The Stockholm Syndicate (5 page)

"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.

Louise ran, threw open one of the outer doors and fled into the warmth and freedom of the open air. There was no-one about in the early evening, and the Mercedes was still parked by the kerb. She had the key in her hand as she reached it but froze as she heard André shout. 'I'm shooting - she resisted arrest."

She thrust the key into the lock, swung the door open and ducked down behind the wheel, slammin g the door behind her. Only then did she look back at the police headquarters and while she did so she was slipping the key into the ignition lock and firing the motor.

The short, bulky André, hobbling with pain, was outside the entrance door endeavouring to aim a pistol with a bulging muzzle. The tall man was struggling with him, forcing the gun up into the air.

"No shooting, André. Pietr will stop her."

Pietr? He had to be the man who had given her the parking ticket outside the Banque du Nord because now he was parked in his Renault a short distance behind her. The Fiat was parked immediately in front of the Mercedes, blocking her in. Except that behind her Pietr had left a gap to make things look less obvious? and was now starting up his own engine to drive forward and sandwich her.

She backed the car. Behind her Pietr saw the Mercedes ram towards him and panicked. He backed out of her way at speed and hit a stationary truck. André and his companion were half-way across the sidewalk. She drove out into the street and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. She had to get away before they could start their pursuit. As she came up to the first intersection the lights were in her favour. She turned left into heavy traffic as the lights changed. Neither car could find or catch up with her now. But would Jules' apartment be safe?

*

"I'm afraid you can't go in, sir."

Beaurain took a tighter grip on the case the Baron de Graer had given him. His smile concealed his dismay at the uniformed policeman's reply. He had not really believed what de Graer had said.
You may well be refused admission to the conference
. He considered shouldering the gendarme aside, but the latter unbuttoned the flap of his holster, exposing the butt of his pistol. Beaurain had known the man for fifteen years, a reliable plodder with neither initiative nor imagination.

"You value your retirement pension, Georges?" he asked casually, and watched the man, whose eyes could no longer meet his, shuffle his feet uncomfortably as though his shoes were too small.

"I have my orders."

"Whose orders were they?"

"Commissioner Voisin himself posted me at these doors." Beaurain snatched the pistol from his holster with his left hand and pushed the guard aside with his right, bursting into the large room beyond and slamming the door closed behind him.

The conference room was furnished with a long, wooden table seating about a dozen people. Commissioner Camille Voisin, large in body with a wide thin mouth and small eyes which moved restlessly like his plump hands, was in the chair. Beaurain glanced round at the others, all of whom he had known for years, high-ranking security officials from Western Europe, and Ed Cottel of the CIA.

"My apologies for arriving late," Beaurain began smoothly, noting there was no place for him, 'but I got held up."

"You are not included in this meeting, Beaurain."

It was Voisin who had spoken, rising from his chair to show his displeasure and more of his gross figure. He stared at Beaurain and made one of the obvious comments he was notorious for.

"You have a pistol in your hand."

"Brilliant! It belongs to the idiot outside who tried to refuse me admission."

"Exactly as ordered."

"My invitation came direct from the Minister, Voisin. Do you wish to contact him?"

Voisin's pudgy hands fluttered aimlessly, conveying to his colleagues how impossible life was. There was a phone on the table but he made no attempt to call the Minister.

"Jules, come and sit next to me!" His old friend Ed Cottel had collected a seat from by the wall and placed it next to his own. Beaurain opened the door and shoved the pistol back into the holster of the guard standing disconsolately outside. "Do be careful not to lose this again," Beaurain said severely. As he sat down next to the American he exchanged salutations with the others.

René Latour of French counter-espionage, an odd note in a gathering of policemen. Harry Fondberg from Stockholm, chief of Säpo, the Swedish secret police. Peter Hausen, the shrewd chief of Kriminalpolizei from Wieshaden, sat in another chair. Voisin stared at him, and he decided to go on the offensive.

"I appreciate being asked to attend this meeting, but perhaps I could be briefly informed of its subject?"

"Voisin couldn't be brief if the doubling of his salary depended on it," Cottel commented loudly.

"There are two subjects on the agenda," Voisin snapped. "The first is the location and destruction of Telescope, the private army of terrorists operating inside Western Europe and the United States. We have been instructed by my Minister to identify the top man in this subversive organisation, to locate their base and their sources of finance."

"
You
may have been instructed to do this by your Minister," Cottel interrupted, But his instructions hardly apply to Washington or, I should have thought, to any representative of any other country present. Furthermore..." Cottel rolled on as Voisin opened and closed his mouth, 'furthermore I have to challenge your description of Telescope."

"I was not, of course, suggesting that anyone else is bound by my Minister's instructions ..." Voisin began hastily.

"I have to challenge your description," Cottel continued, 'because during the past two years the Telescope people, as they call themselves perhaps because they see further than some of us have been responsible for knocking out at least forty-five top terrorists, during airport hijacks, embassy sieges and kidnap rescues. There are colleagues of mine who unofficially approve of Telescope for what it has achieved."

"You suggest nothing be done about these pirates?" Voisin was angry at the murmurings of approval which had greeted Cottel's opinion. The American ignored the question.

"Commissioner, shouldn't you tell Jules Beaurain the second item on our agenda?"

"It is a coordinated discussion on whether another :; criminal organisation known as the Syndicate exists."