'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 alleys, 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!'
