With a professional like that! They took the opportunity I gave them in order to exploit it themselves. We are using Litov to find the source of the Syndicate. They're hoping Litov will escape and tell them where we're based. Litov is in the middle and probably knows it. After today's happenings I'm going to speed up the process and release Litov.'
Beaurain broke off as the doorbell rang repeatedly. Louise tensed and let go of his arms. 'Who could that be?' she asked quietly.
'It's the special ring I arranged with Ed Cottel. He said he'd call round.'
'You hope it's Ed,' she said, extracting her pistol from her handbag.
'You're right — from now on we don't make any assumptions. And, by the way, he's here on a double mission — to help track down the Syndicate, which he is convinced exists and also to wipe out Telescope.'
It was indeed Ed Cottel outside and when Beaurain had re-locked the door, the American, who knew Louise Hamilton well, hugged her, nodding his acceptance of a large Scotch.
'This new Syndicate scares the guts out of me,' he said. 'I've been talking to Washington — someone I can trust — since that for-ever-and-a-day meeting. The fragments we keep picking up frighten me more each time.'
'Why did you say at the meeting you thought the Kremlin were behind the Syndicate?'
'Because I can tap a computer.'
Ed Cottel was a slim man in his early fifties. His most outstanding characteristics were his hooked nose, his West Coast accent and his restrained manner reflected in the Brooks Brothers suits he invariably wore. He reminded Beaurain more of an Englishman than an American. He was so independent-minded that the Belgian was surprised Washington had chosen him to come to Europe to collaborate with its security services.
Tap a computer, Ed? What are you driving at?'
'It's just about the biggest computer in the world, and it contains records on every person of prominence in politics and industry, including the top Russians. You've heard of Viktor Rashkin?'
'The Kissinger of the Kremlin — but so much quieter that the international press doesn't know he exists,' Beaurain replied.
'At the moment he is First Secretary at the Russian Embassy in Stockholm.' Cottel peered at the bottom of his glass. 'First Secretary that's a laugh. Leonid Brezhnev's wonder boy and top trouble-shooter — and trouble- maker — and he's only a First Secretary. It's the usual cover, of course. Moves about a lot, does our Viktor,' he said thoughtfully.
'You said you can tap a computer,' Beaurain reminded him. 'How does this link up with Rashkin?'
'At Voisin's comic meeting I mentioned the money transferred from the States to finance Syndicate operations over here. I got a tip while I was in Washington, and I went to the computer and found out about a recent transfer of five million dollars from an Arizona bank to one here in Brussels. The recipient at this end, I'm pretty sure, was Viktor Rashkin. Did you know,' he enquired casually, 'that Rashkin is in Brussels right now? Flew in with some other people aboard his private jet from Stockholm. It's now under observation at Brussels airport.'
'And where did he go in Brussels? You seem to know more about my own back yard than I do.'
'Only because of the computer. We lost Rashkin the moment he left the airport with his friends.'
'Friends?'
'A man and a woman and before you ask, we don't know who they are and we have no description. So we're not always that smart, Jules.' He stared up at the ceiling, carefully not looking at them. 'One thing you might find interesting. Voisin kept me back after the meeting had closed. I had said in a written report on Telescope that we might just be able to identify its personnel or at least the leaders. Want to hear the damn fool mistake I made?'
'Up to you, Ed,' Beaurain said, with a show of indifference. Curled up again on the sofa Louise looked tense. 'I could do with some more coffee if you have the strength.'
'Of course.'
She walked to the kitchen, able to hear the conversation through the door. Cottel's reference to identifying the people in Telescope had shaken her. How the hell could he possibly do that?
'Have another drink, Ed.' Beaurain sat in Louise's place on the sofa where he could study the American without appearing too interested. He folded his arms. 'You stayed behind with Voisin. That must have been entertaining.'
'In my report I suggested that the key men and women running Telescope might have suffered personal losses from terrorism. Wives, sisters, husbands, girlfriends. I suggested we made a list of all those who had recently suffered personal loss through criminal and terrorist action. Among that list we may spot likely candidates because I'm sure that was the motive for starting up Telescope. Disgust with the incompetence of governments. Dammit, Jules, the motive is one of mankind's most powerful — revenge.'
'That list would take years to build up.'
'Not using that computer I have access to.'
'Oh, I see. And you told Voisin?'
'No. Voisin asked me to use the computer to build up the list. If I don't do it, he'll ask someone else. And now I must get going I'm catching the night flight to the States.' Cottel stood up. 'I'll be back soon. And don't forget about Viktor Rashkin.'
'You think he's a member of the Syndicate, for God's sake?'
'Not a member but I think he funnels funds through to whoever is running that outfit.' He scratched his head.'Don't know if it means anything,' he remarked casually, 'but have you ever heard of the Kometa?'
'No, but it sounds Russian.'
'It is. One of our satellites has been following its progress down the coast of the Baltic. It's a huge hydrofoil. Normally the Soviets only use them on rivers like the Volga — but this one is now off Poland. Not so far from Sweden. Where is it headed for and why? No-one can work it out — which is what makes it worrying. See you both…'
After Cottel had left, Beaurain dialled a number. He settled himself into a chair and perched the phone amid the crockery Louise had laid. 'Is that you, Jock? Jules here. The mobile cargo we picked up recently is to be put on a train early tomorrow morning at Brussels Midi. Yes, that's right — Midi.' Midi was one of the three main-line stations in Brussels. 'Organise an all-round escort to supervise proper handling of the cargo. Understood? Next, stock up the floating fuel store with supplies and await instructions. Got it? And take care someone might be starting a fire and there's plenty of under about.'
He put down the phone, shifted the receiver off the table and looked up, suddenly aware that all sounds from the kitchen had ceased. Louise was standing close to him, holding an empty scoop. He threw up his hands as though in self-defence.
'I know you've laid the table — but I haven't disturbed your beautiful setting.'
'I want to know what's going on and quickly or the food will be ruined.'
'You heard the conversation.'
'Which was in code. First of all, where is Jock now? It sounds as though things are moving.'
'Jock was at our sub-base near the station, although by now I expect he'll be on his way to the Chateau Wardin.'
She glanced at her watch to check the cooking time and perched herself on his lap. For 'mobile cargo' I read Litov — who's going to be dropped at Brussels Midi and allowed to run. I'm worried we'll lose him.'
'Hence my reference to 'an all-round escort', the full-scale dragnet I want Jock to throw round all Litov's possible escape routes — because elude us he will try to do. And, since he will assume we're tracking him, we must trick him into thinking that he's succeeded. Then see where he leads us. Tomorrow will be a big day. Satisfied?'
'Not yet.' She caressed the side of his face with her scoop as she continued. 'What about your reference to 'the floating fuel store'? Is that the steam yacht, Firestorm? It is? And where is she now?'
'Midway between Scotland and the mouth of the Baltic. I've kept her ready there since I first heard the phrase 'Stockholm Syndicate'. Jock will radio her to take on board provisions, check weapons and ammunition, above all equip her with a team of gunners. He's going to have a busy night is Jock. And now I'm hungry.'
'You always are. It's chicken — cooked the way you like it. I suppose tomorrow we'll watch them plotting
