and entered the booking-hall. Litov was standing at the ticket counter by the first-class window with only one man in front of him. While he waited he glanced behind and saw a Belgian woman with a poodle on a lead joining his queue. She was muttering away to herself as she burrowed in her handbag for fare money. Expensively dressed, which fitted her presence in the first-class queue. Litov noticed things like that.

"Stupid old cow," he thought. "Women never have their money ready."

The man in front of him moved away and with a quick glance at the station clock Litov asked for his ticket in a low tone. The ticket clerk asked him to speak up. Litov did so, anxious not to draw attention to himself.

"One seat on the
Ile-de-France
Trans-Europ Express to Amsterdam. One-way and a non-smoker. I shall have time to catch it?"

"Plenty of time." The clerk was writing out the car and seat number. "Arrives here 9.43, reaches Amsterdam 12.28."

Behind Litov the woman with the poodle was still investigating her handbag and muttering away to herself in French. She irked Litov: people like that ought to be locked up. He paid for his ticket and moved towards the platforms, glancing round at the milling crowd, trying to locate the hidden watchers he knew must be there.

Everything seemed normal. The bustle of passengers criss-crossing the large booking-hall, the general air of frustration and anxiety, the constant background voice over the speakers relaying an endless list of train arrivals and departures all over Europe.

At the first-class counter the woman apologised to the clerk. She couldn't find her purse. Would he serve the next passenger while she ,.. She glanced across to see Litov walk out of sight onto the platforms. She hurried over the concourse, her poodle trotting briskly by her side, to Max Kellerman who stood reading a newspaper. Stopping abruptly, she let the poodle walk on and contrived to let the leash wrap itself round the German's legs.

"So sorry," she bur bled in French, her voice low as she untwined the leash, "Colette does like men. The 9.43 T.E.E.. to Amsterdam," she went on. "Five stops -Brussels Nord, Antwerp East, Roosendaal, Rotterdam, The Hague, then Amsterdam..."

"Get the news to Henderson," murmured Kellerman. Tell him I'm on my way."

Kellerman quickly joined the short queue which had formed at the first-class window. Behind him the fussy lady in her sixties had made her way to a telephone kiosk.

*

It was not long until the
Ile-de-France
de-luxe express would be arriving en route for Amsterdam. The T.E.E.s stopped for precisely three minutes. Nevertheless Serge Litov, after walking up and down the platform, suddenly returned to the booking-hall.

Left behind on the platform, Max Kellerman, wearing his raincoat and hat and carrying his suitcase, waited where he was in case Litov reappeared at the last moment and boarded the express. Litov might be standing watching the exit doors to see if anyone followed him. Or buying the ticket for Amsterdam might be the first of his tricks to throw off the shadows he knew were watching.

In the booking-hall Litov hurried to a phone box, shut the door and called a Bruges number. He watched to see if anyone appeared to be dogging his movements. What he didn't notice was a woman with a poodle who was perched on a nearby seat ostentatiously eating a sandwich. If Litov had happened to spot her, the sandwich would have explained her presence having booked her ticket she had a long wait for her train and preferred to spend it in the booking-hall.

"If he leaves the station, you follow him, Alphonse," she said quietly to the man sharing her seat.

"It doesn't look as though he is catching the Amsterdam express."

"He still has time," Monique replied equably.

"I'd like to know what he's saying," muttered Alphonse.

Inside the phone box Litov's Bruges number had connected and he identified himself quickly.

"Serge speaking, your friend from the Stampen. They let me out - just like that."

"Berlin here. Keep this call brief, I'm expecting another. Where are you?"

"Brussels Midi station. I've bought a ticket for Amsterdam. Which route - and can you get me a back-up? They're bound ..."

"It was our friends?" Berlin interjected sharply. "And you know their home town?"

"Yes and yes. I'm short of time. I have to catch that express. Or don't I?"

"Of course. Then continue on by air, if you understand me. Help will meet you at Copenhagen - to deal with any difficulty you may encounter. Goodbye."

In the tiny terraced house at Bruges, Berlin replaced the receiver and looked across the table at Sonia Karnell pouring out coffee. He waited for the cup before satisfying her curiosity.

"Serge Litov is starting his run. He is at Brussels Midi. Telescope

has let him go and he says he knows the location of their main base."

"But that's marvellous."

"Is it?" Berlin looked round the drab walls, the gilt-framed pictures you couldn't see in the gloominess caused by the looming houses on the other side of the narrow street. "We shan't know whether he has succeeded until I have questioned him. The thing now is to sever the link between Litov and Telescope's trackers. He will catch the first plane. Find out when it reaches Copenhagen and have someone waiting there - someone capable of eliminating any tracker. Today is going to be dangerous - for everyone. Including the esteemed Dr. Henri Goldschmidt - The Fixer."

The lookout in the first-floor window saw the 280E coming, wending its way through the traffic towards the heavy wooden doors at the entrance to the sub-base near Brussels Midi station. He phoned down to the guards and the doors swung smoothly inwards for Beaurain to drive into the yard. Beside him Louise Hamilton looked back and saw the doors closing off the view of the traffic beyond.

"I wonder where Litov is now?" she said.

"Let's go upstairs and find out."

The cobbled yard was small. It was entirely enclosed by old six-storey buildings. The rooms overlooking the courtyard were the property of Telescope, held in a dummy name by the Baron de Graer. The only other vehicle in the yard was the butcher's van, already refuelled from the petrol pump in the corner and turned round so it could leave immediately.

Henderson was sitting in a functional first-floor room. In one corner a wireless operator wearing his earphones sat in front of a high-powered transceiver. The Scot, who stood up as they entered, had been sitting at a table facing a large wall map of northern Europe. On the map he had marked all the possible air, road and rail routes from Brussels Midi with a red felt-tipped pen.

"What are the little blue pins?" Louise asked.

"Each one shows a gunner I can contact by radio or phone inside three minutes."

"There are scores of them!"

"Only wish I had more," the Scot replied laconically. He looked at Beaurain. "The moment of truth has arrived. Litov, code-named Leper, is at Brussels Midi. He has made one two-minute phone call. He bought a T.E.E.. ticket for Amsterdam. Train leaves 9.43." He looked at a large wall-clock. "That's about now."

Serge Litov played it cagey from the moment he returned to the platform. Carrying his ticket, he went up to the special T.E.E.. Board which illustrated the sequence of the carriages. Voiture 3 was

immediately behind the engine.

From behind his newspaper Max Kellerman who was leaving Litov to do the moving about while he remained in one place watched him carefully study the ticket and then the board. It was a pantomime for the benefit of watchers.

In his mind Kellerman went over the stops the express made before arriving at Amsterdam. Brussels Nord, Antwerp East, Roosendaal, Rotterdam and The Hague. At all these stops Henderson would already have arranged to have a gunner stationed in case he got off. Kellerman's job was to stay on board until Amsterdam. The T.E.E. glided in, five de-luxe coaches preceded by its streamlined locomotive. The express stopped.

Litov climbed aboard Voiture 3 the moment the automatic doors had opened, pushing rudely past a woman waiting to alight. It was the old trick: wait until just before the automatic doors closed and then jump back onto the platform - leaving your shadow on board, carried away by the train. But Litov reappeared, descended the steps and stood on the platform. What the hell was he up to? Kellerman had one eye on Litov, the other on the red second-hand on the platform clock.

Behind him Alphonse strolled into view and took up a position on the opposite platform. Kellerman climbed aboard, joining a woman who was a late arrival, so they looked like a couple. Once inside the coach he sat down in a seat near the entrance to the next coach, Voiture 3.

There is no warning when a T.E.E.. express is due to depart; no call from the guard, no whistle blowing. The doors close, the train draws out of the station. Litov, watching the second-hand on the clock, timed it perfectly. He ran up the steps into the coach a second before the doors met.

"Triple bluff," said Kellerman to himself as the train pulled out.

The next stop, Brussels Nord, was only a few minutes away. Would Litov get off after only one station, despite booking all the way to Amsterdam? Because from Brussels Nord he could catch a train or a cab to the airport. Kellerman could have relaxed now. His assignment was to stay on board all the way to Amsterdam. Instead he sat tensely, trying to put himself inside Litov's mind, to predict how he would react at Brussels Nord.

Inside the temporary headquarters for Operation Leper the tension was rising. Louise kept pacing up and down in the small room. Beaurain sat down next to Henderson, the picture of relaxation as he lit a cigarette. They had done all they could. It was up to the men in the field.

"Who have you got aboard the train?" he asked.

"Max Kellerman. He can be a bit insubordinate."

"He's among the best we've got. Uses his brain." He stopped as the phone rang. Henderson picked up the receiver and spoke briefly in French.

"That was Louis. The Leper boarded at Midi. So he has started to run. All we can do now is wait for the next message."

At 9.53 the T.E.E.. slid into Brussels Nord station and the doors hissed open. This was a two-minute stop. Max Kellerman had made up his mind. He was standing at the exit of his coach furthest away from Voiture 3.

Kellerman was not recognisable as the man who had boarded at Midi. He had taken off his hat and light raincoat and put them inside his suitcase. He had donned a pair of glasses. His thick thatch of dark hair, previously hidden beneath the hat, was now visible.

Alighting from the express he glanced to his left, saw no sign of Litov and swung round to give the impression of a passenger about to board the train. In his mouth he had a cigarette and he was deliberately making the gas lighter misfire: it gave a reason for pausing at the foot of the steps.

"He's going to get off at Nord and head for the airport," Kellerman had decided during his few minutes on the train. "After his confinement he'll be impatient, anxious to reach home base. I would be."

He was disobeying his orders. On no account was he to leave the train before Amsterdam. Kellerman was relying on his observation of how Litov had handled his problem at Midi. And if he was continuing to Amsterdam he would surely have pretended to be leaving the express here - by getting off and loitering near the exit doors.

The German found himself watching the platform clock. In ten seconds the doors would close. Nine-eight-seven-six ... Litov had fooled him. He was staying aboard. At the last moment Litov rushed down the train steps, onto the platform and hurried towards the station exit. No-one could have got out in time to follow him. Kellerman smiled grimly and strode towards the exit.

There he saw Joel Wilde, the ex-SAS gunner Henderson had sent to Nord for just this contingency. Kellerman outranked him. "He's mine," he said as he walked past.

He was through the doors in time to see Litov leaving the station on the far side of the booking-hall. He came up behind him as the Russian waited for the next cab. "The airport. Move it," Litov informed the driver and climbed into the back.

He was so confident he had overlooked the obvious precaution of waiting until he was inside the cab to give his destination. It was out of character. Or was it? They had been careful to keep Litov without food for the past twenty-four hours, giving him only fruit juice. He could be light-headed and over-confident. Or that phone call from Brussels Midi could have arranged back-up to any shadow who attached himself to Litov when he left the express. If so, Joel would sort that one out.