by Colin Forbes
"Sholto! Jesus Christ!"
"And," Beaurain pressed on, 'neither Cody nor anyone else reported you were coming into Stockholm."
They didn't?" There was sheer incredulity in Cottel's voice. "I kept a low profile to do a better job but I assumed the Säpo people would know I was in town. I don't like this, Jules. Who's next?"
"You are."
Beaurain raised the .38 Smith & Wesson he had picked up from the ground and fired.
*
Further along the road towards the old iron ore mine at Skottvångs Gruva, a large man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and outsize tinted glasses sat behind the wheel of his hired Audi. He had not been able to get any closer for fear of being seen. He heard the sound of three distinct shots being fired.
He waited twenty minutes. Earlier that day he had taken up a position behind a pillar in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. He had seen the Swedish peasant with a head like a melon writing on a notepad. As soon as the man had disappeared inside the elevator he had palmed the pad and walked out. Back at the Hotel Reisen the careful scraping of a pencil had brought up the impression on the next sheet of the pad, showing clearly the words Skottvångs Gruva. Now the plan had worked. Cottel's watcher at Bromma had been bought, the information passed to Sholto, who had directed him in turn to pass the misinformation to Cottel, implying that Beaurain was Hugo.
After twenty minutes he drove away towards the mine. In due course he would swing round in a loop which would bring him back onto the E3. A cautious man, Sholto had no desire to encounter any survivors of the forest shooting on his way back to Stockholm -and then on to Trelleborg.
Chapter Twenty
The following morning it was a main item on the news. The mystery lay in the identity and - more precisely - the occupation of the two foreigners who had shot each other. Jules Beaurain had fired the first shot with a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, so the theory went. A Belgian, he had at one time been in the Brussels police and had risen to the rank of Chief Superintendent. This detail alone was enough to give the item major billing in a news editor's eyes.
The American, a visitor to Stockholm identified as Edward Cottel, had fired one shot at Beaurain from a .765 Walther which, oddly enough, was the hand-gun carried by the police. There had been a second bullet from the Smith & Wesson found in Cottel's body and presumably Jules Beaurain had transported him from the scene of the shooting in a hired Renault.
The macabre location of the American's body was the bottom of a deep hole close to the mine. A wire railing which normally protected visitors from any risk of falling into the hole had been flattened, again presumably when Beaurain man-handled the body out of the car and into the pit.
The Belgian's own corpse had been found a short distance away, collapsed as he tried to reach the Renault. End of story. The detective interviewed had been very firm on this last point. "The investigation is proceeding ... no further information available at this stage."
Harvey Sholto used a payphone on his way to Bromma Airport, dialled the Trelleborg number, and identified himself as soon as the familiar voice came on the line. "It worked," he said, hardly able to conceal his satisfaction. "You've seen the news bulletins?"
"Several times. A classic case of the mirror image technique. You show a man what he's waiting to see and he reacts logically."
"Except that the logic isn't there."
"But has it ever been there since we started?" the voice enquired. "I will see you in Trelleborg. The sea is most pleasantly calm."
They watched them flying into the airstrip outside Trelleborg. Using the laundry van which had been Telescope's temporary and mobile headquarters in Stockholm, they sat in a concealed position behind a clump of trees. And they recorded in a notebook the identities of some of the most powerful and wealthy figures in the western world.
"That's Leo Gehn," said Palme, staring through his binoculars from the front passenger seat. "He's chairman of..."
"International Telecommunications and Electronics - I.T.E. for short," Albert said crisply as he noted the details name, time of arrival, type of aircraft and whether guards accompanied the newcomers.
"He's brought someone with him as a passenger - Count Luigi d'Arlezzo, the husband of that poor woman who was strung up at the Grand."
"Does he look very upset?" Albert enquired.
"He looks relaxed and relieved, the bastard. I suppose now his wife is conveniently out of the way he's playing at running his own banking empire. Hence Gehn taking an interest in someone he wouldn't normally give the time of day to bet you anything Gehn is making a play to take over the controlling interest."
"Look at this one who's just arrived aboard a Cessna all by himself," Palme said. Tunny thing is he's landed on a quite different part of the airstrip as though he isn't with the main party. Dr. Henri Goldschmidt of Bruges."
A car was waiting for the coin dealer. It was only later that they learned Goldschmidt had been driven straight to a hotel, that he had stayed in Trelleborg after strolling round the harbour area as though interested to see who was attending the conference. He did not even stay at the hotel overnight; very late in the day he proceeded on to Copenhagen.
And on the sea-front at Trelleborg another Tele scope team was similarly checking the passengers arriving from the airstrip in a steady flow of limousines. The two-man team, sitting in a Peugeot equipped with a transceiver which kept them in direct touch with Henderson, were compiling their own record as the passengers transferred to waiting powerboats which immediately put to sea.
Henderson, who had returned from his second visit of the day to Firestorm, took a cab to within a hundred yards of the Savoy Hotel. There he paid off the vehicle, waited until he was sure he was not being followed, and walked the rest of the way to the hotel.
Room 12 was his destination. He had a brief word with the receptionist who phoned Room 12 and then informed Henderson that M. Chavet would be glad if he would go up immediately. The Scot ignored the lift and ran lightly up the stairs. He paused outside Room 12 and then rapped on the door with an irregular tattoo. The door opened almost at once.
"Come in, Jock," said Beaurain. "Louise and I thought you'd have news for us soon."
"And this is Ed Cottel," Beaurain said to Henderson, introducing the American. "He's officially in Room 14, registered under the name Waldo Kramer. You can talk freely in front of him."
The trio - Beaurain, Louise and Cottel listened in concentrated silence while Henderson reported on the intense activity at the airstrip and then on the water front. He handed Beaurain a list of names of all the people who had arrived for the Syndicate's summit conference. Cottel looked over Beaurain's shoulder, ran his eye down the list and whistled.
"God Almighty, there are men there I'd have sworn were completely above suspicion."
"Which is what makes the Syndicate so dangerous," Beaurain murmured.
There were two lists - the one recorded by Stig and Albert and the check list compiled by the two men sitting on the sea-front watching the VIPs transferring from their limousines to the power-boats.
It was the second list Beaurain was studying with a frown; where the watchers had been unable to identify someone and there were very few such cases they had written a brief description of the unknown arrivals. One description read, Two men. One dressed like an American with a straw hat. His companion carried a brief-case. With his thumb underlining the comment, he showed the sheet to Henderson.
"That has to be Gunther Baum and his companion, the one who carries the Luger in the brief-case until Baum is ready for it."
"Gunther Baum?" Ed Cottel was interested. "He's reputed to be one of the most professional assassins in the world. From East Germany but nothing to do with the Commie regime according to our information. Not something to be added to the asset side."
"He's in charge of security aboard Kometa. I'm convinced of it." Beaurain looked at Henderson. "When you hit the hydrofoil don't underestimate Baum."
"What are we
going to do now we know where they're meeting?"
Henderson looked at Beaurain who opened a drawer in the dressing-table, took out a ship's chart and unrolled it on the double bed while Louise held the other end. "This was obtained from a Polish member of Kometa's crew, a man who needs help to get his wife out of East Germany. Remember, Captain Buckminster has stood off Trelleborg for several days. During that time various gunners have been sent ashore in the guise of tourists and made it their business to frequent the waterfront bars. That is how the Pole was found. He is just the man we need secretly working on board that vessel he controls and watches over the radar de fences I'm not even giving you his name, Ed."
"My question was, what are we going to do?" Cottel repeated.
"Destroy them."
"Just like that?"
"Yes - and with the aid of this chart which clearly shows the course planned for Kometa during the four hours of darkness when the actual conference takes place." Cottel was now alongside the Belgian, studying the chart. Beaurain's index finger traced the course of a dotted line drawn on the chart.
*
They met Harry Fondberg at a pre-arranged rendezvous on the outskirts of Trelleborg. Beaurain was behind the wheel of the Mercedes when he picked up the Säpo chief at a bend in the country road. Fondberg's vehicle was nowhere to be seen and the only other occupant of the car was Louise who sat by herself in the rear. Fondberg settled into the front passenger seat alongside Beaurain, and the Mercedes moved off, heading away from Trelleborg.
"East German MfS - state security men - have been coming in on the ferry from Sassnitz both yesterday and today," the Swede told Beaurain. It has almost assumed the proportions of an invasion. A handful linger in the town, trying to look like tourists, which is laughable."
"Why?" asked Louise.
"You know what the weather is like. This marvellous heatwave during the day and it's still warm at ten o'clock at night. These cretins from Sassnitz are all walking around in short leather jackets and trilby hats! My men tell me they have to be careful not to burst out laughing when they see them. But the majority have gone out by power-boat to Kometa, presumably - to act as security."
"Under the command of Gunther Baum," Beaurain informed him.
"That homicidal maniac? What does it all mean? He's not MfS."
"Intriguing, isn't it? I think Hugo has waved his wand again. And you did a marvelous promotion job on the "double murder" yesterday night out at the old iron mine of Skottvångs Gruva. Hugo will be bound to be just that little over-confident now he thinks Ed and I are dead."
"Just so long as the media never learn the truth," Fondberg said gloomily. "They'd crucify me. If you're going to launch an all-out assault on Kometa from Firestorm tonight and officially I've never even heard of either vessel why is it so important you appear to be dead? To make Hugo less cautious I can see that, but..."
To throw him right off-balance when I eventually come face to face with him," Beaurain said grimly. "And that might well not be tonight. I have a funny idea. Hugo could be holding a party and not attending it himself although he's supposed to be the host,"
"No, I don't see," Fondberg said. "I don't see at all. And you might like to know that at this moment I'm in Gothenburg and have witnesses to prove it,"
On the June evening of Beaurain's final attack on the Stockholm Syndicate sunset was at precisely 20.50 hours. Over the Baltic darkness fell, concealing the presence of the 2,500-ton motor ship Firestorm. Against all international regulations Captain "Bucky' Buckminster, the ship's captain, was showing no navigation lights. If any vessel approached him on a collision course the radar screens would warn him in good time. Beaurain was going over the details of the assault plan for the last time in the main cabin.
"I trust that everyone fully understands the complex nature of the deception operation we shall be practising?"
Twenty gunners clad in underwater gear, oxygen cylinders on their backs and an assortment of arms and explosives in their possession, stared back at Beaurain and said nothing. Beaurain sensed the usual tension which was inevitable before a major operation.
"I can now tell you we have an ally on board Kometa." Beaurain turned to the outline drawings showing the composition of the various decks of the Soviet hydrofoil. "It is thanks to this ally that we have this diagram which should make all the difference to the success of our attack."
"Don't we help the poor bugger?" muttered Albert rebelliously. "If he's left aboard he'll..."
"I was just coming to that." Beaurain placed his wooden pointer on a particular cabin. That is where you will find him waiting, sitting in front of his apparatus. He is a Pole; he is the sonar controller; his name is Peter Sobieski; he speaks English and the password he will repeat to you to ensure identification is Waterloo, Waterloo."
"Pretty bloody appropriate," Albert commented, 'considering we're trying to wipe out the whole lousy outfit with one blow."
"Then don't forget that Wellington said afterwards it was a pretty damn close run thing - and I come from Belgium. Now, any questions?"
"Sobieski's sonar is the one thing which could give us away," Palme observed. "He will see us coming."
"So aren't you pleased we have an ally who will be the only person checking the sonar screens. Next question."
It was important to defuse the tension as much as possible - and yet not let any feeling of complacency or over-confidence arise. A difficult combination. Beaurain tackled the over-confidence problem now.
"But even though we have Sobieski watching those screens don't forget the opposition is - what would you call it, Henderson?"
"Formidable!" Jock Henderson stood up quickly on cue, swung round and addressed the assembled men. "Sobieski reckons the conference will be guarded by thirty heavily-armed state security types from a special unit in East Germany. For some reason not one of them speaks a word of English."
"That," Beaurain interjected, "I suspect is so they don't overhear or understand a word said at the conference which obviously will be conducted in English. Leo Gehn, the boss of I.T.E." for example, has no other language than American."
"I had the funny idea," interjected Ed Cottel who was sitting next to Louise at the back, 'that both languages were the same."
"We all dwell under our illusions," chirped the irrepressible Albert.
There was a burst of over-loud laughter. At least, Beaurain reflected, that had eased the atmosphere a bit. He nodded to Henderson to continue.
"These MfS people have been well-trained, may have been warned to expect an intrusion, and Sobieski - again has warned they are armed with percussion grenades for dropping over the side."
There was a general groan, which was only half-facetious, and Beaurain decided any complacency was rapidly disappearing. In the front row Palme shrugged his shoulders without making a sound. He was one of the most formidable fighters in the room.
"They are also armed with automatic weapons," Henderson went on. "We expect them to be patrolling the decks - and yet the object of the exercise is to seize control of the vessel without any undue noise until the last possible moment."
"Knives in the dark and this," Albert said laconically. He held up his hand, the edge stiff and hardened ready for a lethal chop.
"On the plus side," Henderson told them briskly, 'we have the complex and confusing deception operation worked out by Jules Beaurain. With a bit of luck the man controlling Kometa's de fences won't know what the hell is going on until it's too late."
A crew member slipped into the room, made his way to Beaurain and handed him a message. Beaurain looked at it, handed it to Henderson, who glanced at the few words and stood up again.
"Gentlemen! Kometa has started to move on her prescribed easterly course. Our own plan now starts to move - phase by phase as arranged."
Chapter Twenty-One
"Put Regula over the side,"
This had been Beaurain's first order and was the opening phase. The large launch, flying the Danish fl
ag, had been lowered into the sea and released. Her engines - far more powerful than anyone would expect inside such a vessel - started up and she disappeared into the distance, heading after Kometa at a speed and on a course which would soon bring her up on the port side of the Soviet hydrofoil. And it was no coincidence that Regula's size, shape and colour was very similar to that of a Danish coast guard vessel.
"Launch Smithy,"
Beaurain had given this command when Firestorm's radar scanner showed that the coast guard vessel Regula would shortly overhaul Kometa. The float plane hauled out of the same cavernous hold which had carried Regula, was winched over the side and gently lowered onto the calm black Baltic. From the bridge Beaurain watched with field glasses as Smithy took off on a course which would take him precisely between the stern of Kometa and the bow of Firestorm.
Beaurain had worked out the whole plan on the back of an old envelope. He now gave his third order.
"Launch Anderson."
Captain Buckminster gave his own order, briefly slowing down the speed of Firestorm while Anderson, the pilot of the giant Sikorsky, lifted off from the helipad aft of the bridge. Alongside him sat his copilot, a Frenchman from Rheims, Pierre Cartier. Thirty-one years old, small, lightly-built with a pencil moustache, Cartier nursed a sub-machine gun in his lap as the chopper climbed vertically and flew on an easterly course. Like Smithy in his float-plane, their course was aimed for the stern of Kometa.
"You think I get a chance to use my weapon?" Cartier asked.
"Don't be so bloodthirsty," Anderson replied, his eyes on the controls. "That's just for emergencies,"