by Colin Forbes
"You want something, lady? This is private property."
Arnold Barfred, the Danish owner of the vessel, deliberately spoke in a loud voice, using the English language, in case a passer-by was listening.
His eyes went blank as Sonia passed on the signal to him in a low voice and told him to hurry. "It is a Nadir signal. None of us wastes a minute transmitting a Nadir. We just wish to get rid of it - and forget it."
She didn't reply and hurried ashore. Behind her she heard the hatch cover close, sealing off entry into the cabin, the bolt snap home. Barfred was doing exactly what he said he would.
And in another way he had obeyed orders precisely. He had waited below deck for the car to arrive - so that just as the Darras' on their barge had never seen Dr. Otto Berlin in Bruges, so Barfred had no idea of the appearance of Dr. Benny Horn.
Sonia Karnell settled into the BMW and switched on the ignition, anxious to get away as soon as possible. Beside her Horn looked back at the fishing vessel, doubtless to make sure Barfred did not appear until after they had gone.
"We will just make sure that Beaurain's man from Stockholm is dealt with and then you can drive me back to Nyhavn. We will pick up a few things and fly straight to Stockholm."
"Lindahl? He is coming here?"
"Yes, my dear, he is coming to Elsinore and hopes to arrive here shortly. He is fleeing Sweden by fast car as though all the hounds of hell were behind him. What he doesn't know is that they are in front of him."
The huge motor ferry hardly moved in the gentle swell of the Øresund as it lay moored to the Swedish shore at Halsingborg. A steady stream of cars bound for Elsinore drove up the ramp and vanished inside Delfin II's open maw.
Aboard, the passengers were already taking up position on the upper deck which gave them a good view of Denmark only a short distance miles across the sea channel. Through a pair of high-powered glasses a Swedish tourist gazed at Kronborg Castle which rose up on the far shore, and children clung to the ship's rail.
It was difficult to imagine a more peaceful scene, an atmosphere more removed from violence. Dancing across the sparkling crests of the blue, sunlit waves were innumerable yachts, their coloured sails twinkling triangles flapping in the mid-channel breeze.
A grey Volvo disappeared inside the vast loading deck, and Beaurain's agent guided his vehicle to the position indicated by the ferry loader. Switching off the ignition, Lindahl sank back in his seat and automatically reached for a cigarette until he saw the No Smoking notice staring straight at him.
He didn't really mind. For the first time in days he could relax. Within minutes he would have left Sweden. In less than an hour he would be talking to Jules Beaurain in Elsinore.
Lindahl climbed out of his car, locked it carefully, made sure all the windows were closed, and then began to climb the staircases leading to the higher decks. Yes, thank God, it would soon all be over - once the deadly information he carried inside his memory was transmitted to Beaurain. He would be safe again.
Underneath the keel of the motor-ferry Delfin II Karl Woltz and his team of three frogmen worked swiftly and skilfully. They had left the large steam-launch, rocking at anchor a few hundred yards away from the ferry, ten minutes earlier. As Woltz had impressed on his three subordinates, Timing is vital, the crossing is short and the action must occur shortly before landfall."
"Why then?" one man had asked.
"I don't know and I don't care!" Woltz had snarled impatiently. "All I know is we are being paid a small fortune."
Prior to slipping over the side of the steam-launch they had, as instructed, waited while Delfin II arrived from Elsinore, disgorged its human and wheeled cargo from Denmark, and started to take on board the cars and passengers waiting at Halsingborg. Woltz himself had watched through field glasses, seeing only the driver of the blue Mercedes who, in his turn, was watching the cavalcade of vehicles crawling up the ramp inside Delfin II.
Woltz had no idea who this man was or what he was looking for. Nor would he recognise him again. The man standing by the Mercedes wore a light trench coat with the collar turned up and a soft hat pulled well down over his face. Then he gave the signal. Using a tightly-rolled newspaper like a baton, he rapped the bonnet of the car five times in an absent-minded manner. Woltz counted the rises and falls of the newspaper, then dropped his glasses, turning to the others waiting in the launch.
"We go! For God's sake handle the equipment carefully."
Woltz had no way of knowing - nor would he have been interested - that the driver of the Mercedes had only given the go-ahead signal once he had seen Peter Lindahl drive his grey Volvo up the ramp and inside Delfin II.
"We want the entire ferry to sink within five minutes. There must be no survivors."
This chilling instruction had been given to Woltz inside an empty two-storey house outside the Swedish town of Malmö. The organisation of whoever he was dealing with had stimulated Woltz's sneaking admiration They had even gone to the trouble of fixing up a field telephone inside the house. As previously instructed, he had answered the instrument in a downstairs room, knowing that the man speaking was above him on the first floor. And nothing in the world would have tempted Woltz to creep up the staircase.
"Why not sink her in the middle of the Øresund? Why wait until she is close to the Danish shore?" Woltz had objected.
"That is not your problem. Just do as we tell you. You will be watched, of course. If you wish to get the balance of the money instead of a bullet in the back of the neck, start doing things our way."
It had been eerie - the voice, the atmosphere inside the abandoned house. Woltz had been relieved to get out of the place. Now, hidden under the ferry's keel, watching his team through the perspex window of his face-mask, Woltz had no occasion to feel anything but professional satisfaction at a job well done.
Six explosive limpet mines were attached to various parts of Delfin's hull. "Do not forget that three of the mines must be attached under the car deck," the voice in the house near Malmö had told him. Underneath the blurry silhouette of Delfin's hull, Woltz was trying to concentrate on what he was doing rather than on the consequences of his act which would be swift and horrendous.
The limpet mines had magnetic clamps - so attaching them to the hull was a simple job. You held the mine in the correct position, pressed the switch and the magnetic feet sprang up and affixed themselves like suckers. The last thing was to wait until all six mines were attached like obscene metallic boils and then Woltz himself swam along beneath the hull, pausing at each mine to press another switch which activated the radio mechanism.
As soon as the last man was safely back aboard the steam launch Woltz ordered a crewman to send the signal - the signal confirming that the mines were in position, that the radio mechanisms had been activated, that it now only needed whoever was holding the control device to press a button and detonate all six mines.
The signal was a dipping of the Danish flag at the stern. Borrowing a pair of field glasses, Woltz focused them on the blue Saab which had appeared and was parked where the Mercedes had stationed itself earlier. To his disappointment, the driver behind the wheel wore a helmet and goggles.
Woltz had no way of knowing that he was looking in the wrong direction - that the Saab was simply being used to divert his attention from a very powerful white motor-cruiser behind him. This vessel was proceeding south away from the car ferry - drifting with the tide at such a slow speed it was barely moving. On the bridge a bearded man wearing a nautical cap lowered the field glasses he had trained on Woltz's launch.
"That is the signal," he said.
"Now we know Lindahl is aboard - and that the Delfin is a floating bomb," replied Dr. Benny Horn, who stood beside the captain.
Delfin II was two-thirds of the way across the Øresund. Three more ferries were on the move; two crossing to Sweden, the third approaching the ferry terminal outside the railway station at Elsinore.
Deep inside the bowels of the ferry Peter Li
ndahl was now sitting behind the wheel of his Volvo impatient to disembark. Lindahl, despite his relief at getting clear of Sweden, studied the other drivers carefully. No-one seemed to be taking any undue interest in him.
At the car ferry terminal Beaurain was watching a sleek white motor-cruiser drifting well south of the harbour. It was the drift which had first attracted his attention; you didn't normally just let a vessel like that float about. He handed the field glasses to Louise.
Take a look at that white boat. There are two men on the bridge. Look at them, too."
She adjusted the f ocus slightly and stared hard. Then she moved the glasses a fraction and Beaurain heard her intake of breath.
"What is it?"
"The second man - the one with the cap - looks like the man I saw climb into the van carrying the suitcase from the house on Nyhavn. He looks like Dr. Benny Horn," On the bridge of the motor-cruiser Horn was staring fixedly at the progress of the ferry carrying Peter Lindahl to Denmark. He was gauging its distance from the Danish shore.
"Now!"
The bearded captain holding the radio-control device pressed one button and at the same second opened up the throttle. Pocketing the device, he opened up the throttle more. The prow of the cruiser lifted like the snout of a shark and the vessel leapt across the waves. "You bloody fool, you'll draw attention to us," cursed Horn, but his words were blotted out by the roar of explosions.
As the bearded captain pressed the button the radio impulse it released travelled in a fraction of a second to t he receivers built into each of the six limpet mines attached to the hull of Delfin II. Along with the multitude of other victims, Peter Lindahl heard nothing. Sitting on top of one of the mines, it had been instant oblivion.
"Oh, God, Jules!"
Louise grabbed his arm and put a hand over her mouth. The giant ferry had been blown to pieces. A battering shock wave carried the sea in a minor tidal wave into the harbour, sinking countless small moored vessels during its passage before it smashed against the harbour wall.
Louise was frozen with horror. She had the awful impression she could see pieces of cars - wheels and chassis - spinning among the vast cloud of black smoke spreading rapidly into the sky. She looked behind her and saw everyone else frozen like statues. The only movement was the approach of Bodel Marker's car. In the distance sirens were starting to scream, boats were starting to put out to sea.
"What in hell has happened out there?"
Beaurain was facing Marker, watching his expression closely when he replied, his voice hard and clipped and, Louise noticed, very public school.
"The Syndicate has just blown up a car ferry. The number of casualties will be appalling. I doubt whether any man, woman or child aboard has survived. It will probably become known as "The Elsinore Massacre" and it will hit the headlines of every newspaper in the world tomorrow. And all to eliminate one, just one man."
Louise knew that underneath the dipped, neutral manner was concealed a terrible, raging fury. Beau-rain's eyes, always compelling, had an almost hypnotic quality as they watched Marker. The reaction of the Dane took her completely aback.
"And I thought I had bad news. The Syndicate has simply used the necessity for liquidating one of your own people and for that person I express my sincere condolences - to stage another demonstration."
And now a breeze was wafting in from the sea - and the scene of the "Massacre' - the faint whiff of petrol and something extremely unpleasant. Instinctively the trio walked a short distance away from the waterfront. Marker continued: "A demonstration of the immense power and ruthlessness of the Stockholm Syndicate. A demonstration which will yield them at least as much as the murder of the Chief Commissioner of the Common Market."
"If you're just saying that to ease the situation..."
"No, old friend," Marker interjected firmly. "I am not trying to ease the pain that you feel for what you erroneously believe is your fault. I did not tell you earlier because I was still not sure of you that is how insidious and undermining of trust the actions of the Syndicate make all those who are touched by it. But only this morning I received a phone call."
"From a girl?" Louise asked quietly.
"Yes, my dear, as before, from a girl. Again she warned me that sooner or later they would track down where I was hiding my wife and child, that they were already very close. That last bit was, of course, in the hope of scaring me into communicating with them in some way which would be detected by the Syndicate. She closed by saying a fresh demonstration of her organisation's power was imminent - that I would know what she was talking about when I read about the disaster in the world's press tomorrow."
Beaurain thrust both hands into the pockets of his jacket, one of his characteristic stances when he was undergoing deep emotion. "And I presume other people in high places were also phoned the same message?"
"I know they were. Before Miss Hamilton and yourself arrived at my office I had just completed making a number of discreet calls."
"A white cabin-cruiser," Beaurain began in a blank monotone, 'flying the Danish flag when last seen, moving at speed on a southerly course about a mile off the Danish shore in the direction of Copenhagen. We believe we saw Benny Horn aboard. It took off like a bat out of hell almost at the moment of the explosion."
"So," Marker replied, 'by now he will have been put ashore at any of a dozen landing-stages along the coast where a waiting car will have picked him up - unless he has crossed the Sound to Sweden once out of sight of Elsinore. Still, I will put out an alert. Excuse me a moment."
Marker went over to his car parked nearby, took the microphone from inside and leant against the car while he radioed his report. The driver was staring at the crowds of people who had appeared from nowhere and were growing denser as they gazed seaward where futile rescue activity was going on.
"You think it was definitely Benny Horn?" Louise asked after a silence lasting several minutes.
"I think he was probably the instrument. Whether he was the prime mover is another question," he told her abruptly and turned to Marker who had now returned. "Bodel, when you arrived here you said you thought you had bad news as though you were going to tell us something else before the ferry was blown up,"
"It seemed horrific ... before this." Marker waved a resigned hand towards the debris out at sea as Beau-rain watched him closely. "I told you I was going to have a word with the inspector who radioed that patrol-car to go to the ferry terminal by the railway station. I found I was just too late. There had been an accident."
"What kind of accident?"
"He received a call purporting to come from his wife. After taking it he left the police station alone by car. They have just dragged the car out of the sea - the inspector was inside it. He was murdered. I know he was murdered because something has also happened to the two Danish railway men you asked me to keep out of circulation for three days. They never reached the police station."
"What happened?" asked Louise. She felt her hair standing on end. Beaurain continued to study his old associate as the Dane went on with his story.
They were in the patrol-car with the policemen. On their way to the station they were flagged down by a man in front of a garage. A woman happened to be watching from about five hundred metres away - fortunately for her. The man who flagged down the car went inside the garage to fetch someone and then there was an almighty explosion. The car just disintegrated - rather like that..." Again the resigned hand made a gesture towards the sea.
In a deceptively detached tone, Beaurain said, "They are killing everyone who has knowledge of the heroin. First the inspector they bought or intimidated. Then the two railway men both of whom must have known the approximate location of the suitcase. That is the Syndicate's method of protecting its investment. Effective, you must admit."
"It's overkill."
"Face it, Marker - the Syndicate runs one of the most efficient killing machines known in history - and each death is exploited to terrorise the maximum num
ber of people who can be of service to the Syndicate in the future. Someone has thought up a foolproof system. Louise and I must go now," he ended coldly.
"I will give you a lift to the railway station."
During the journey Beaurain only spoke once, seated in the back of the car with Louise. She was looking out to sea when he asked for a cigarette: bits of bodies were beginning to float through the harbour entrance and he didn't want her subjected to any more harrowing experiences. During the ride to the railway station Marker relapsed into a sombre silence, staring through the windscreen without seeing anything. Beaurain was relieved when the Dane told his driver to drop them a distance from the station and wait for him. The three of them walked slowly towards where it had all started - the exit from Elsinore railway station.
It's such an attractive town," Louise said. "All the houses old but freshly painted ..."
She ended in mid-sentence and Beaurain gave her elbow a reassuring hug. She had been going to add something like, 'for such a ghastly horror to be perpetrated here," Beaurain noticed that both his companions studiously avoided looking to their left over the harbour to the sea beyond. There was also an unnaturally quiet atmosphere among the people walking about who were staring seaward. Probably a number of them were in the habit of crossing over to Sweden from time to time. Using the car-ferries.
"While at the police station I asked about the enquiries I made about Dr. Benny Horn," Marker said in a dull voice. "About his background and history, what he was like when he lived here in Elsinore. I must say they had responded to my request quickly. And they had showed around the photo I had taken of Horn in Copenhagen - I sent that out by despatch rider before I left the city."
"And what did you find?"
"A few people who knew him when he lived here recognised the photo, others didn't."
"What proportion?" There was an eager alertness in Beaurain's voice and manner.
"Fifty-fifty. The normal proportion," Marker replied in the same dull tone. He was, Louise realised, still in a state of semi-shock, overwhelmed by the power and ruthlessness of the Stockholm Syndicate. "Horn lived the same sort of hermit-like existence in Elsinore that he does in Copenhagen," Marker continued. "He was unmarried, had no relatives and spent a lot of time away from the place travelling presumably to sell and buy rare editions,"
