"God Almighty!" Fondberg had started up his car which was the signal for the other two cars parked further back to prepare to move. "You mean he could be carrying the big consignment, the one for which my man in Bangkok died? Hold on to your seat-belt!"
The American behind the wheel of the hired Citroen wore a Swedish-style nautical cap. In his mirrors he had observed everything — Beaurain waiting inconspicuously on the sidewalk after a brief dash into the hotel; the arrival of the Saab which contained Louise Hamilton in the back and two unknown men in the front. He had noted the urgent conversation between Beaurain and Louise; the Belgian's careful stroll back to another Saab, with Harry Fondberg waiting behind the wheel. He waited until the convoy departed with the second Saab carrying Louise bringing up the rear — then he drove out from the row and followed. Ed Cottel of the CIA knew a crisis when he saw one.
From the moment they left police headquarters they preserved radio silence. Fondberg had taken the precaution of sending a message to the man who had spotted Norling that only if the target was not heading for the marina was he to send a brief message over the radio.
There had been no signal by the time the 'convoy' left the Grand Hotel, a convoy consisting of two unmarked police cars, followed by Stig Palme and Louise Hamilton who, in their turn, were closely followed by Ed Cottel's Citroen — equipped with a radio that had been skilfully attached after the hiring of the vehicle. It kept Cottel in touch with what Fondberg had called his 'eyes'. Remaining one vehicle behind Stig Palme's Saab he was using his radio link.
"Carmel calling. You read me? Good. Any sign of Ozark?"
"Monterey here, Carmel. No, repeat, no sign of Ozark. Am continuing surveillance pending further instructions."
"OK, you do that."
With an expression of resignation the hooked-nosed American replaced the microphone and concentrated on not losing the Saab. It had been going on for days and the only thing to do was to persist; sooner or later something had to break.
Ozark was the code-name for Viktor Rashkin, First Secretary at the Soviet Embassy in Stockholm. The odd thing was he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.
"Pass me the gun — lay it on the seat beside me," Stig Palme made the request to Louise as they continued in the wake of two unmarked police cars. Palme knew that they were close to Embassy Row, which meant they were close to the marina. Without asking why, Louise lifted the weapon wrapped in oilcloth and gently laid it on the empty seat in front.
"I may need Christine," he remarked. It was typical that Palme should confer a girl's name on his favourite weapon. When using her in action he was accustomed to use some pretty racy language."We're being followed. Don't look round. He's driving a cream-coloured Citroen."
"Any idea since when?"
"He was parked with his back to us outside the Grand Hotel. And he's been using the usual technique of keeping one vehicle between us all the way. The Syndicate obviously has a team watching the Grand Hotel."
"Just one man, you said?"
"With a highly-trained killer they only need one man. Better for getting away after he's done the job. Beaurain could be the target," he said, and relapsed into silence.
Fascinated she watched while Palme drove with one hand and used the other to unwrap the oil-cloth and expose Christine. The machine-pistol was already fully-loaded. "We're on top of the possible target area," Palme warned and then stopped the car.
Dr. Theodor Norling pulled in at the kerb by the landing stage. The marina was vast. There was a breeze coming off the water which freshened the air and countered the blaze of the high sun glaring down out of a cloudless sky. For a few seconds he paused after locking the car, standing quite still with the suitcase in his hand.
Arne, reliable as usual, was walking towards him. Norling was trying to sense anything unusual in the scene before committing himself to water. A whole fleet of craft of varying sizes and types bobbed at anchor, a galaxy of vibrating colour in the intensity of the sun. Already Norling could feel its heat on the back of his neck. There were expensive cruisers equipped with all the latest electronic devices, small power-boats, larger launches, a whole diversity of yachts, some with coloured sails.
"The power-boat is ready to take you out to the Ramso," Arne informed his employer.
"I'm in a hurry," Norling replied curtly.
Behind him, beyond a screen of shrubs and trees and across the unseen road rose the buildings of the American Embassy with a flight of steps leading up to them. From a flagpole the Stars and Stripes fluttered in the breeze. Before getting into the power-boat Arne held waiting for him, Norling turned and gave the flag a brief salute. An onlooker would have found it impossible to decide whether the gesture was ironic or serious.
"God, that's him and he's getting away!"
Three cars had arrived alongside the marina. It was Louise, jumping from the third car and running up to where Beaurain and Fondberg stood, who confirmed the worst. Before leaving Stig Palme, who had pulled up a cautious distance from the police vehicles, she had snatched a pair of field glasses from the glove compartment, nearly dislocating herself leaning over the seat. Focused on the receding powerboat, the lenses brought up the two figures on board only too clearly.
She had not recognised the man steering the craft towards the powerful cruiser riding at anchor. The second man, nursing a suitcase, was only too horribly familiar. The encounter outside the shop on Radmansgatan when he had stared at her through his gold-rimmed glasses. In the lenses the sun — for a brief second — flashed a hint of gold off those same glasses.
"It's him," she told Palme, and ran to Beaurain to repeat the warning.
"Are you quite sure?" asked Beaurain, glancing uncertainly towards Palme.
"Bloody hell, do you think I'm blind!" she screamed at him. "I was as close to him as I am to you!"
"Harry, can you have that cruiser intercepted if that's what he is headed for?"
Fondberg shook his head dubiously and there was a grim look on his face. "Point One, I have no authority or reason to intervene. I could always argue I didn't know it was Norling, but… Point Two, that vessel can really move — and the river police are never where you want them."
"Then this, Harry, is where you look the other way."
The power-boat carrying Dr. Norling had now arrived alongside the cruiser. Through her binoculars Louise watched the Swede move nimbly aboard, holding the suitcase in his left hand. Crewmen had appeared on the bridge of the vessel which was clearly about to depart.
"Forty million kronors' worth of heroin in that suitcase," the Belgian hammered home. "Soon it will be flooding the streets of Stockholm, creating more untold misery."
" For Christ's sake! " protested the exasperated Swede. "Don't you think I feel helpless enough?"
Louise studied the so-called dealer in rare books through her field glasses. Beaurain was standing next to her and behind Fondberg's back. She lowered the glasses and saw him make a brief gesture describing the outline of a suitcase. Suddenly she looked behind her and over to the right where Stig Palme had parked the Saab.
Palme was leaning against the car to steady himself. He was holding at shoulder level the machine-pistol. The muzzle was aimed out across the water towards the cruiser which was still motionless. Then the silence of the peaceful morning was splintered.
It lasted six seconds — the time it took for Stig to empty thirty-six 9-mm. bullets. And Palme was a crack shot. Louise had the lenses of her field glasses screwed into her eyes. Norling was still clutching the suitcase when the hail of bullets ripped into it, shredding the casing and the contents. The suitcase was literally blasted over the side of the cruiser and into the water, scattered in a multitude of fragments which littered the surface of the water and began drifting away. And so accurate was the Swede's fire that — so far as Louise could see — not one bullet had touched Norling.