"Harry, have you any information on Norling?"
"Yes. He poses as a dealer in rare editions."
"Poses?"
"May well, indeed, be a genuine book dealer to cover his real activities. It would explain his long absences away from Stockholm, since an international dealer travels a lot. He has an apartment in Gamla Stan — the Old City. Very close to the Church of St. Gertrud." The Swede took a street plan of Stockholm from another drawer. "Here, I'll show you." He drew a cross on the plan. "I have also heard that the real power behind this organisation is a shadowy figure called Hugo."
"Hugo?"
"Yes, identity completely unknown. The word is he terrifies even the members of the Syndicate."
The phone rang. Fondberg, normally slow-moving and deliberate, grabbed for the instrument. He listened, spoke several times in Swedish, then slammed it down as he stood up behind his desk.
"Norling has been seen in Stockholm. He's in a Renault heading for what we call Embassy Row — where all the foreign embassies are. Not far away is a large marina with a whole fleet of boats. A car is waiting for us."
In the living-room of Sonia Karnell's first-floor apartment in Radmansgatan the blond man was checking the mechanism of a Walther. 765 automatic. The girl watched him: ironically, the weapon was a police issue pistol. For the third time he rammed home the magazine into the gun and then slipped it inside his shoulder holster.
"As I told you, my dear, Beaurain and Hamilton are in Stockholm — just as the first of our distinguished visitors from the States are beginning to fly in for the conference."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Ensure that within a few hours no matter where they go they will be paid a visit."
"So much blood."
"Your favourite play is Macbeth?" Norling asked genially. He lifted a hand as he saw her preparing to leave with him. "This time I go alone. We must not be seen together any more than can be helped while we are in Stockholm. San Francisco will be a different matter, but I am a little nervous while I have this in my possession." He hoisted the suitcase which had been waiting for him at the apartment. "After all, my dear, forty million kronors' worth is not to be treated lightly."
"And you are going where?"
"First to collect the Renault. It is in the garage with the Volvo? Good. The time has come — and this I will handle personally — to send out a Nadir signal on Louise Hamilton and Jules Beaurain. They are to be executed on sight."
Sonia Karnell folded her arms quickly and forced herself to relax, to show no sign of the mounting tension she felt. Tension to Norling meant a person's nerve could be cracking — as he had suggested might be the case with the pilot, Harry Norsten. And to safeguard the Syndicate's security he would not hesitate to send out a Nadir. The person named could then never survive — often his worst move would be to seek police protection.
"The Renault has a full petrol tank," she assured him as his left hand rested on the door latch. "You still haven't told me where you're going."
To the marina, of course. The one near Embassy Row."
Chapter Fifteen
At the moment when the sighting of Dr. Theodor Norling behind the wheel of a Renault was reported to Harry Fondberg, activity in Stockholm was building up a steadily increasing momentum in many districts.
Unmarked cars carrying Beaurain, Fondberg and other officers left police headquarters and sped through the city, weaving in and out of the traffic and causing drivers to jam on brakes and curse. The cars were heading for the Royal Motorboat Club, the marina in the Djurgardsbron district. In the front car, which he was personally driving, Fondberg explained to Beaurain: "We have a written description of Norling and one photo taken with a telephoto lens. Both have wide distribution among officers I hope I can trust."
"You can't trust everyone inside the police?" asked Beaurain quietly.
"What do you think?" replied Fondberg. "My department, of course, comes under the ultimate control of the
Minister of Justice. I had to go over the head of my superior to get some freedom of action. Can you guess what the Minister asked me to do if he agreed to let me quietly probe into the Stockholm Syndicate?"
"I'd rather not."
"Mount a twenty-four hour guard on his home with Sapo men. And these days he travels everywhere in a bullet-proof limousine with Sapo outriders on motorbikes. That was the price for keeping me in business."
"It is happening in other countries."
Fondberg's normally controlled voice rose to a pitch of fury. "I don't care. It's time it was stopped!"
"That's why I'm here. Be ready to look the other way. Aren't we close to the Grand Hotel? Good. Can we stop there for a couple of minutes? There may be someone I want to pick up if they've returned to the hotel,"
Behind the wheel of his Renault, Dr. Theodor Norling was making slower progress than he had hoped, but he was driving more carefully than Fondberg's cavalcade surging through the city. He had no desire to be stopped by a Polis car for a traffic offence — bearing in mind the contents of the suitcase by his side.
Even so, he was close to Diplomatstaden, the foreign embassy area which was very close to his ultimate destination — the boat marina where a whole cluster of vessels would be bobbing at anchorage. He checked his watch. He should be there in about ten minutes with a little luck.
*
Sitting in the rear of the Saab which Stig Palme was driving back to the Grand Hotel, Louise eyed the cloth-covered weapon at her feet. It was Stig Palme's favourite gun and in standard use in the Swedish Army. A model 45 9-mm. machine-pistol, it was equipped with a movable shoulder-grip, could be used for single shots with a gentle pressure on the trigger — or fire a lethal continuous burst of thirty-six bullets in six seconds.
Telescope had gradually built up secret caches of arms and ammunition all over Europe. It was too dangerous to move across borders with weapons — although the steam yacht, Firestorm, purchased from a Greek millionaire, had been cunningly re-designed to provide so many hiding-places it was a floating armoury. In Sweden, Stig Palme's weapons cache was in the cellar of a house out in the country just off the E3 highway leading to Strangnas.
"Here we are," Palme called out cheerfully.
"The Grand Hotel."
"Stop here!"
The Swede reacted instantly and smoothly, pulling in at the kerb before he reached the main entrance. To the right there was the usual row of Mercedes and Citroens parked, their well-waxed surfaces gleaming. To the left the window boxes of geraniums gave a splash of brilliant red, and a gardener was trimming them ruthlessly.
"Beaurain is waiting for us," said Louise.
She had just spoken when the Belgian opened the rear door, pushed his head inside and spoke quickly.
"The hotel said you were out — I had a feeling you might be back any minute. We're on an emergency — Theodor Norling has been spotted by himself in a Renault."
"He came in to Bromma Airport in a Cessna with Black Helmet! She seems to turn up everywhere. Her name could be Sonia Karnell. Address of apartment is Radmansgatan 490. Norling was carrying a suitcase, hugging it."
"Christ! Has he fooled us? Was it about the same size as…"
"The one which was hidden aboard the express for Stockholm? Yes, it was."
"You see that Saab over there, with the man behind the wheel carefully not taking any notice of us? That's Harry Fondberg. Don't lose him, Stig. We think Norling's destination could be the boat marina near Embassy Row."
"I know it."
Beaurain forced himself to stroll casually the short distance back to Fondberg's car although his legs were screaming at him to run. He got inside, closed the door and lit a cigarette. "Norling has a suitcase which sounds exactly like the one snatched from the wagon you surrounded at Stockholm Central station. He flew into Bromma from somewhere."