"No, it doesn't."
"What doesn't? Am I being dim?" Louise enquired.
"No," Beaurain replied, 'but I think Bodel means this. For at least twenty years we have a man leading an apparently respectable and sober existence. All right, he keeps himself to himself, a bit like Silas Marner. Then this same man moves to Copenhagen — when would you say, Bodel?"
"About two years ago."
"He moves to Copenhagen two years ago," Beaurain went on, 'and what happens — almost overnight? He becomes one of the three men we think control the Stockholm Syndicate,"
"I see what you mean," Louise said slowly. "No, it doesn't make any sense."
They had reached the concourse in front of the station where they had left the 280E parked, and Marker forced himself to speak with false exuberance. "Well, what are you going to do now, Jules? Is there any way in which I can help you?"
"Drive back to Copenhagen after we've had lunch and think things over a bit. Thanks for your help and I know where to find you. I suppose you'll be staying on here for a while,"
Beaurain nodded in the direction of where a fleet of rescue and police craft were beyond the harbour poking around among the rapidly dispersing wreckage. Marker said yes, he would be staying on in Elsinore, shook them both solemnly by the hand and walked away slowly back to where his car was waiting.
"What are we actually going to do?" Louise asked. "I know you didn't tell Marker the truth. And where are Henderson and his team of gunners?"
"Back on board Firestorm by now. I told him to leave once we had seen the ferry carrying the heroin depart. And Captain Buckminster has fresh instructions — to sail through the Oresund and wait at anchorage off Copenhagen. As for us, you are right, of course. I wasn't at all frank with Marker and not because I don't trust him. But suppose the Syndicate did locate where he has hidden his family. How long do you think he would resist their pressure for information?"
"How long could you expect him to?" Louise shuddered and compelled herself to look out to sea where the flock of boats was milling round aimlessly. One large launch was trawling over the side what looked to Louise like a shallow net. "What is that thing, Jules? The boat with a loud-hailer keeping other craft away?"
"That will be Forensic. They will be gathering specimens of the debris for later analysis in the laboratory. That way they hope to discover what explosive was used."
"Let's get back to Copenhagen and then?"
"Stockholm,"
Beaurain paused as he took one last look at the confused armada beyond the harbour as if he wanted to imprint the scene on his memory. There was a set look to his expression; in some odd way he seemed to have grown younger rather than older, a youthfulness tinged with a merciless ferocity.
Beaurain made one more phone call before he left the Royal Hotel while Louise obtained flight reservations from the SAS airline counter in the hall adjoining the ground floor of the hotel. The call was to Chief Inspector Willy Flamen of Homicide in Brussels.
As he expected, Flamen was ready with the information he needed; in a very short time he had thoroughly investigated the early history and background of Dr. Otto Berlin, dealer in rare books.
Berlin came from Liege, one of Belgium's largest cities, where he had built up a small but apparently lucrative business as a dealer in rare stamps. Part of his success lay in the fact that, unlike some of his European competitors, he was willing to travel any distance to conclude a worthwhile deal.
"You did say stamp dealer, Willy," Beaurain queried. "He's in rare books now surely?"
"Quite correct. He switched from stamps to books immediately on his arrival in Bruges about two years ago."
Goldschmidt's photograph of Otto Berlin had been shown to the few people who had known Berlin in Liege. Flamen explained that Berlin was a bachelor, apparently totally absorbed in developing his business and with no close friends. Shown the photograph, the few people who had known him by sight had roughly divided into two sections those who firmly said the picture was of Otto Berlin and those who said they didn't recognise it.
Flamen went on to explain that Otto Berlin had lived for about fifteen years in Liege before moving to Bruges. That was all Flamen had been able to come up with so far. There was an apologetic note in his voice but also, behind that, Beaurain thought he detected some other unspoken doubt. He tackled Flamen directly on the point.
The only other fact was something Flamen had obtained by phoning an acquaintance of Otto Berlin. Apparently Berlin had been excited just before he moved to Bruges, and he had conveyed this excitement over the phone without explaining the reason for it. And no, the man he had phoned had never seen Berlin again from that day to this.
Beaurain thanked Flamen, who then expressed the horror which was being felt all over the western world at "The Elsinore Massacre'. The fact that there had been not a single survivor increased the dramatic impact, which TV stations and the radio everywhere were exploiting to the full. Louise returned, holding the folder with their air tickets, just as he replaced the receiver. He told her in a few words what Flamen had found.
"Nothing, then," Louise decided after listening to Beaurain's account of the call.
"You don't notice a pattern?" the Belgian queried.
"It's almost a replica of Benny Horn's early days in Elsinore. No close friends. No family. Not at home very often because they spent so much time travelling on business. Jules, it's almost as though these people never actually existed!"
"Exactly!" Beaurain paused. "But they did do exist. We have the evidence of two of the shrewdest police investigators in Europe Marker here, Willy Flamen back in Brussels. In Liege one of these men, Otto Berlin, lived for fifteen years. In Elsinore there are people who confirm without a doubt that Dr. Horn lived there for twenty years. Then they both suddenly change their addresses and pop up in Copenhagen and Bruges."
"And almost at the same time," Louise pointed out. "Both men apparently appeared in their new lives only two years ago. Is it significant that there's a break in the pattern? Willy Flamen said Berlin was a stamp dealer in Liege and then switched to rare books as soon as he appeared in Bruges."
"Possibly."
"Who do you think is behind this monster?" Louise asked as she perched on the bed to fix her nylons. "You have the feeling there is no-one you can confide in any more in case he or she may be a member of the Syndicate, willingly or because they're under pressure."
"Which I suspect is also part of their technique. The terror spreads ever wider, sucking more and more key figures in the West into its web. As to who is behind the monster, the answer appears to be Hugo, whoever he may be." He looked up and handed back the airline folder. "I'm convinced there's only one way to find out to do what we're going to do. Fly to Stockholm and track down the location of the coming conference of the entire Syndicate. And we have Harry Fondberg of Sapo on our side, who may make all the difference."
"Can we trust him?" she asked.
He was careful to keep control of his expression: not to let her see that she had just asked what he considered could be a leading question with a sinister answer.
Chapter Fourteen
The express had been stationary for over an hour. Kellerman had no doubt that the wagon was standing in a siding at Stockholm Centraclass="underline" there had been shunting after the express had stopped and he'd heard the distant sound of passengers' feet clumping along a stone platform. So far no-one had come for the heroin.
Kellerman was cramped in every muscle, parched with thirst. Taking the cap off his water-bottle he swallowed a modest portion of the water still remaining, recapped the bottle and then froze. There was a strange hissing sound which he couldn't immediately identify. Then he smelt a faint aroma and saw a whitish cloud drifting from the crack between the doors. The bastards were filling the wagon with some kind of gas.