girl in the Citroen, Sonia Karnell's stupefaction had been quickly overtaken by the realisation she had been tricked.
There was a series of turnings off to the right — towards the nearby sea. The problem had been to locate which track the bitch had used. Karnell was convinced she had not driven much further along the highway — since she could see too far for the Citroen to have vanished to the north. No, it had been swallowed up by one of the tracks cut through the woods to the sea. The only question: which track?
Crawling along, losing valuable time, but knowing she had to proceed in a systematic manner, the Swedish girl stopped at the entrance to each track, got out of the car and examined it with her torch. At the third track she found skid marks where a car had turned sharply off the highway. She followed her torch beam only a few yards checking the very clear indentations of a car's tyres. When she returned to the Porsche she even saw stones and dirt scattered over the highway.
She drove the Porsche down the track far enough to conceal it from the highway. The last thing she needed at this stage was a Danish patrol-car — and the discovery of the bomb, which would be rather difficult to explain. Then she crunched her way cautiously down towards the beach, her Walther at the ready.
'Oh, I should have bloody known!'
Through the gap in the trees at the end of the track she saw what was responsible for the sudden burst of engine sound — an outboard rapidly growing smaller as it headed for the tip of a headland to the north. Whipping a pair of night glasses from her shoulder-bag, she focused them with expert fingers.
'You clever Telescope bastards! Bastards!'
In the twin lenses the four people crouched in the dinghy came up clearly, but they were all wearing Balaclava helmets which concealed their features. Even with the field glasses, only the eyes showed through slits in the woollen helmets.
There was no vessel in sight they could be making for. What she did not know was that immediately after the outboard had been winched over the side in response to the flash of Louise's headlights, Captain Buckminster — on Henderson's orders — had withdrawn Firestorm out of sight behind the tip of the headland.
'Just in case Louise has been followed,' Henderson had observed to the ex-naval captain, 'I suggest you pull north behind the headland when we head for the shore.'
Then you lack my support,' Buckminster had objected.
'At this stage I think it may be more important to conceal from the Syndicate our main and most deadly weapon Firestorm.'
And so Sonia Karnell was left swearing on the foreshore as the dinghy disappeared. She vented her fury by taking great care over her actions during the next few minutes.
She would have taken great care in any case: you do not fool about with bombs. The extra care she took was to plant the device underneath the Citroen without leaving any clue to its existence. Once the job was complete, she wriggled herself from under the car and shoved the torch back inside her pocket. She had activated all the systems and she walked round the vehicle before leaving it, to make sure there were no tell-tal e traces.
The bomb was controlled by a trembler. If the Citroen were driven at reasonable speed and had to pull up sharply for any reason: Bang! If the Citroen were taken up or down an incline at an angle exceeding twenty degrees, no matter how slowly: Bang! Before leaving the booby-trapped car she took one last look out to sea where Louise Hamilton had vanished on the outboard.
'Don't forget to come back for your car, darling. I just wish I could be here.'
On the sidewalk outside the Royal Hotel two men stood studying a street map of Copenhagen. It was 8.30, a glorious morning on the following day, the sun shining brilliantly out of a clear blue sky with a salty breeze in the air.
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 Helsingor — 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.'
