"You said "this is it". I see nothing out of the ordinary," said Marker.
"You're not supposed to."
"The man with the flag guiding the engine," said Louise. "He's been waiting there for fifteen minutes. He kept looking towards that man on the motor-bike who picked up the girl."
Thunk! The slow-moving engine hit the rear of the two wagons and the railway man dropped his flag to indicate contact. A shade late, Beaurain noted. The railway man rolled up his flag. Behind them they could hear a massive gushing as the incoming train ferry displaced quantities of harbour water, the vessel's propellers already in reverse to slow her down and ensure a gentle contact with Danish soil. Customs officials and Immigration men holding brief-cases were moving restlessly in the vicinity of the landing point. All perfectly normal.
"Have you any men with you?" Beaurain asked suddenly.
"No," Marker admitted reluctantly. "I'm not supposed to be here, remember?" He glanced at Louise but she was staring in the direction of the shunting yards and apparently not listening. "I couldn't bring a team that would have alerted my chief. So, if the Syndicate is here in strength "
"We'll deal with them and you'll vanish," Beaurain told him crisply. "Officially you were never here."
"I bloody well was — and am! You may need some official backing if it comes to a shoot-out. Where is the dope?"
"The first wagon full of packing materials," said Louise quietly. "Great sheets of it perched on end. That rail guard who flagged down the engine before it arrived he was patrolling up and down beside the first wagon. During the night those two wagons were further down the track behind the house I followed Horn to. Work it out for yourself."
"Packing materials?" Marker repeated.
"Ideal for cutting out a secret compartment to take the suitcase with the heroin. And I saw Horn carry just such a suitcase out of his house on Nyhavn only last night if that was Horn behind the wheel of the Volvo."
"That was Horn," Marker agreed. "This suitcase…"
"It was driven to Elsinore by that black-haired girl who tried to chop me."
They were running short of time. Already the train ferry from Sweden had stopped its engines, its ramp was being lowered to connect with the rail lines on the quay.
"She tried to chop me," Louise continued tersely, 'because I was in the exact position to observe the heroin for her to risk what she did I had to be in a most sensitive area." She lost patience as Marker looked unconvinced. "Dammit, do I have to draw you a picture? What the hell was Horn showing himself in this area for? Because it's his responsibility to see the consignment gets through. The money and effort they have invested in this load must be enormous. If we can take it away from them we'll have dealt them a savage blow."
"And possibly just before the first full meeting of the entire Syndicate is held," Beaurain murmured. Aloud he said, "So what do we do as the first step, Louise?"
"Scare the guts out of that railway man with the flag," Louise replied instantly. "I'm convinced he knows where the heroin is hidden, that he's been guarding it until it's safely on its way to Sweden. And we may have only minutes to do it. Any suggestions, Max?" She looked at the German, who nodded and began to move.
Beaurain walked a few paces away and beckoned Louise over. They stopped and stared out at the regatta-like scene in the glittering Oresund.
"We are here in Elsinore for another reason- to meet our chief man in Stockholm, Peter Lindahl. For over a year his whole task has been to locate the head man behind the Stockholm Syndicate. Last night he phoned me at the Royal Hotel from somewhere between Stockholm and Halsingborg. He has discovered the identity of Hugo."
"Why didn't he tell you on the phone?"
"You must be tired," Beaurain chided. "You think that Lindahl is going to trust a hotel switchboard? Our conversation was well wrapped up, but that's what he meant. He's driving now to Halsingborg and he'll soon be coming over. He told me he has a car space reserved on Delfin II for its midday crossing."
"So within an hour we'll know the monster who is responsible for so much terror and cold-blooded killing,"
Chapter Twelve
"Bodel," Beaurain began genially, putting an arm round the Dane's shoulder, 'you said that only Telescope had any chance of defeating the Stockholm Syndicate. I don't want you out of the way in some bar, just maybe standing over here by the kerb so you can help out if the local police arrive."
I'll stay." Marker's chubby face was grim and hard as he remembered his superior invading his office back at Politigarden in Copenhagen, recalled how he had been told to drop this case, remembered what the Syndicate had threatened to do to his wife and son. "And I'm armed," he said.
"So are a lot of people round here," Beaurain assured him.
Startled, Marker looked round the whole area. Before wandering round the back of the station to where the wagons were waiting, Kellerman had made a brief hand signal to Henderson. Give me back-up. The Scot had again raised the camera-like walkie-talkie and had given the order.
"Cover Max, surround entire action area immediately."
Fascinated, Marker watched as some of the 'hikers' with packs on their backs drifted back inside the station. He guessed that there would be exits from inside the station into the shunting zone where Foxbel had disappeared. Other 'tourists' closed in round the front of the station between the ferry terminal and the shunting zone. Henderson himself picked up his sports bag and unzipped it. Now he could have his machine-gun in action in seconds. Henderson's main fear was that Syndicate men now concealed might appear in strength at any moment. Everything depended on Kellerman.
The Danish railway man who had guided the engine with his flag was pacing up and down alongside the first wagon when Kellerman appeared. The German realised immediately that the main problem was the engine-driver waiting in his cab to shunt the two wagons aboard the ferry. He was relieved to see two of Henderson's back-up men dressed like hikers appear from the main station beyond the engine. With a swift gesture to them he indicated the engine-driver and continued walking towards the man with the flag, who shouted something in Danish.
"Don't understand the language!" Kellerman called back in English. He was still walking towards him, smiling broadly. It was amazing how a smile threw people off balance, even if only for a few vital seconds. The rail guard spoke again, this time in English.
"You are on private property and must leave at once. Go back! Go back the way you came or I will call the security police!"
"Good idea. You call them. Now! Before these wagons move!"
The back-up team had moved with their accustomed speed. Already one had engaged the engine-driver in conversation while the second man disappeared behind the locomotive, then silently reappeared climbing up into the engine cab behind the driver whose attention was distracted. A hand holding a choloroform-soaked cloth was clasped over the driver's mouth; in less than thirty seconds he was unconscious on the floor of his cab.
"You will get out of this area now!" The thin-faced rail guard slipped his hand inside his jacket and Kellerman leapt forward two paces. His right hand closed over the Dane's wrist, dragging the hand out, a hand which held a pistol. "Danish State Railways issue?" the German enquired. As he spoke he twisted the wrist, broke it and the pistol fell to the ground. The guard's mouth opened to scream and the scream was stifled by Kellerman's other hand. The German was bending the Dane backwards and suddenly he kicked the man's feet from under him. The guard fell backwards and only Kellerman's grip saved him splitting his skull open on the rail. The German lowered him gently until his neck was resting on the rail. He tried to lift his head and something sharp pricked his throat, the tip of Kellerman's knife.