by Colin Forbes
Mounting the spiral, they reached the first floor. There was a barrier and a uniformed policeman behind the desk. The form was essential: it was checked carefully and then they were told to continue up to the second floor and turn right along the inner corridor until they reached Room 78.
"What is worrying you?" Kellerman asked quietly as they went on up the second spiral which, like the first, was entirely enclosed by a curving stone wall.
"The Syndicate knew we were coming," Beaurain said grimly."Their organisation and thoroughness is incredible we've never been up against anything like this before. In some ways the extent of their reach is frightening. The only answer is to go over onto the offensive and hurl them off balance."
Beaurain's reaction was characteristic. Kellerman was intrigued about the reasons for his comment.
"Why is the organisation and thoroughness incredible? Have I missed something?"
"First, as I've just said, they had a man waiting for us here. But we were never supposed to get here, Max. We were supposed to be dead - gunned down near the station by that couple with the brief-case. And that means the man downstairs was simply backup - warned to keep a look-out purely on the off-chance that the assassination set-up misfired. Next point, how did they know we were on our way to see Marker? Only two possible answers - they have someone on the switchboard at the Royal Hotel or - worse still - they have someone on the central switchboard here at Politigarden. This bloody Zenith thing is encircling us with a stranglehold."
They had arrived at the second floor. Beaurain pushed open another heavy door and they found themselves out in the open air on a terrace-like corridor with a railing on the inner side. Kellerman thought it a curious arrangement: on the outside the building had been triangular in shape; now the centre was hollowed out into a huge circular courtyard entirely cut off from the outside world and open to the sky.
The courtyard, resembling the interior of an amphitheatre, was eerily deserted. They turned to the right and along their right-hand side the wall of the building continued in a circular sweep with more heavy doors at intervals.
"Weird building," Kellerman remarked.
"Unique in my experience," Beaurain agreed.
"I'll be glad when we get off this bloody platform. Anyone could use us for target practice and we're both unarmed."
"Room 78. Relax, Max. You'll like Marker." Beaurain turned the door handle and walked into the large room beyond. Kellerman was behind him when they both glanced into the room next door through an open doorway at the single object on a large desk. A knife.
"Forty million Swedish kronor worth of heroin."
The man who had spoken the words and then paused was in his mid-fifties, a man of medium height and rounded stomach whose hair and eyebrows were grey and bushy. His pink complexion and his chubby cheeks, with the brilliant sparkle in his very blue eyes, suggested the keen walker or cyclist. Amiability radiated from him. This was Superintendent Bodel Marker, Chief of Intelligence and the man responsible for some of the Copenhagen police force's greatest coups.
His guests, Beaurain and Kellerman, who had been introduced as Toxbel', were seated in comfortable chairs, smoking excellent cigars and drinking delicious coffee. Kellerman was forcing himself not to stare at the knife which still occupied the central position on Marker's desk, an object to which no-one had so far made any reference. The door to the outer office was closed and only the three men occupied the room.
"One of the largest consignments of heroin ever moved in this part of the world," Marker continued in his excellent English. "It is on the move now at this very moment following the same route as always, I am informed."
"Would forty million Swedish kronors' worth of heroin fit inside a suitcase measuring roughly something like this?" Kellerman's nimble hands described in air roughly the dimensions of the case Louise had described the man who had travelled by van from Nyhavn to Elsinore as carrying. Marker looked at Beaurain before replying.
"He is my close associate and friend and I would trust him with my life, Bodel," Beaurain replied quietly.
"Just as you did this morning!"
"Bodel?" Beaurain managed to inject just the right note of enquiry into his voice.
"Yours, I believe, Mr. Foxbel."
Marker lifted the knife, threw it across the desk so it fell over the edge and Kellerman was compelled to pick it up. He looked at the knife with a blank expression, gazed at the Dane, and then at Beaurain. Marker's amiability disappeared and his voice was thunderous.
"Less than one hour ago! Before you two arrive we enjoy peace and quiet and.. ," he paused, his fist crashed on his desk. '... I hear that within less than twenty-four hours of your landing we have a murder at Kastrup Airport!"
"Who was killed, Bodel?" asked Beaurain, quite unperturbed.
"George Land. Professional assassin according to Interpol. A big man. Carrying a British passport. He was found lying half-inside a telephone booth killed by his own favourite weapon an umbrella with a built-in trigger mechanism which operated a knife." Marker leaned forward over his desk and stared hard at each of his visitors in turn, "Mr. Foxbel ... that's right, isn't it? Did you see anything odd when you flew in?"
"No," Kellerman replied shortly.
"It's upset you happening on your own doorstep," Beaurain said to the Dane sympathetically.
"There's more," Marker told him grimly. "Less than one hour ago while you were on your way here from the Royal Hotel two men were almost killed by a couple of professional assassins in the very centre of our beautiful Copenhagen, by God! How did the intended victims save themselves? One of them hurls this knife with great accuracy and destroys the gunman's aim."
"And the descriptions of the two potential victims fit us with remarkable closeness?" Beaurain suggested.
"We have your descriptions," Marker admitted. "And so far no-one can give us a clear description of the would-be murderers." He smiled broadly. "I'm glad you survived the attack." He picked up the knife Kellerman had put back on the desk and held it out. "This, I believe, is your property, Mr. Foxbel."
Take it," Beaurain said quickly. "I came here to ask what you know about a certain Dr. Benny Horn who
has a house on Nyhavn."
"Highly respected dealer in rare books," Marker said promptly. "The house on Nyhavn is both his shop and his home. He travels the world searching out rare volumes, so we are told. I think, Jules, you should be careful if you are investigating the Stockholm Syndicate."
Chapter Eleven
The conversation which followed was so horrifying that Beaurain could in later years repeat it word for word from memory.
"Why bring up the Stockholm Syndicate?" Beaurain asked.
"Because you mentioned Dr. Benny Horn. Nothing can be proved, but I am convinced he is a member of the directorate which controls this evil organisation. So far they have tried to kill me twice," he added casually.
"What about your family?" Beaurain asked slowly, watching Marker for any flicker of expression.
"They threatened to gouge out the eyes of my wife and cut off the legs of my ten-year-old boy below the knees. I have sent them both out of the country to a destination I will not reveal even to you."
Beaurain was shaken. He had known Marker since he had become a superintendent and he knew the man had courage, but this was appalling. He stood up, lit a cigarette and fetched himself an ash-tray to give himself time to think.
"Who are "they"?" he asked eventually.
"Voices on the phone often a girl, for Christ's sake. She was the one who spelt out the details of what would happen to my family."
Beaurain looked towards the closed inter-communicating door. "It is safe to speak, I assume?"
"There has been an armed guard on the far side of that door ever since you both entered this room. At this moment I am wearing a bullet-proof vest which I put on before I leave my flat every morning. The new system employed by the Syndicate relies on secret intimidation of the most ferocious kind -
take my own example."
"The threat must have been combined with some request?"
"Of course!" Marker looked savage. "Give me one of your cigarettes, for God's sake. Thank you." He paused a moment, studying the Belgian as though taking a major decision. Then he spoke with great vehemence. "I do not expect you to comment on my statement but it is vital that Telescope smashes the Syndicate. No government agency I know of can or will - they are like tethered goats waiting for the tiger to strike."
Beaurain looked bemused. Marker sat on the edge of his desk close to the two men as though he needed the reassurance of their proximity. "No government agency at all?" Beaurain asked.
"This man fell ten storeys from a balcony one night." Marker took a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled a name on it, tore the sheet from the pad and gave it to Beaurain, concealing it from Kellerman. 'For your eyes only," he said with a mirthless smile, 'as the best spies are supposed to say. But this is for real, my friend."
Beaurain glanced at the name, refolded the piece of paper and handed it to Marker who thrust it inside his pocket. It was the name of one of the most well-known political leaders in Europe, who had do minated the Common Market before his 'accident'.
"How do you know that was the Syndicate?"
"Because when they threatened me they said he was going to die within seven days. Most people would have laughed, found it ludicrous. I took them seriously. I phoned my opposite number in the capital concerned. He thought I was mad. At least that's what he said."
"What does that mean?" Beaurain put in.
"I'll tell you in a minute." Marker continued vehemently: "I forced my way through on the phone to the man himself. I warned him to seek immediate protection. He thought I was mad. Forty-eight hours later they pushed him off the balcony and sent him ten storeys down to smash to a pulp on the concrete below. The bastards!" Marker's face was flushed and Beaurain had never known him display such emotion.
"The man he is referring to left behind a wife and several children," Beaurain informed Kellerman.
"Only an invisible organisation like Telescope can smash the Stockholm Syndicate," Marker said. It was the second time he had openly referred to Telescope.
"They rely on the threat alone?" Beaurain asked.
"The swine offered me a bloody fortune in cash if I co-operated. All the big drug runs from the Far East for Stockholm come through here. I would turn my back on that - just for one example.
"What is "the same route as always", which I believe is the phrase you used earlier," Kellerman enquired, 'in connection with the big consignment?"
"Amsterdam through to Copenhagen," Marker said promptly. "On from Copenhagen by train, across the ferry at Elsinore over the Øresund to Sweden. Then the last lap by the same train until it reaches its final destination - Stockholm. The train ferries at Elsinore are a damned nuisance. If they had to take it by scheduled air flight - or by car or truck - sooner or later we would get lucky in our searches. But you can't search a whole train and whole trains cross from Elsinore on the giant ferries."
"Thank you," said Kellerman, and withdrew from the conversation.
"You said your opposite number you phoned about the danger to a statesman's life thought you were mad. At least he said that, you added. What did you mean?"
"I am perfectly sure he had already sold out to the Stockholm Syndicate." Marker stood up and paced slowly round his desk. "It is so easy, is it not? You take the large bribe, salt it away in a numbered bank account, and remove whatever horrible threat has been made against your wife, family, mistress or whoever. They offer you heaven or hell. Is it so surprising that many in countless different countries accepted the former and became part of the Stockholm Syndicate system - if only as informants? Cabinet ministers have made deals. Oh, yes, Mr. Foxbel, do not disbelieve me - I have seen it in their eyes when certain subjects are raised."
"It's a kind of leprosy," Beaurain murmured. "It will have to be burned out with red-hot pokers."
"Do not underestimate them," Marker warned.
"Do something for me, please." Beaurain's manner had changed suddenly as he recovered from the shock of sensing that Marker had been close to despair. "Check back on Dr. Benny Horn's background - where he came from, how he set up in that house on Nyhavn."
"I can tell you now. He was born in Elsinore - or just outside the port. He built up his business as a dealer in rare editions and two years ago moved to Copenhagen."
"I want more than that, Marker!" Beaurain was brusque. "I want men - a whole team - sent to Elsinore to interview every person who ever knew him."
"He was something of a recluse and travelling a lot in his profession."
"I want him pinned down! Like a butterfly in a collection! Do you have a photograph?"
"One - he is a difficult man to catch in the camera lens. The picture is not good - taken at a distance with a telephoto lens." Marker unlocked a steel filing cabinet, took out an envelope from which he extracted a photo. Beaurain glanced at it and then showed it to Kellerman who handed it back without comment.
"Show that picture to everyone who ever knew Horn in Elsinore. Find out whether - since he arrived in Copenhagen two years ago - he has ever spoken to or been seen by anyone who knew him when he lived in Elsinore. I just have a funny feeling about Benny Horn. I can call you here?" Beaurain queried.
"Better to call my apartment after eight in the evening. Here is the number. When you call say you are Krantz and give me the number of the phone you are using. Always use a payphone. Then wait for me to call from the payphone in my street,"
Beaurain paused. Zenith. The terror was appalling and spread across a whole continent, the scale of the terror even greater than he had realised. How many men were there of the calibre of Bodel Marker? Men who would live alone in their own private fortress with their families sent maybe thousands of miles away for safety.
Power was being exploited quietly to enslave and manipulate whole nations. And the most horrible aspect of all on the surface everyday life proceeded as though nothing abnormal were happening.
"Contact Henderson priority, Monique. Tell him Elsinore is the present objective. Within two hours I want the place flooded with his people searching for a man and a girl. Here are the descriptions."
Speaking from a street payphone near the Royal Hotel, Beaurain reproduced in a few words the vague impression of Dr. Benny Horn obtained from the photograph Marker had shown him. The other description was more precise and was based on Kellerman's word picture of Black Helmet. The instruction to Jock Henderson was to find the couple quickly, mount a round-the-clock surveillance on them, but above all not to let them know they were being watched.
"Next request, Monique, please call Dr. Henri Goldschmidt of Bruges and ask him to provide urgently everything possible on the origins and background of Dr. Otto Berlin. Then, on my behalf, using the code word Leuven, call Chief Inspector Willy Flamen of Homicide with the same request - everything he can dig up on where Otto Berlin came from, his whole history back to his childhood. OK? I'll call you back when I can. We're on the move so forget the Royal Hotel."
Leaving the phone booth, he joined Kellerman who had been strolling up and down outside as though waiting to make his own call. He relayed the gist of his conversation to the German as they hurried back to the hotel.
"She'll get through to Henderson immediately by radio aboard Firestorm."
"Which is still just north of Elsinore? It sounds as though you're launching an invasion of one of Denmark's key ports."
"Almost comes to that," Beaurain agreed briskly. All his previous irritation and frustration had vanished now that he was able to set the wheels of action in motion.
Two outboard-powered dinghies had reached the shore north of Elsinore where Louise had left the Citroën the previous night. In the lead boat were Louise, Henderson and two guards armed with submachine guns. In the second boat four men, equipped with the same weapons and various other devices, watched the car
which stood parked in the same position Louise had left it, the headlamps pointing out to sea.
It was eleven o'clock on a beautiful morning, the sun shining out of a clear blue sky. It was already very warm and the reflection off the wavelets was a powerful glitter. Louise walked towards the Citroën, shoulder-bag over her arm, ignition key in her hand. Henderson followed close behind while two of the guards fanned out beyond towards the forest and the track with their weapons at the ready.
"You're driving straight into Elsinore to look for those two from Nyhavn?" Henderson asked as she reached the car door.
"Yes, Jock." She turned and he was very close to her. "But only after we have gone over the car with a fine-tooth comb for explosive devices."
"Why?"
"Because I was followed by a Porsche from Elsinore. Because I think sooner or later after checking several tracks the person in that Porsche would find this Citroën. Because since then they have had plenty of time to turn it into a death-trap."
Top marks!" Jock turned to the men from the second boat who were grinning as they stood waiting and holding small toolkit bags. "Go ahead," he told them. "And for Christ's sake be careful."
Louise let Henderson lead her away by the arm a safe distance from the Citroën as the bomb squad started work assembling its equipment rapidly, including a circular mirror on a long handle for looking under the car. Louise glanced at the Scot with an amused expression.
"You really thought I was going to get inside and start the engine! If not, why were you practically hugging me when we got there?"
"You damned near fooled me, that's why! The confident way you walked up with the key held in your hand. I admit it - I was ready to haul you back fast if you'd tried to use the key."
"Why not check with me earlier?"
"I never stop testing people's alertness particularly on a major operation. I think the balloon is about to go up, and the process will start in Elsinore."
"You managed to avoid the railway police? You are sure that no-one saw you hide the consignment?" Dr. Benny Horn asked as he polished his rimless glasses and hooked them on again over his ears.