"Who is the little fat man who needs armed guards?" Stig asked.
"That is Leo Gehn, president of the International Telecommunications and Electronics Corporation of America. One of the richest and most powerful industrialists inside the States — they say he contributed a million dollars to the President's electoral campaign. Maybe he contributes even larger sums to the Stockholm Syndicate."
"I don't follow, Jules."
"After leaving the marina we returned to police headquarters — to see if Fondberg's Sapo people had any further information. They had. A whole list of European and American power elite are arriving aboard a stream of aircraft — some aboard scheduled flights, some in their private jets — putting down at Arlanda. They seem to be staying at two hotels — the Saltsjobaden Hotel and here at the Grand. So far, apart from Leo Gehn, the presidents or chairmen of five of America's biggest corporations have flown in to say nothing of men like Eugene Pascal from Paris and a score of others. Fondberg suspects they are here for the secret meeting of the Stockholm Syndicate that they're all men who have either voluntarily contributed money in return for the vast profits they'll gain from international crime or they have been subjected to the most hideous intimidation. I need just one I can crack, Stig just one."
Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he stared through the windscreen at the person alighting from another chauffeur-driven limousine at the entrance to the Grand Hotel. Out of the rear door stepped one of the most elegant and striking women Palme had ever seen, her jet-black hair piled up on top of her head.
"I said I needed just one! That, Stig, is the Countess d'Arlezzo,"
"But surely her husband is the man who will run their affairs?"
"Her husband, Luigi, was bought by Erika for his aristocratic connections. She personally runs the banking empire she inherited from her father. Wait here."
The Countess lingered on the sidewalk at the foot of the flight of steps, dismissing all attempts to hurry her inside with a casual wave of her slim hand while she drank in the view of the Royal Palace and the Houses of Parliament. Beaurain grinned to himself as he saw the gesture; how like Erika. He was within a few feet of her when a heavily-built man in a dark suit stood in his way.
"Stay back an' 'old da position," he ordered.
"Out of my way or I'll break your arm," Beaurain said politely and smiled.
"Jules!" The woman, in her early forties, had swung round at the sound of his voice and stepped forward. Impetuously she embraced him while the guard stared in confusion.
"You must come up to my suite," she continued, linking her arm in his. "Luigi? I expect he's somewhere with a bottle — didn't you know? These days he's hardly ever sober."
When her cases had been brought up and they were alone she took him by the hand and was about to lead him into the bedroom. He shook his head, turned on the radio loud to counter any possible concealed microphones and faced her as he threw the question in her teeth.
"I take it that your banking consortium has contributed money to the coffers of the Stockholm Syndicate?"
"The equivalent of several million pounds," she replied without the slightest hesitation. "It is supposed to be a loan but I don't regard Hugo as a particularly good risk."
He studied her for a moment. She stood very erect and, while she spoke, inserted a cigarette in a long holder. He lit it for her. Of all the people caught up in the labyrinth of the Syndicate, she was possibly the only one with the nerve to tell him the truth without a second's hesitation. So why had she given in to them in the first place?
"I was one of the people who was told over the phone about the death of the Chief Commissioner to the Common Market — one week before he died in his so-called "accident". That was how it began."
"And how did it go on?" he pressed.
I was told what would happen to me if I refused to transfer funds to Stockholm. The murder of the Chief Commissioner convinced me they meant what they said. I am a coward, so I gave in."
"What did they threaten you with?" the Belgian demanded.
"That I would be found — I can remember the exact phrase — hung and twisting like a side of meat turning in the wind. I didn't fancy that too much, Jules."
"Why are you here?"
To attend the meeting, of course. The conference of the Syndicate, if you like. I gather Hugo or his representative will carve up the loot, allocate territories to different groups, and then the profits from these will be shared among investors in proportion to the funds supplied. That is what he calls us," she remarked, her expression bitter. "Investors as though we were engaged in a legitimate enterprise."
"And you are engaged in?"
"Prostitution, gambling, drug-trafficking, blackmail, extortion, you name it, we're in it — up to our lousy necks." The bitterness in her manner increased as she stubbed out her cigarette, inserted a fresh one in the holder and again waited while Beaurain lit it for her. They were still standing close together in the beautifully-furnished room and the tension of their discussion seemed to preclude any thought of sitting down.
"Thank you," she said after he had lit her cigarette and continued, her voice low and vehement, which was unlike Erika: in the past he had always admired her sense of detachment. "And one crime is cleverly dovetailed in to aid another."
"How do you mean?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, the high-class prostitutes — and they are among the classiest and most expensive in Europe — are used to compromise leading political figures, who then have to do the Syndicate's bidding or be publicly ruined. You remember there was a man in Milan."
"I know who you mean, Erika. You were rather fond of him."
"Not as much as of you, but yes, I was fond of him, Jules. A week before the scandal broke I was phoned and told that he was about to be ruined. I called him to warn him but there was nothing he could do — the photos had already been taken, the pictures which were then sent to the newspapers and TV. He shot himself — so it appeared."
"And what does that mean?" Beaurain was startled. It had always been his understanding that the Milanese politician concerned had committed suicide.
"He was murdered by the Syndicate and his death faked to look like suicide. In ruling circles in Rome it was clearly understood this was simply another "demonstration" organised by the Syndicate — like the fatal fall of the Chief Commissioner. Can you imagine the horror of it? Even we who have so much money and once controlled international businesses are now puppets of this foul thing, the Stockholm Syndicate,"
"Who do you deal with? Hugo?"
"No. I have no idea who Hugo is. On the rare occasions when I am contacted, it is by the member of the directorate who is in charge of the Mediterranean Sector — a Dr. Otto Berlin."
"And, finally, where is this so-called summit meeting to be held?"
"We have not been informed yet — but I have been told to be ready to fly to the south coast of Sweden as soon as the instruction comes." Again the bitter note. "Yes, that is what they give us instructions. At least I tried in Rome."
"You must not reproach yourself. Does Luigi…?"
"Know anything about it? Of course not! Can you imagine what sort of help I'd get from that broken reed? Within a day of being told anything he would probably be blabbing it to the world in a drunken stupor. Jules…" She came very close to him, so close he could savour to the full the very faint aroma of the scent she was using. "Jules, can you do anything?"
"Yes, and first I want you under my protection. You will put on a coat and walk straight out of this hotel with me. Leave everything else and come with me this instant. I have people outside and we'll hide you until this is all over,"