The Stockholm Syndicate

by Colin Forbes

  "Why?" asked Louise. She watched him while he lit a cigarette and took only a few puffs before stubbing it out. One of the disadvantages of holding a meeting inside a stationary laundry van.

  "I think Hugo may have gone over the edge," Beaurain told her.

  "You mean..."

  "Hugo still, I'm convinced, has his first-class brain functioning perfectly. It's just that he no longer takes human life into account at all."

  "What's going to happen?"

  As if on cue, there was a rapping on one of the rear doors, Palme's signal that he had returned from the apartment on Rådmansgatan. Checking through the one-way glass window in the door, Louise released the latch and the Swede scrambled inside. He was holding a blue cloth bag.

  "Something very peculiar," were his first words.

  "Which is?" Beaurain prompted him.

  "This bag - hidden where women always think no-one will ever look," Palme said laconically. "In a recess on top of a wardrobe well above eye level. Contents are interesting."

  Beaurain took the bag and burrowed inside. Two items were neatly stored inside plastic envelopes. They were American passports and when Beaurain showed them to Louise they saw that the photographs and details of the holders were still to be added. "Final proof and the mystery deepens," was his tantalising observation.

  "Very illuminating ..." Louise began.

  "We have to make one more visit to Harry Fondberg, another to Ed Cottel, then we all make our way to Trelleborg by different routes and modes of transport. Scheduled air flights, cars - this laundry van must go as our mobile headquarters - and some can go direct to Firestorm by boat. Inform Jock to organise the move south fast," he told Palme.

  From Harry Fondberg's office at police headquarters, Beaurain used the phone to call both Willy Flamen and Bodel Marker. Fondberg and Louise sat listening to his conversations and Fondberg smoked another of his cigars as he listened and nodded his approval. Eventually Beaurain put down the phone after making his last call.

  "You'll all have to collaborate very closely and get the timing synchronised right across Western Europe," he warned Harry Fondberg. "You heard me arrange with Willy to co-ordinate with Wieshaden for Germany and with Paris - and Bodel Marker links up with Amsterdam. God knows they have enough water in Holland."

  "It will be the biggest mass-arrest Europe has ever seen," Fondberg promised Beaurain. "And it will happen everywhere at the same time, as soon as the next set of signals start transmitting - you predict tomorrow about midnight."

  Beaurain stood up. "And now Louise and I must get moving." He hesitated before he continued.

  "We have an appointment which concerns the American connection."

  "The American connection?" Fondberg was puzzled.

  "Yes. It's the key to the whole evil system."

  *

  The rendezvous with Ed Cottel took place late in the evening at a remote spot off Highway E3 which leads towards Strängnäs. Beaurain had chosen a location on a side road on the way to an old iron mine which had ceased working. The mine was called Skottvångs Gruva, and the meeting point was deep inside a fir forest which closed in on either side of the road like a wall.

  The location had been suggested by Palme and marked on a map delivered to Cottel in his room at the Grand so that on receipt he barely had enough time to drive to the rendezvous. The dramatic atmosphere, heightened by the time of the meeting - 10 p.m. - was all part of Beaurain's plan, as he explained to Louise while they were driving along the E3. In the back of the Mercedes Palme sat in silence, his machine-pistol concealed in an oil-cloth sheath.

  'I'm playing on Ed's nerves," Beaurain told her, 'screwing them up to the maximum pressure point, hoping he'll blow."

  "I thought he was your friend," Louise observed.

  "And who is in the best position to fool you? Read history - it always turns out to be the one closest to you. Julius Caesar could have told you - Brutus."

  "But you've known him for decades."

  "Don't forget that house that damned near blew up in our faces - and Ed Cottel kept well clear of it. Another thing, he keeps pointing me at Rashkin and away from Washington. It could even be that Harvey Sholto is in Stockholm to find out who Ed really is. I'm just not Sure - I hope to be after this meeting."

  On this cryptic note Beaurain fell silent, turning off the main highway onto a forest-lined road which had no traffic at all, a road which Louise found creepy in the gathering dusk. "Sorry about that mistake I made in the lobby of the Grand Hotel," Palme called out from the rear seat.

  Beaurain shook his head dismissively. In a rush when delivering the rendezvous message to Cottel, Palme had used a hotel pad to scribble brief written instructions on the route to reinforce the marked map. On his way back from Cottel's room he had hurried down to the lobby to rescue the pad in case the impression of his writing was imprinted on it. The pad had disappeared.

  The Mercedes was moving at no more than thirty miles an hour, its headlight beams lancing across the enclosing palisade of tree trunks. Palme leaned over frequently to check the odometer, checking the distance from where they had turned onto the road leading to Skottvångs Gruva. Beaurain was still cruising, watching the dashboard clock which registered 9.50 p.m. "We're ten minutes early deliberately," he remarked. Louise didn't like the atmosphere: Beaurain had not told her what was going to happen. And now there were only three of them left in Stockholm.

  The main movement south towards the port of Trelleborg had started and was well under way. Commanded by Jock Henderson, all the gunners were being withdrawn from the Swedish capital and sent by various routes and differing forms of transport to reinforce the heavy contingent of troops already aboard the fast and heavily-armed steam yacht, Firestorm.

  "Drop me off here, Jules."

  It was Palme who had spoken after leaning forward again and checking the odometer for the last time. Beaurain dipped his lights, cruised a few more yards, hardly moving, then switched off all the lights and stopped the car.

  "Don't worry, Jules, I'll be close enough," Palme whispered as he opened the door.

  "Happy to rely on you. But watch it, Stig. We can't be sure."

  Can't be sure of what? Louise bit her knuckles to stop herself asking questions. Sitting rigidly in the dark with only the illumination from the dashboard she noticed something else. As Palme left the car he did not close the heavy door with his normal clunk! He went to considerable trouble to close it as silently as he could.

  Then they were moving again, Beaurain switched on all the lights and they were turning a bend and the headlight beams illuminated another stretch of highway hemmed in by dense forest. Here and there tracks led away through the wall of trees, tracks for timber wagons by the look of the deep ruts bored into the ground. They had moved only a

  very short distance beyond the bend when two headlights came on and glared at them, stayed on for three seconds - Beaurain was checking by his wrist-watch - and went out.

  Beaurain stopped the car and Louise sensed the tension although there was no physical contact between them. The twin headlights repeated the process twice switching on for three seconds and then going out again. So far as Louise could gauge, the car beaming its lights at them was parked at an angle just off the road on one of the tracks. It was ridiculous and yet eerie. In her nervousness she giggled.

  "It's like Checkpoint Charlie you know, an exchange between East and West,"

  "Except that this time it's an exchange between West and West."

  "What does that mean, for Christ's sake?"

  "An exchange of views. That should be Ed Cottel in his new car."

  "Then it's all right - if it's Ed?"

  "If you say so."

  Louise felt a tremble of fury. "Why the hell do we have to meet him in this godforsaken spot?"

  "I told you earlier."

  To put pressure on Ed? That's crazy."

  "His idea," Beaurain told her. "We're here at his request a meeting between me and him well
outside

  Stockholm."

  "I don't like being out here. I feel something is desperately wrong."

  "Something is desperately wrong. We have to try and find out what it is, who Hugo is, who really is running the Stockholm Syndicate before we move down to Trelleborg."

  "These signals - car lights flashing on and off," "Were agreed when we arranged this rendezvous. They're supposed to identify us to each other,"

  "Supposed to?"

  "And now the exchange of signals has taken place we head straight for Cottel's car, then stop. So, we will do just that," Beaurain, who had kept the engine idling during the exchange of signals, released the brake and drove forward at very slow speed. The Mercedes was hardly moving as he swung off from the road onto the springy grass at the edge of the forest. And as he approached the stationary Renault the vehicle remained dark and without any sign of life.

  Beaurain turned the wheel slightly, swinging Louise's side of the Mercedes away from the Renault. He stopped and whispered in her ear before switching off the engine. "Open your door, slip out and back onto the road. Don't close the door just push it to. If you hear shots take cover and wait for me to call out to you,"

  She hated obeying the order, leaving Beaurain on his own, but her training at the Château Wardin asserted itself. Without a word she did as she had been told, using the Mercedes to hide her from the Renault as she slipped back through the forest to the road.

  Left alone, Beaurain took his Smith & Wesson from its shoulder holster, held it by his side and quietly slid out of the car.

  "I have a machine-pistol trained on you! Drop the gun, Hugo!"

  Hugo!

  Two things jolted Beaurain - the use of the name Hugo and the fact that the voice was definitely the gravelly tones of Ed Cottel. Also the American had switched on a powerful torch which almost blinded Beaurain - but let him see the barrel of the machine-pistol. Beaurain estimated the muzzle was just about aimed at his gut. At that range and with that weapon the worst shot in the world couldn't miss. And Cottel had taken medals on the firing ranges at Langley. Beaurain dropped his revolver.

  "That's better, Hugo. Now let's place our hands on the top of our head, shall we? That's better." The torch light was doused, which again affected Beaurain's vision. But the American didn't need it not with a blaster of a gun at such close range.

  Beaurain's excellent night vision was now reasserting itself. He could make out clearly the American's silhouette - and the silhouette of the machine-pistol which never wavered as it remained aimed point-blank at its target. He asked another question, enunciating his words with great clarity so they echoed among the dusk descending on the forest. There was a strong smell of pine in Beaurain's nostrils.

  "Who fooled you, Ed? Who took you for a ride in a big way? I have a feeling you've been manipulated like a puppet."

  The gravelly voice sank to a monotone as Ed Cottel began reciting a list of events like a litany, his tone remote and cold. "You were in Bruges at the same time as Dr. Otto Berlin, director of the Syndicate's southern sector. Department of Coincidence? You were in Copenhagen when Dr. Benny Horn, director of the Syndicate's central sector, was in the city on one of his rare visits. Department of Coincidence? To say nothing of your presence in Elsinore when God knows how many innocent souls were massacred aboard that ferry to shut the mouth of one man."

  "Watch it, Ed," Beaurain said very quietly. "Before I smash your teeth in."

  "No! You watch it, you bastard! I arrive in Stockholm and try to locate the elusive Dr. Theodor Norling, director of the Syndicate's Scandinavian sector. He can't be found anywhere. Then he arrives. And hell, who do you think also arrives at the same moment? Ex-Chief Superintendent Jules Beaurain."

  "If you say "Department of Coincidence" again I'll kick your kneecap off," Beaurain told the American. "Who's been feeding you this poison?"

  "Very clever, Jules. You pretend to be tracking down this Hugo, so who is the last person in the world anyone is going to suspect just could be Hugo? Yourself. And now I'm going to feed you on a platter to Washington - unless I have to press this trigger."

  "Which would be a very convenient conclusion to the whole complex case from your point of view."

  "What do you mean?" Cottel demanded.

  Beaurain's voice had hardened when he made his statement and the American detected a subtle change in the Belgian's personality. He noticed there was also a physical change: Beaurain suddenly stopped wriggling his shoulders as though trying to ease the cramp out of his muscles. Cottel was sensitive to personality changes and an interrogator of many years' experience. He was still trying to work it out when a cold hard rim of metal was pressed against the base of his neck.

  "You have three seconds to drop the machine-pistol before I blow your head off your shoulders," Palme told him. "My orders are to pull the trigger even if you open fire on Jules Beaurain. I have started counting."

  The shock tactic approach had been worked out by Beaurain in advance and was based on his knowledge of the American's psychology. Cottel was a realist and had long ago learned never to buck the odds if there was another option, a chance to live and fight again another day. He didn't hesitate. He dropped the machine-pistol.

  "Walk two paces forward," Palme ordered.

  The American obeyed and behind him Palme quietly stepped to one side before he scooped up the weapon - in case Cottel had kicked out behind him seeking a vulnerable part of the Swede's anatomy.

  "So now, at long last, we get to meet Hugo," Beaurain said, 'and we have penetrated the American connection."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Cottel blazed.

  "Shut your trap, Ed, for ten seconds. Louise," Beau-rain called out, 'come here and listen to this rubbish." He waited until she had arrived. "Meet Hugo," he invited.

  "Hugo?"

  To cover his tracks he was going to offer me up to his chiefs in Washington - on a platter was the phrase, I believe. Who is the big man in Washington, Ed? The one you really report to? I offer Joel Cody as a suggestion."

  "I don't report to anyone back in the States any more than I can," Cottel replied quietly. "And when I do send anything it amounts to no more than meaningless words."

  "Why?" Beaurain pounced.

  "You should know - because I don't know who I can trust. Your Syndicate has penetrated the highest echelons."

  "Someone did tell you I was Hugo." Beaurain was suddenly convinced the American was not lying. And yet there had to be an American connection. He had proof. "Who told you?" Beaurain persisted.

  "One of my watchers. No, you don't get his name.

  Tell your thug to pull the trigger now, but you still don't get his name."

  "Eve n though he was bought?" Beaurain asked softly. "Bought to twist the existing facts in a way only Hugo could have done to make everything seem exactly the opposite to what it is? Have you a transceiver in that Renault? You have? Then get through now to the contact who pointed the finger at me."

  "Why?" Cottel asked.

  "Because you'll find he's not available. By now he will be dead. He's served his purpose and when a man has served Hugo's purpose he's eliminated. Go on, Ed, get back into that car and use the transceiver to call your contact. He should be available?"

  "Round the clock." The American sounded doubtful. "Every one of my watchers is now holding himself available round the clock. I'd expected to clean up the whole business within the next twenty-four hours."

  "Starting with me? You were fooled, Ed! Fooled!"

  "Give me a couple of minutes. Get your man to check me for extra weapons." He waited while Palme obliged. "He can hold me in the sights of his machine-pistol."

  Cottel didn't wait for a reply. Slipping behind the wheel of the car he fumbled in the dark, attached a head-set and reached for the microphone. It seemed to Beaurain it was a one-way conversation. Only two minutes later the American climbed slowly out of the car and accepted the cigarette Beaurain offered.

  There are t
hings you should know, Jules," he said dully. "And there is an American connection. Stupid Ed Cottel was chosen to come to Europe because Washington thought he was more concerned with tracking down the Telescope organisation. Making enquiries, quote, as to whether the Stockholm Syndicate existed, close quote, was supposed to be a sideline. I think Washington found out I was directing all my resources and firepower on locating the Syndicate after I came over. I've had trouble making contact back home."

  "You just tried to call up your contact who said I was Hugo, who convinced you I was Hugo. Any reply?"

  "None at all. And he was supposed to be waiting for a signal from me, staying up all night if necessary."

  "He's probably floating down the Riddarfjärden by now. You see, Ed, he'd served his purpose, so Hugo has disposed of him. You're supposed to have served your purpose now ..."

  "Which is?"

  "You should have shot me as Hugo. Then sat down and written out your highly confidential report for Washington. End of any rumours about a Stockholm Syndicate, end of any speculation starting in the American press about who was financing it, end of any horrendous scandal which might break and lose the President the coming election."

  "I think I got most of it wrong." Ed was deliberately looking at Louise when he made the statement.

  "I was conned, but good. Jules, you have any information on the financing of the Syndicate?"

  "One of the big contributors is Leo Gehn, chairman of the I.T.E. combine, who is also a generous contributor to the President's campaign war chest. Just imagine those two facts hitting the headlines."

  "You think this definitely goes all the way up to the White House?" Cottel asked tersely.

  "Harvey Sholto arrived in Stockholm direct from Washington a few days ago," Beaurain threw at him. "Joel Cody phoned the Säpo chief to let him know of Sholto's imminent visit but didn't let him know Sholto was already in the city. Luckily Fondberg's men at Arlanda spotted him coming in, but didn't follow him. Why should they? And Sholto hasn't surfaced. No contact with Fondberg or anyone. He just went to ground."