by Colin Forbes
"Monsieur le Baron is expecting you," the guard said, and escorted him to a small, gilt-framed door. He unhooked a phone and spoke into it while the lift descended. Beaurain approved of all this security: the people upstairs were being informed he was on his way.
"You will be met at the top," the guard said, and stood aside to let him step into the lift. The lift stopped on the second floor and a second uniformed guard waited for him, a man Beaurain did not know. The guard checked a photograph after a searching glance at Beaurain's face, then led him along a marble-floored corridor to a heavy panelled wooden door at the end. The guard ushered Beaurain in; it was one of those locks you could open by turning the handle from the inside but not from the outside. The door was closed behind him.
"My dear Jules, it is good to see you. And again my apologies for phoning you at the château and asking you to travel all this way at this hour." The Baron shook his hand and gestured towards the telephone.
"You know I do not trust that instrument for important conversations."
Something was amiss. Beaurain sensed the atmosphere as the Baron de Graer, president of the Banque du Nord, ushered him to a leather armchair and then mixed two double Scotches and soda without saying anything. The Baron was small and slim, his hair still dark, his eyes had the sparkle of a man of forty though he was a good deal older than that, his nose like the beak of an owl. Then his guest spotted what had alerted him to the tension. The Baron's usually smiling mouth was compressed tight, like that of a man struggling for self-control or of one who was terrified. The latter was surely out of the question.
"Cheers! As the English say!"
The Baron managed the pleasantry with an effort and sat down next to Beaurain in another armchair. Beaurain studied him closely, remaining silent.
"I am so sorry for dragging you all this way at such short notice .."
He was finding excuses to delay saying what he had called Beaurain to tell him. Extraordinary: de Graer was a man of immense character.
"It made no difference," Beaurain replied, watching his host very carefully.
"I had to come in anyway for a meeting with Voisin."
"The Police Commissioner?"
What the devil was going on? The Baron's tone was sharp and anxious.
Beaurain had the strange sensation that his world was being shaken all round him, a feeling of instability and of menace such as he had never known. Was he growing too sensitive to people, to atmospheres? Perhaps Louise was right when she said he badly needed a holiday?
"Yes," Beaurain replied as evenly as he could.
"The subject is how to co-ordinate efforts to eradicate terrorism and there should be top people there from the States and from all over Europe. Is something wrong, Baron?"
"You may well be refused admission to the conference The Baron swallowed his drink in one gulp and stared at the far wall.
"I have a specific invitation to sit in on the meeting, I don't anticipate any difficulty when I arrive there. What on earth has caused you to make such a suggestion?"
This time the banker looked directly at Beaurain. His grey eyes had a haunted look and, yes, there was fear in his expression. He used a finger to ease the stiffness of his starched collar.
"There are things you do not know, Jules. Power so enormous it is like a vast octopus which has spread its tentacles into every branch and level of western society. This morning the Syndicate sent out world-wide a signal naming ex-Chief Superintendent Jules Beaurain formerly of the Brussels police. It was a Zenith signal."
He stood up and walked quickly to the cocktail cabinet. He refilled his glass, adding only a nominal dash of soda. Then he did something else out of character. He went behind his huge desk and sat in his chair, as though conducting a formal interview. Beaurain stood up, put his glass carefully on the desk, and began strolling slowly round the room, very erect. The Baron recognised the stance as the one Beaurain used when on duty in charge of the police anti-terrorist squad.
"Do you mind telling me," he began, 'how you know about a signal sent by the Syndicate which, so far as I know, has not yet been proved to exist? And," he ended with deliberate coarseness, 'what is this crap about Zenith'?
" Zenith means that the person named is to be kept under constant surveillance, that every move they make, everything they say, everyone they meet all their activities down to the smallest detail, so far as is possible must be reported to the Syndicate."
Beaurain stopped in front of the desk and took his time lighting a cigarette, standing quite still, studying de Graer as though he were a suspect.
"I'm sorry, Jules, but I felt I must warn you ..."
"Shut up! Shut up and answer my questions."
"You cannot speak to me like that!" de Graer protested. He was standing up, his right hand close to the buzzer under his desk that would summon his secretary.
"If you press that buzzer I'll throw whoever comes in down your marble stairs. Then I'll probably break your wrist. For God's sake, are you telling me you're one of them the Syndicate?"
"No! How could you believe ..."
"Then tell me how you know about this Zenith signal? Who transmitted it to you?"
"A woman phoned me. I have no idea who she is or where she is when she phones. No clue as to ..."
"And why, de Graer," Beaurain interrupted, 'do the Syndicate phone you if you're not one of them?"
"You're not going to like this ..."
"I haven't liked any of it so far."
"The Banque is a very minor shareholder in the Syndicate. That is how I have been able to pass information about them and their possible future activities to you from time to time. You know, surely, that after what I have been through I would never help them in a major way."
After what I have been through . Beaurain had trouble not allowing his manner to soften at the banker's use of the phrase. Just over two years earlier his wife and daughter had been held hostage in the Château Wardin by Iraqi terrorists seeking to bargain for the release of two of their comrades held in a Belgian prison. It was just before Beaurain had given up command of the anti-terrorist squad. The negotiations had been botched, a clumsy attempt at rescuing the hostages from the château had led to the death of the Baron's wife and daughter.
Soon after the brutal killings the Baron had made over the Château Wardin and its ten thousand hectares of wild forest and hills and cliffs to Telescope's gunners and other staff. The Baron would no longer go near the place.
"It is because of what you went through," Beaurain told him in the same distant tone, 'that I cannot understand your having anything to do with this diabolical Syndicate. You said the Banque was a very minor shareholder what does that mean, for God's sake?"
"It has contributed only a very small amount of money."
To the Syndicate?"
"Yes now please hear me out, Jules... When I was approached it seemed a good idea to accept their offer because it gave me a pipeline into their system, a pipeline I could use to feed back data to you. And this I have done."
"That's true. It is also true that you would never reveal the source of your information."
"I felt you would not approve."
"In what form was the offer made?"
The banker was beginning to sweat; tiny beads of perspiration were showing on his forehead. The atmosphere inside the luxurious office was electric and to de Graer it seemed it was becoming impossibly overheated. He made a move in the direction of the drinks cabinet, changed his mind, stood irresolutely behind his desk. Beaurain thought, he's on the edge of a breakdown. He kept his tone distant, repeating the question.
"In what form was the offer from the Syndicate made to the Banque?"
"Over my private phone God knows how they got the number. They have people everywhere."
"Who made the offer?"
"The woman I am supposed to phone about you. Yes, Jules, for God's sake about you! I'm supposed to relay every word we have exchanged in this room."
"The woman has a name?"
"Originally she just told me to call her Madame."
"Her accent?"
"Flemish is the language she uses."
"And the offer she made?"
"A shareholding in the Syndicate which would yield enormous profits for the sum we invested. Three hundred per cent annually was mentioned."
"How do you conceal this criminal act from the other directors?"
"I paid the money in cash out of my private account."
" You are lying, de Graer ."
The accusation was like a blow in the face to the old baron. Beaurain actually saw him flinch, his face drained of blood. He seemed to age before the ex-chief superintendent's eyes. Beaurain felt sorry for his friend, but he refused to allow it to affect his judgement. He had to break through the barrier he sensed was there.
"You dare to speak to me like that, Beaurain..."
"I know when you are lying. I've spent a lifetime training myself to know things like that. You're lying now or not telling me everything.
What really happened?"
"She threatened Yvette."
"Who?"
"My niece, my sister's daughter. After what happened to my own child.
For God's sake, have a little pity, Jules I'm going to smash these people into the ground if it takes me the rest of my life. I just have to know where I stand with you who I can trust."
"Hardly anyone now, I fear. And you are in great danger."
"And the nature of the threat?" Beaurain still kept his voice a distant monotone, hoping to defuse the terror which had penetrated the heart of one of the most powerful banks in Brussels. De Graer did not reply in words. Taking a chain linked to his waistcoat he produced a ring of keys, chose one, inserted it in a desk drawer, opened it and produced an envelope which he handed to Beaurain. Beaurain took out the card inside, which at first sight seemed like a greeting card until he looked at the picture. It was primitive, crude, quite horrible and fiendishly effective. It was a drawing of a child's doll sitting up in bed. Minus a head. Blood dripped from the truncated neck. At the foot of the bed a photograph of a child's head had been pasted onto the card. Beaurain looked up at the banker.
"That's her?"
"Yes, that's Yvette." De Graer couldn't keep still. He kept glancing towards the drinks cabinet and then forcing himself to remain behind his desk.
"Can you imagine how I felt when that arrived?"
"You have warned your sister?"
"She mustn't know anything about it." The banker was close to panic now.
"Her husband is a prominent lawyer, as you know. He would create a great fuss -which might lead back to the Banque. I have complied with their demands supplied them with funds so Yvette is safe."
"You hope."
"Damn you, Jules! Don't say things like that! I have done my best, but the Syndicate has agents every where. No doubt there is someone inside this building who watches me."
"Have you told this Madame who calls you about Telescope?" Beaurain asked slowly.
"For God's sake, do you think I would betray the organisation I helped to build? What a question." De Graer mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, beyond caring. Then he made a supreme effort and got a grip on himself.
"I am relying on Telescope to destroy the Syndicate. The police and security services are helpless they are not even convinced this new octopus exists. You would have found that out if you had been able to attend the Commissioner's international conference."
"But I am attending it."
"You will be stopped at the door. Someone influential at that meeting has also received a Zenith message to exclude you. Do not ask me who it is I don't know. Don't ask me how I know."
"This is the end of your connection with Telescope then?"
De Graer smiled bleakly for the first time. Producing the ring of keys at the end of the gold chain again he opened a much deeper drawer and brought out a brief-case which he placed on the desk. The key was in the lock. When Beaurain opened it he was staring at stacks of banknotes which filled the case. Swiss francs; a quick glance told him the serial numbers were not consecutive. Laundered money and quite untraceable. He shut and locked the case and looked at the banker.
"Another contribution to Telescope, Jules. The equivalent of half a million pounds in sterling."
"Thank you, Baron. Thank you, very sincerely. Now, the telephone number Madame gave you to contact her?"
"She will know Yvette, my niece ..."
"She will not know, but we might decide to trace her and put her out of action. Permanently."
De Graer hesitated only a moment before he riffled through a card index on his desk, extracted a card and handed it to Beaurain. The banker had invented the name Pauline for Madame and he watched unhappily while Beaurain noted the number in his book. "This is getting almost like wartime," de Graer commented. "Your use of the word "permanently"."
"She threatened a little girl's life, didn't she? And you presumably have to report something to Madame about my visit since you're convinced there is a spy inside the Banque? Agreed, then. You tell her I came to you as an old friend in some agitation because an attempt was made to assassinate me near the Grand Place. Tell her the assassin was able to make his escape. Tell her I looked shaken." He picked up the brief-case. "Thank you again for the contribution. Before I go, is there anything else you can tell me about the Syndicate?"
De Graer hesitated, then stiffened himself. "All the members - shareholders ..."
"Contributors to this criminal international organisation..."
He saw the banker flinch before he continued. "There will be a full meeting in about a fortnight's time. I have been told I shall have to travel to Scandinavia, although where exactly I don't know."
"Let me know when you get more details," Beaurain told him as he walked towards the door. "And from now on use a payphone in the street for calling the Château Wardin."
The guard on the second floor accompanied him down in the lift. Was there an aura of hostility about the man? Beaurain was looking at everything with fresh eyes. And the guard was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster, an innovation for the Banque du Nord.
As he left the lift the guard did not look at him, remaining behind as the ground floor man took over again in silence and escorted him to the main doors. Beaurain paused before stepping out. A phone call could have been made, men could have been summoned. Louise Hamilton was sitting in the passenger seat and her expression was grim.
"Something wrong?" Beaurain enquired as he got behind the wheel.
"That creep in the blue Renault in front is what's wrong. He's given you a ticket. I told him who you were, but it made no difference."
"I'll have a word with him. Something odd is going on. I'll explain later."
Beaurain noticed that the policeman was in plain clothes. The man, lean-faced and swarthy, wound down the window at his approach. I was just considering having you towed away."
"You know who I am?"
"Yes, but that..."
"I don't know who you are - and only uniformed branch concerns itself with traffic offences Your action is harassment. Show me your warrant card."
"I don't have to show you anything."
"So now I don't think you're in the police and I'm going to drag you out of that car and find some identity on you."
Worried by Beaurain's expression, the man produced his police card. Beaurain nodded, hacked the traffic ticket into the man's top pocket and walked away, angry and puzzled. Since his resignation he had received the same courtesies as when he had been chief of the anti-terrorist squad. Was this development the result of the Zenith signal de Graer had received? Behind the wheel of the 280E, he said nothing to Louise but switched on the ignition and drove off.
"We're being followed," she said. "A cream Fiat with two men inside. It was parked behind me. When that man was giving me a ticket I saw him signal the couple behind us."
In the mirror Beaurain saw the car.
Three men in plain clothes had been detailed to watch him. The terror had started.
Chapter Four
Arriving at police headquarters, Beaurain parked by the kerb and took Louise into the waiting room. Normally he would have told her to take the car to his apartment and wait there. Now he thought she would be safer inside.
"Keep an eye on Miss Hamilton for me, Pierre," he told the duty sergeant.
He was late for the conference called by Commissioner Voisin so he ran up the stairs, leaving Louise alone in the cheerless waiting room.
Outside in the street one of the two men who had followed the Mercedes emerged from a payphone and Pierre, the duty sergeant inside the police station, replaced his receiver. He glanced across to where Louise was sitting with her back to the window and left his post. The reception desk was now unmanned and there was no-one else in sight.
The two men from the Fiat walked into the station, glanced across at the reception desk and entered the waiting room. One stayed by the door to keep an eye on the corridor. Louise, reading a paperback she had taken from her shoulder-bag, glanced up and froze.
"You are Louise Hamilton?"
The man addressing her was tall and bony-faced. He wore a light trench coat, a soft-brimmed hat and dark glasses. Louise stood up quickly and looked towards the reception desk which she saw was unoccupied. That struck her as off-key, as did the manner and appearance of the two men. The man outside the waiting-room was shorter and bulkier than his companion, and chewed gum as he kept glancing along the empty corridor.
"May I see your identity card?" she asked.
She was already moving. The bony-faced man was not in her way and she kept edging steadily towards the doorway.
"I don't have to identify myself in here. Hey! Where are you going ... André!"
Louise slipped into the corridor and headed for the main exit.
André was the next barrier to be eluded. He moved back towards the doorway and she didn't think she could get into the street before he caught up with her. She turned as he came forward, raised her steel-tipped heel and ground it deliberately down his shin. André choked off a scream with his hand.