edge of his suitcase into the giant's right kneecap. Land gulped with pain but did not cry out. His large face convulsed in fury. Like a handcuff Kellerman's right hand closed over the wrist which held the umbrella. The handcuff twisted and jerked upward in one violent arc of ninety degrees. The vertical stiletto-like blade entered Land's throat and his eyes bulged.
Kellerman had already transferred his grip to the two lapels of the Englishman's jacket and he spun him round before he could fall and heaved him inside the payphone. The receiver was still swinging from its cord as the Englishman's body began to slide down the rear wall, its feet projecting into the booking-hall over the umbrella on the floor.
Kellerman pulled a soft cap from his pocket and rammed it on his head as he moved swiftly across the still deserted booking-hall with only one idea in mind. To catch up with Serge Litov. The cab carrying Litov was just leaving the kerb as he came into the open air. Kellerman climbed into the next cab and closed the door before giving his instructions.
'Please follow that cab. Do not lose it the passenger inside is responsible for an incident in the airport hall.'
The driver was quick-witted. While he checked on the identity of his passenger he was driving away from the airport, making sure he did not lose the vehicle ahead. He could take his passenger back to the airport if the replies were unsatisfactory. His passenger over-rode his questions by volunteering information.
'You will read about the airport incident in the morning papers. I am Kriminalpolizei working in liaison with the Belgians and your own people. Here is my card.' Kellerman flashed an identity paper which the driver hardly saw. To build up confidence and dispel all doubts, keep talking fluently, confidently…
'Do not crowd that cab, please. It is vital the passenger does not know he is being followed. There will, of course, be a large tip for your co-operation. Please, also, be careful when the cab approaches its destination. I must not be just behind when it stops. I appreciate it will not be easy.'
'I will manage it. No problem,' the Dane replied. Kellerman sank back into his seat and kept quiet. It had worked. Near the end of the conversation give them a problem to occupy their minds, then shut up!
'Serge Litov should be here by now. I cannot imagine what is detaining him. One thing I insist on is punctuality.'
The Danish antiquarian book dealer, known by the few Danes who met him as Dr. Benny Horn, sat in the darkened room polishing his rimless spectacles and fidgeting as he checked the illuminated hands of his watch. His companion, a girl, smiled in the dark and listened to the gentle lapping of the water which came through the open window from the basin of the Nyhavn harbour outside.
'There could have been trouble at the airport,' he fussed.
'Let us suppose Litov was followed it is to be expected…' 'Then George Land will have dealt with the follower. And that might explain the delay.'
'Unless Litov involved himself in the fracas.'
'He has his instructions which he won't disobey.' The girl was amused by his exhibition of an irritable and pedantic dealer in rare books. Outside the open window headlights appeared, an engine stopped. Sonia Karnell saw a cab had arrived. 'Make sure he has not been followed,' Horn called to her.
'We are very close to Nyhavn,' Kellerman's driver said. They had driven through a maze of streets and squares lined with ancient buildings and the German would have been hard put to it to trace the route on a map. He was fairly sure they were moving in a northerly direction. What the hell was Nyhavn? He waited, hoping the driver would elaborate, and the Dane obliged.
'Nyhavn is the old port area — seamen's bars to the left of the water and tourist trap shops to the right. That's our friend's likely destination.'
The cab ahead was the only vehicle in sight now. If they kept on driving much further it was only a matter of time before Litov spotted that he had a tail. The cab in front turned sharp right and the German guessed they had reached Nyhavn.
The middle of the street was occupied by a long, straight basin of water with its level well below that of the street, like a canal in Amsterdam. A forest of masts projected into the night sky. On either side of the brightly-lit street overlooking the waterway was a wall of seventeenth-century houses.
Kellerman's driver earned his tip. Instead of turning right alongside the basin he drove straight on past the end of the water, round a corner, and stopped. The brilliant lighting vanished. There were shadows everywhere.
'He would have seen us. I'm sure he's stopping somewhere down Nyhavn and it's a short distance before you're on the waterfront.'
'Thank you.' Kellerman gave him money. 'Would you wait? I shan't be long.'
The problem was that he would be conspicuous walking along Nyhavn carrying a suitcase. It also restricted his movements if he were attacked — and he had not forgotten the assault with the umbrella. That weapon was reminiscent of Bulgarian techniques.
Free of his suitcase, he strolled round the corner back into the lights. Litov was climbing a short flight of steps to a house at the far end. Tourist trap shops on the right…' his driver had said. The Russian was entering one of the houses on the right — easy to pinpoint even from a distance because each house was painted a different colour. A most helpful arrangement.
It was also helpful that there were people about. Kellerman strolled a short distance down the left-hand side and saw the flights of steps leading down to the basement bars. Returning the way he had come, he walked round the end of the harbour basin and continued down the tourist-trap side until he drew level with the house Litov had disappeared into. At the top of a short flight of steps in the blaze of street lights Kellerman could make out a name engraved in large letters on a plate. Dr. Benny Horn. He had located the base of another of the three-man directorate running the Stockholm Syndicate.
It was time to meet Louise at the Royal Hotel.
When Serge Litov climbed the steps at the Nyhavn address he was relieved to see the name engraved on a plate to the right of the heavy door. Dr. Benny Horn. Litov pressed the bell.
'Come in quickly.'
The door closed behind him and he stood in darkness. There was the sound of a lock being turned, of bolts being shot home. Then a blaze of light illuminated the narrow hallway, so strong it made Litov blink. He looked quickly behind him. A slim, dark-haired girl, her hair cut close like a helmet, stood aiming a Walther pistol. It was Sonia Karnell.
Li tov had expected to meet Dr. Otto Berlin, the man who had issued him with his instructions to penetrate Telescope's headquarters. Instead, facing him in the hallway, stood a man wearing a skullcap, a bow-tie and a neat suit which was in considerable contrast to Berlin's careless dress. He was also clean-shaven and stood with his hands clasped across his slim stomach while he contemplated Litov in a manner which irritated the Russian.
'Who the hell are you?' he demanded brusquely. 'I've come a long way and I'm damned tired.'
He stopped as he felt the muzzle of Sonia's Walther press against the back of his neck.
'You are also damned impolite,' the man facing him remarked in a cold distant voice. 'I am Benny Horn, the man Dr. Berlin ordered you to report to when you had completed your mission, as I believe the phrase goes in your circles.'
Litov flinched at the sneer in Horn's voice; he flinched also as he felt the gun barrel jabbing into his neck.
'Come into this room and report at once what you have discovered,' Horn ordered and led the way into a room overlooking Nyhavn. Litov sat down in an armchair indicated by Horn, who himself occupied a stiff-backed chair behind an antique desk. Unlike Berlin, who slouched all over the place, Horn sat erect and again clasped his hands as he stared at the new arrival.
'Coffee, Litov?'
Sonia did not wait for a reply as she poured a cup of black coffee from a percolator and added a generous spoonful of sugar. She knew his tastes, Litov observed. The Walther pistol had disappeared. Unlike the hallway, where he had been so dazzled by the glare he had hardly been able to focus on Horn, here in the book-lined room the lighting was dim, but Horn sat in one of the shaded areas. He waited until Litov had drunk half the cup of coffee and then began to fire a barrage of questions at him.
