The Stockholm Syndicate Read online

  "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.

  Kellerman glanced over his shoulder before climbing inside the next cab which drew up. Joel Wilde was close behind him. You never heard the bastard until it was too late. Kellerman lowered the window and looked up at him.

  "Thanks for everything. I'm going to make the airport in good time."

  "You're welcome. Our love to Sharon. A smooth flight."

  Joel watched the cab pull away and turned round to face the station exits. No-one else was coming for a cab. No-one was heading for a private car. But during the next few hours the Syndicate would send someone to take out any man they detected following Litov.

  I'll chew his balls off."

  At the headquarters of Operation Leper, Henderson put down the phone, caught Louise Hamilton's amused eye and clapped a hand over his mouth.

  "That was Joel Wilde from Nord station. The Leper left the express – as you thought he might - and has taken a cab to the airport. More to the point, Max Kellerman is running his own railway again. He got off too and he's followed the Leper in another cab to the airport."

  "Max is a good man, one of our best," Beaurain commented.

  "Where is the Leper heading for?"

  Henderson stood up and went over to study the air routes marked on his wall-map. He moved a blue pin - Max Kellerman - to a position on the road to the airport. Just ahead of this he placed the red pin representing Serge Litov.

  Beaurain joined him and checked his watch against the wall-clock. "You'll hear soon enough. Get someone to look up all the airline flights taking off within the next two hours. I don't think the Leper will linger longer than he need. You mind the shop till we get back, Jock. We're going to take a train to Bruges and have a word with my old friend, Dr. Goldschmidt. It's just conceivable he can tell us the name of the man who is running the Syndicate."

  Chapter Six

  Gunther Baum sat perfectly still in the passenger seat of the Renault, which had been driven by the lean-faced man beside him. On his companion's lap lay the brief-case containing the loaded Luger. Baum had not yet requested the weapon.

  As during his visit to Pierre Florin he was proceeding with caution. Again he wore a straw hat and tinted glasses. In his left hand he held a photo of Frans Darras and his wife, Rosa. It was best to proceed in a methodical manner.

  "I trust they are both on board," Baum said. "And at least we have found the barge where it was supposed to be you can see the aerial."

  He held out his gloved hand. His companion had not replied, knowing Baum often thought aloud to make sure there was nothing he had overlooked before he completed a job. When it involved two people at once it always required a little more finesse.

  Baum took the gun, made sure the silencer was screwed on tight and opened the door with his other gloved hand. "You follow with your tool-kit in three minutes counting from now." His companion checked his own watch quickly. In Baum's world seconds counted.

  Baum climbed deliberately and slowly. Reaching the towpath he held the Luger behind his back and looked around. The barge was moored and its deck was deserted but he heard voices from the cabin below. There was no-one on the tow-path. The one feature Baum missed was a small boy perched in the branches of an apple tree. Baum stepped aboard and pocketed the photo.

  Frans and Rosa Darras were arguing so loudly they did not hear Baum descend the steps into the cabin. They would not have heard him anyway. Coming out of the daylight it was difficult to see clearly in the cabin and behind his tinted glasses Baum blinked.

  "I have a message and some money for Frans and Rosa Darras," he said.

  Startled, the bargee turned quic kly. "That's us. Who are you?"

  "Both of you will turn and face the wall."

  Baum had produced the Luger from behind his back and aimed it at a position between them. I have come to remove your transceiver," he continued in his sing-song French. "Face the wall until we have completed the work. Behave yourselves in an orderly manner and you can rest assured no harm ..."

  They had both turned together to face the wall. Instinctively Frans grasped Rosa's hand to reassure her. Baum was still talking when he pressed the muzzle against the base of Frans Darras' neck and fired once. Darras was falling when the muzzle pressed into the neck of Rosa who, frozen with terror, was unable to move. Baum pressed the trigger a second time.

  His companion appeared with his brief-case and tool-kit. Baum handed the Luger to him at once and the weapon w as returned to the brief-case. He stood quite still while his companion swiftly removed the transceiver and its power-operated aerial. On the canal bank above them the little boy in the apple tree had remained in its branches. He was sucking an orange as Baum reappeared at the top of the steps, and it slipped from his fingers, hitting the tow-path with a clunk. Baum turned and scanned the area.

  Hidden amid the branches no more than twenty feet away, the boy watched the sunlight flashing off the tinted lenses as Baum continued searching while his companion also reappeared on deck, the brief-case in one hand, the transceiver and aerial awkwardly held under his arm. He was sweating with the effort.

  "You heard something?" he asked.

  Time to get back to the car," said Baum.

  They were driving along the main highway, heading for Brussels, when a train passed in the opposite direction. Inside a first-class compartment Beaurain and Louise sat facing each other, gazing out of the window. They had a glimpse of a canal, of several barges moored close to a lock, barges with clotheslines hung along the decks, TV masts and radio aerials projecting into the sunlight.

  "Those people must lead a life of their own they even have TV," Louise remarked.

  Beaurain was staring out without seeing anything, his mind on Goldschmidt. He nodded automatically, but registered what she had said to him.
r />   "Shot in the back of the neck? Pierre Florin?"

  Chief Inspector Flamen of Homicide sighed inwardly. Voisin had a habit of repeating statements you made.

  "Chief Superintendent Beaurain had requested to see him as soon as he returned from sick leave," Flamen continued and then waited for the expected reaction.

  "Ex-Chief Superintendent Beaurain, you mean. Is it not peculiar that the policeman Beaurain wished to see should be murdered before he saw him?" demanded Voisin.

  "It could have significance," Flamen agreed.

  "Had I better see Beaurain?"

  "As you wish, sir - but it might be better if I saw him first. That way you won't find yourself in any embarrassing situation, if I may so phrase it."

  "You may indeed, Flamen." Voisin smirked. Clearly Willy Flamen understood the delicacy of his position, the political importance of never having to take a decision that might backfire.

  "Found in his apartment," Flamen continued. "No sign of a break-in."

  "So he knew his murderer," Voisin jumped in.

  "It would seem so," Flamen agreed tactfully, although he knew it didn't necessarily follow. "Shot in the back of the neck," he repeated. "Reminds me of something nasty but I just can't recall what it is."

  "You ha d better leave for Brussels now, before Bruges is flooded with police," Dr. Berlin told Sonia Karnell inside the tiny house in the Hoogste van Brugge.

  "Something is going to happen?"

  "A couple of loose ends are being tidied up by Gunther Baum - Frans and Rosa Darras aboard the barge. They were getting slack it was you who warned me when you delivered the Zenith signal about Beaurain."

  Karnell had stood up to leave. Her brow was crinkled with apprehension.

  "What have I been responsible for? I thought you were only going to warn them."

  "It is a warning!" Berlin raised his voice and used the fingers of one hand to stroke the curved ends of his moustache. "A warning to the other people running our communications. But that's why there may be police activity round this area soon. Also because I have decided to teach Dr. Goldschmidt a lesson for spying on me with that photographer in the house opposite."