Behind the wheel of his Renault, Dr. Theodor Norling was making slower progress than he had hoped, but he was driving more carefully than Fondberg's cavalcade surging through the city. He had no desire to be stopped by a Polis car for a traffic offence — bearing in mind the contents of the suitcase by his side.
Even so, he was close to Diplomatstaden, the foreign embassy area which was very close to his ultimate destination — the boat marina where a whole cluster of vessels would be bobbing at anchorage. He checked his watch. He should be there in about ten minutes with a little luck.
*
Sitting in the rear of the Saab which Stig Palme was driving back to the Grand Hotel, Louise eyed the cloth- covered weapon at her feet. It was Stig Palme's favourite gun and in standard use in the Swedish Army. A model 45 9-mm. machine-pistol, it was equipped with a movable shoulder-grip, could be used for single shots with a gentle pressure on the trigger — or fire a lethal continuous burst of thirty-six bullets in six seconds.
Telescope had gradually built up secret caches of arms and ammunition all over Europe. It was too dangerous to move across borders with weapons — although the steam yacht, Firestorm, purchased from a Greek millionaire, had been cunningly re-designed to provide so many hiding-places it was a floating armoury. In Sweden, Stig Palme's weapons cache was in the cellar of a house out in the country just off the E3 highway leading to Strangnas.
'Here we are,' Palme called out cheerfully.
'The Grand Hotel.'
'Stop here!'
The Swede reacted instantly and smoothly, pulling in at the kerb before he reached the main entrance. To the right there was the usual row of Mercedes and Citroens parked, their well-waxed surfaces gleaming. To the left the window boxes of geraniums gave a splash of brilliant red, and a gardener was trimming them ruthlessly.
'Beaurain is waiting for us,' said Louise.
She had just spoken when the Belgian opened the rear door, pushed his head inside and spoke quickly.
'The hotel said you were out — I had a feeling you might be back any minute. We're on an emergency — Theodor Norling has been spotted by himself in a Renault.'
'He came in to Bromma Airport in a Cessna with Black Helmet! She seems to turn up everywhere. Her name could be Sonia Karnell. Address of apartment is Radmansgatan 490. Norling was carrying a suitcase, hugging it.'
'Christ! Has he fooled us? Was it about the same size as…'
'The one which was hidden aboard the express for Stockholm? Yes, it was.'
'You see that Saab over there, with the man behind the wheel carefully not taking any notice of us? That's Harry Fondberg. Don't lose him, Stig. We think Norling's destination could be the boat marina near Embassy Row.'
'I know it.'
Beaurain forced himself to stroll casually the short distance back to Fondberg's car although his legs were screaming at him to run. He got inside, closed the door and lit a cigarette. 'Norling has a suitcase which sounds exactly like the one snatched from the wagon you surrounded at Stockholm Central station. He flew into Bromma from somewhere.'
'God Almighty!' Fondberg had started up his car which was the signal for the other two cars parked further back to prepare to move. 'You mean he could be carrying the big consignment, the one for which my man in Bangkok died? Hold on to your seat-belt!'
The American behind the wheel of the hired Citroen wore a Swedish-style nautical cap. In his mirrors he had observed everything — Beaurain waiting inconspicuously on the sidewalk after a brief dash into the hotel; the arrival of the Saab which contained Louise Hamilton in the back and two unknown men in the front. He had noted the urgent conversation between Beaurain and Louise; the Belgian's careful stroll back to another Saab, with Harry Fondberg waiting behind the wheel. He waited until the convoy departed with the second Saab carrying Louise bringing up the rear — then he drove out from the row and followed. Ed Cottel of the CIA knew a crisis when he saw one.
From the moment they left police headquarters they preserved radio silence. Fondberg had taken the precaution of sending a message to the man who had spotted Norling that only if the target was not heading for the marina was he to send a brief message over the radio.
There had been no signal by the time the 'convoy' left the Grand Hotel, a convoy consisting of two unmarked police cars, followed by Stig Palme and Louise Hamilton who, in their turn, were closely followed by Ed Cottel's Citroen — equipped with a radio that had been skilfully attached after the hiring of the vehicle. It kept Cottel in touch with what Fondberg had called his 'eyes'. Remaining one vehicle behind Stig Palme's Saab he was using his radio link.
'Carmel calling. You read me? Good. Any sign of Ozark?'
'Monterey here, Carmel. No, repeat, no sign of Ozark. Am continuing surveillance pending further instructions.'
'OK, you do that.'
With an expression of resignation the hooked-nosed American replaced the microphone and concentrated on not losing the Saab. It had been going on for days and the only thing to do was to persist; sooner or later something had to break.
Ozark was the code-name for Viktor Rashkin, First Secretary at the Soviet Embassy in Stockholm. The odd thing was he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.
'Pass me the gun — lay it on the seat beside me,' Stig Palme made the request to Louise as they continued in the wake of two unmarked police cars. Palme knew that they were close to Embassy Row, which meant they were close to the marina. Without asking why, Louise lifted the weapon wrapped in oilcloth and gently laid it on the empty seat in front.
'I may need Christine,' he remarked. It was typical that Palme should confer a girl's name on his favourite weapon. When using her in action he was accustomed to use some pretty racy language.'We're being followed. Don't look round. He's driving a cream-coloured Citroen.'
'Any idea since when?'
'He was parked with his back to us outside the Grand Hotel. And he's been using the usual technique of keeping one vehicle between us all the way. The Syndicate obviously has a team watching the Grand Hotel.'
'Just one man, you said?'
'With a highly-trained killer they only need one man. Better for getting away after he's done the job. Beaurain could be the target,' he said, and relapsed into silence.
Fascinated she watched while Palme drove with one hand and used the other to unwrap the oil-cloth and expose Christine. The machine-pistol was already fully-loaded. 'We're on top of the possible target area,' Palme warned and then stopped the car.
Dr. Theodor Norling pulled in at the kerb by the landing stage. The marina was vast. There was a breeze coming off the water which freshened the air and countered the blaze of the high sun glaring down out of a cloudless sky. For a few seconds he paused after locking the car, standing quite still with the suitcase in his hand.
Arne, reliable as usual, was walking towards him. Norling was trying to sense anything unusual in the scene before committing himself to water. A whole fleet of craft of varying sizes and types bobbed at anchor, a galaxy of vibrating colour in the intensity of the sun. Already Norling could feel its heat on the back of his neck. There were expensive cruisers equipped with all the latest electronic devices, small power-boats, larger launches, a whole diversity of yachts, some with coloured sails.
'The power-boat is ready to take you out to the Ramso,' Arne informed his employer.
'I'm in a hurry,' Norling replied curtly.
Behind him, beyond a screen of shrubs and trees and across the unseen road rose the buildings of the American Embassy with a flight of steps leading up to them. From a flagpole the Stars and Stripes fluttered in the breeze. Before getting into the power-boat Arne held waiting for him, Norling turned and gave the flag a brief salute. An onlooker would have found it impossible to decide whether the gesture was ironic or serious.
'God, that's him and he's getting away!'
