by Colin Forbes
Rush hour had begun, streets were crowded with traffic, sidewalks crowded with pedestrians, and the two men merged with the background. They were patient men and they had stood in different positions for over an hour - but each position always gave them a clear view of the main exit from the Royal Hotel.
An observer could have concluded that they were used to working together: they rarely exchanged a word. One man was dressed like an American. His companion carried a brief-case.
On the same morning Dr. Henri Goldschmidt of Bruges arrived in Copenhagen aboard a flight from Brussels. A car was waiting for him and the chauffeur transported him to the Hotel d'Angleterre.
He always stayed at the Angleterre when he visited the Danish capital and the manager was waiting to greet his distinguished guest and accompany him to his suite. After seeing that he was satisfied, the manager informed the reception desk that the normal instructions applied: in case of enquiry from the outside world Dr. Goldschmidt was not staying at the hotel.
Up in his suite, the coin dealer was well aware that Jules Beaurain and Louise Hamilton were in the same city. Immediately the couple had left his house in Bruges he had summoned Fritz Dewulf, the Fleming who had operated the camera in the house facing No. 285 Hoogste van Brugge.
"Fritz," he had said, "I want you to proceed immediately to Brussels Airport and take up residence, so to speak."
"Who am I waiting for?"
"Jules Beaurain and, possibly Louise Hamilton. You can obtain their photos from our files."
Among the most important tools of his trade, The Fixer counted his very considerable collection of photographs, many of people who believed no photographs of them existed. Armed with the prints, Dewulf departed for Brussels Airport.
He had to wait for many hours, snatching bites at the buffet, and by evening his eyes were prickling from the strain of checking people's faces. Then he saw both of them Beaurain and Louise boarding a flight for Copenhagen.
"Copenhagen?" Goldschmidt repeated when Dewulf phoned him. "It really is a beautiful city. I think it is time I visited it again."
Jules Beaurain ordered a large breakfast for two and then called Max Kellerman to his bedroom. The sun shone in through the wide picture windows high above the city as they wolfed down the food and consumed cup after cup of steaming coffee. The Tivoli Gardens seemed to be almost below them, although several streets away.
"I've talked to Monique," Beaurain had informed Kellerman when he arrived, 'and she confirmed that Henderson radioed her from Firestorm. Louise was picked up and taken aboard. They are landing her again later this morning after I have contacted them again. First, we see Superintendent Bodel Marker at police HQ."
"I don't see the connection," Kellerman said through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.
"I can't decide whether Louise should wait for us in Elsinore or drive all the way to Copenhagen and link up with us here. Elsinore could be a diversion, something to distract us from the real action elsewhere."
"I don't see it," said Kellerman. "Louise said when she called us last night that she had followed the girl we saw at the reception counter downstairs. She also mentioned a passenger who could well be Dr. Benny Horn, the Dane your friend Goldschmidt named as one of the three men controlling the Syndicate. They're enough to go after, surely."
Beaurain wiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it on the trolley and went over to stare out across the city. "The van, Max. The van which prominently carries the legend Helsingør - and nothing else on the outside. It's too obvious - like a finger pointing us. In the wrong direction."
"Louise did follow it to Elsinore, though."
"Yes, I suppose so. Now, time for us to keep our appointment with my old friend Bodel Marker at police headquarters."
"I thought he was in Intelligence," said Kellerman as he swallowed the rest of his coffee.
"Deliberate camouflage. There he has plenty of protection. No-one is going to notice him coming and going. And he has his own set-up, including his own system of communications."
The phone rang just before they left. It was the American CIA man, who had arrived in Stockholm. His conversation with Beaurain was short.
"Jules, I still can't track down Norling. I'm convinced he's not in Stockholm, but he's expected. I don't think Viktor Rashkin is here either. I gather from certain sources I've screwed the hell out of, that both are expected soon."
"Something wrong, Ed?"
"A funny atmosphere in this city. Noticed it as soon as I began looking up old contacts. Don't think I've gone over the top, but the atmosphere smells of naked and total fear as soon as the Stockholm Syndicate is mentioned. And I've had a weird warning from a Swede I've known for years and whose life I once saved. Oh, I don't know."
"Go on, Ed," Beaurain said quietly, gripping the receiver tightly.
"I was told a signal had been sent naming me. The word Zenith was mentioned. Does it mean anything?"
"It means you're on the Syndicate's list. It means you'll be spied upon and your every move reported. It means you're in grave danger. Ed, you need to be armed. There's a place in Stockholm where you can buy..."
Teach your grandmother to suck eggs," Cottel said quickly. "What the hell is this Zenith thing? People make it sound like I have the plague."
"That's how you'll be treated unless you use every ounce of clout when you want something from the authorities. I'm about to find out whether there's a Zenith signal out for me in Copenhagen. So, from now on, trust no-one. And the higher you go the more dangerous it could get."
"Great. Just great. Anything else before you tell me to have a nice day?" enquired Cottel.
"Yes. Any idea where the Zenith signal originated?"
"Washington, DC' There was a glazed look in Beaurain's eyes as he replaced the receiver. A thought occurred to him. Kellerman was gazing out of the window down the street where crowds of cyclists had joined the cars, and the pedestrians were hurrying along the sidewalks. In Denmark people seemed anxious to get to work. Beaurain picked up the receiver again and was put through to Monique in Brussels almost immediately.
"Monique. Check something for me, please. Contact Goldschmidt in Bruges and ask him whether he knows if Dr. Otto Berlin has been seen there - or in Brussels, for that matter - since Louise and I were last there. Call you back later."
He put on his jacket and turned to Kellerman. "We'll leave the second car I hired in the parking lot and walk out the
main entrance. It's only a few minutes on foot and I could do with the exercise."
The front entrance to the Royal Hotel debouches onto a side street. Leaving by this entrance, Beaurain and Kellerman turned right and began walking towards the main street leading to the nearby Radhuspladsen, the main square in the centre of Copenhagen. On the opposite side of the street from the Royal Hotel which rises into the sky on a corner site, is the main railway station. The station building stands back a short distance from the street and in front is a large well about thirty feet deep through which the rail tracks pass.
It was this curio us local layout Kellerman had been studying as he looked out of the bedroom window while the Belgian had been phoning. Reaching the street, they paused at a pedestrian crossing.
"We cross over here," Beaurain explained. "Go down that street over there and the police headquarters complex is
ten minutes walk, if that. What's wrong, Max?"
The lights were still against them. Other pedestrians were waiting for the lights to change. Kellerman had his hand in his jacket pocket and now his face was tense. Beaurain followed his gaze and saw only the crowd waiting on the other side of the crossing.
Two men," Kellerman said. "One with a brief-case which contains the weapon. Wasn't that how a little boy described the men who murdered the bar gee Frans Darras, and his wife Rosa?"
Gunther Baum had come to the conclusion that both the Belgian, Beaurain, and the German, Kellerman, were professionals. Their maximum alertness would be when they were in deserted alley
s, lonely country lanes conversely their minimum alertness would be in a crowded street at rush hour first thing in the morning after a good breakfast with the sun shining down and the promise of another glorious day opening out before them …
aum was an exceptional psychologist - but he had not grasped that in confronting Telescope he was dealing with exceptional men. He would have been appalled to know that his fellow-countryman had already observed a false note in the manner of the two men constantly studying the large street plan of Copenhagen. The oddity in their stance he had seen from the tenth floor bedroom of the Royal Hotel. At the time, waiting for Beaurain to complete his phone call, Kellerman merely noted the position of the couple.
One with a brief-case which contains the weapon ...
The lights had changed, the pedestrians were swarming over the crossing. Beaurain and Kellerman were caught up in the swirl. Beaurain grasped who Kellerman meant at once and scanned the oncoming crowd. Zenith! Desperately Beaurain went on scanning faces, with Kellerman a step or two ahead as though he had some urgent purpose. Beaurain did not distract the German in any way. He had learned to give his trained gunners their heads in an emergency situation. He had almost reached the sidewalk, the crowd had thinned out, when he saw ...
One man of medium height and build dressed in a suit of American cut, wearing a straw hat - apt in this weather - and dark, shell-shaped glasses. He already had his hand inside the brief-case his compan ion held towards him. They had emerged from behind the map, which was mounted on two high wooden posts with an open gap below. It was through this gap that Kellerman had first noticed the two pairs of legs, had remembered the odd couple he had seen from the tenth floor. The German had watched and seen them come into view seconds before he began to move over the crossing. He'd just had time to make his remark to Beaurain.
As always, Baum had timed his move perfectly; he had been known to plan executions with a stop-watch. Appear from behind the street plan just as the lights changed. Be ready for the targets as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Two shots with the silenced Luger in the confusion of the morning traffic and minutes could pass before people realised what had happened.
Beaurain was not armed. He knew Kellerman was not carrying a gun. He saw Baum, who wore thin brown gloves, withdraw his right hand from the brief-case gripping the butt of a silenced Luger. Baum and his companion were about thirty feet away from their twin targets.
Kellerman was still several paces ahead, striding forward now the crowd had cleared out of his way. His long legs covered the ground at astonishing speed, although he did not appear to be hurrying. And he was striding straight towards Baum, who was taking aim with his left arm extended at right angles to act as a perch for the weapon. Max was going to be shot down in cold blood and there was nothing Beaurain could do to save him.
Suddenly Kellerman's right hand whipped out of his pocket holding the knife he had been nursing. In a blur of movement Beaurain saw Kellerman hoist his arm backwards then the knife was sailing through the air with the thrust of all the German's considerable strength behind it. The missile struck Baum's right shoulder, jerked his elbow and arm upwards and caused him involuntarily to press the trigger. Phut!
A bull's-eye! The silenced bullet hit a street light suspended high over the crossing. Sprays of shattered glass fell on pedestrians and there were shouts of surprise and annoyance. Baum still held on to the Luger and snapped off one more shot. His bullet missed Kellerman by a mile and shattered the windscreen of a passing Volvo. The car swerved across the line of oncoming traffic and ended up inside the window of a jewellery shop. Then the screaming began in earnest.
Pulling the knife from his shoulder, Baum dropped the Luger inside the brief-case which his companion still held open and they turned and ran. Kellerman sprinted forward to stop them, crashed into a French tourist who appeared from nowhere and both men fell sprawling. Kellerman dispensed with apologies and was on his feet again as Beaurain reached him.
"Where have they gone?"
Towards the railway station," Beaurain replied and they both ran - in time to see Baum and his companion, who still carried the brief-case, vanish inside the main entrance to the old station building. Behind them they left traffic blocked in both directions, several cars which had crashed together when the Volvo swerved across their lane, and a growing crowd of tourists and locals forming a mob of sightseers, none of whom had the slightest idea of what had happened.
"We can't miss that American bastard in that garb. Bloody great checks,"
"So noticeable you never think he could be anything but normal. Now, watch it - you haven't got your knife now."
They walked casually into a large reception area with places to eat, book stalls banks of phone booths, rows of ticket counters. After a swift glance round, Beaurain headed straight for some steps which led down onto the platforms. The flight of steps was crowded with people.
"There they are, Max!"
"Let's get to hell after the bastards!"
"Too late."
The couple had just boarded a red train which started to move into the well-like area they had looked down on from the Royal Hotel. Kellerman was in a rage of frustration increased by the Belgian's outward coolness and resignation.
"Your friend, Bodel Marker, we're going to see. Call him, for God's sake, and get police to check that train."
"Let's see if that's practical, Max."
"How can we see?"
"By checking the timetable here."
Beaurain led the German to a series of wall timetables. He ran his eyes down one timetable after checking his watch and shook his head, pointing with his finger.
"They'll be getting off any second now. That's the train they boarded and it's a local. You can see for yourself where the next stop is - just the other side of the Royal Hotel. We'd never get there in time and I don't think we wish to talk to the local police after what happened back there in the street."
"And I think I can hear police sirens."
"So we walk quietly towards the exit," Beaurain suggested, 'trying to look as though we've just arrived in Copenhagen. Someone may have seen us run in here."
And as they calmly walked out, the jackets they had removed during the short walk folded over their arms, two patrol cars screamed to a halt by the kerb and uniformed men went briskly inside.
Police headquarters in Copenhagen is known as Politigarden. A grim, triangular building constructed of grey cement, it faces a square called Polititorvet. Beaurain and Kellerman surveyed it from a distance before they went inside.
"Looks like a prison," Kellerman commented.
"Most inviting."
"They're not in the holiday camp business," replied Beaurain.
"And I see they have a wireless mast on the roof."
"It's that wireless mast I'm counting on - on that and Superintendent Marker of the Intelligence Department. He sounded friendly enough on the phone - but he didn't know then what I was going to ask him."
They approached the five arched entrances beneath the flat-topped roof. A patrol car pulled in at the kerb as they were crossing the square and a uniformed policeman carrying a small package dashed inside, leaving his companion behind the wheel.
Beaurain led the way to a side-door which carried the legend Kriminal Politiet. He pushed open the door and entered an austere office where a policeman in shirt-sleeves sat behind a desk.
"My identity ... Jules Beaurain ... Superintendent Bodel Marker ..."
He kept his voice low because there was another man in shirt-sleeves who had slipped into the room just ahead of them. The policeman behind the desk seemed to grasp the need for discretion.
"And the person with you?" he mouthed silently.
"My assistant - in charge of an undercover section. Marker will particularly wish to hear from him personally certain events he has witnessed. Name Foxbel."
There followed a brief conversation on the policeman's internal phone. Beaurain could not understand a word he
said because he was speaking in Danish. The German nudged him in the back as the policeman stared at his desk. When Beaurain glanced round, Kellerman's eyes pinpointed the man who had entered the room before them: he was studying a notice on the wall. The policeman behind the desk finished his conversation, replaced the receiver and proceeded to fill in a form.
"He is waiting to see you," he informed Beaurain. The man who had been looking at the notice moved towards the door. Kellerman timed it perfectly. One foot projected at the last moment, the man tripped and fell, half-saving himself by grabbing the edge of the policeman's desk.
"I will come back later. I have an urgent call of nature - something I ate this morning."
A small, weasel-faced man with a leathery complexion and the agility of a monkey. Before anyone could react he had left the office. Kellerman heaved open the door and ran into Polititorvet. He was in time to see the patrol-car which had just arrived driving away, but there was no sign of the weasel. The man had vanished. Kellerman glanced up the curving flight of steps which led to the various departments in the building. He met Beaurain coming out, holding the form.
"Disappeared into thin air, Jules. He couldn't have escaped over the square - I was out too quick. He must have gone up there."
Kellerman pointed up a spiral staircase of stone steps which disappeared round a bend. From previous visits to Politigarden Beaurain knew the staircase led to all the main police departments. He also knew that before you could enter any of the departments, there was a police checkpoint you had to pass. The only conclusion left was that the weasel-faced man was a member of one of the many departments. Beaurain explained this briefly.
"Then he must have an official position here. Has the Syndicate penetrated here too?" Kellerman speculated.
"Why do we have to suspect him?" asked Beaurain.
"Because I deliberately tripped him up, he never protested and his reaction was to get to hell out of that room as fast as his legs could carry him."
"You're quite right. Let's get up and see Marker."
