Beaurain's quiet voice.
"I only learned several months later." Their host turned in his chair to look out of the open windows. "The killings at the Château Wardin were a demonstration of the Syndicate's power. A number of prominent citizens up to Cabinet level were phoned and told what was going to happen, that the same thing could happen to their own loved ones if they refused to co-operate. You see, the conspiracy started early." He turned and looked at Beaurain's frozen expression. "As I said, it is the uninhibited use of terror, intimidation and bribery. I suspect that soon whole countries will be practically run by this evil organisation. You are powerless to do anything about it, Jules. Or are you? By the way, I wondered whether your visit was to ask me about Telescope?"
"What do you know about it?" Beaurain asked.
"Very little. It is organised like the wartime escape routes for Allied fliers from Brussels to the Spanish border."
"And its leadership?"
Goldschmidt did not reply at once. He took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and studied Beaurain as he polished them with a blue silk handkerchief. He glanced at Louise whose expression was deliberately blank; she hoped not too blank. He replaced his glasses.
"I know nothing of its leadership,"
"Getting back to the Syndicate …"
"It is controlled by three rarely-seen men. One of them is a dealer in rare books who, when he comes to Bruges, has a house in the Hoogste van Brugge only five minutes' walk from where we are now. I find that a trifle insulting. Let me show you on the street map."
Beaurain and Louise studied the map briefly. The address was, as Goldschmidt had said, surprisingly close. "These three men have names?" Beaurain asked.
"The one in Bruges is a Dr. Otto Berlin." Goldschmidt extracted a card from a drawer and wrote on it. "The second is a Dr. Benny Horn, a Dane who operates a rare bookshop in the Nyhavn waterfront area in Copenhagen."
"I know the area," Louise said.
"Good, good. Do not go there alone, my dear, I beg of you. The third is a Swede, a Dr. Theodor Norling, and he too is in the rare book trade. He has an address in Gamla Stan, the Old City district of Stockholm. You know that, I believe, Jules?"
"Yes." Beaurain took the card and glanced at the address. "I don't follow why they are all in the rare book trade. It's some kind of cover?"
"They can travel about officially purchasing some rare volume for a valued customer. Rare books! They are cold-blooded killers."
Goldschmidt spoke with abnormal vehemence. "Trust no-one, Jules. There is treachery everywhere. Unless the Stockholm Syndicate is destroyed quickly it will have the whole western world in its grip."
"Surely that's rather an overstatement," Louise suggested gently.
"You think so?" The rare coin dealer gazed hard at the English girl. "It operates like some international protection racket. Clearly you have no idea who they already have."
"Wher e does the money come from?" asked Beaurain.
"That's the trouble," Goldschmidt said. "We know that billions of dollars have been transferred to Europe by
certain American multi-nationals to support the Syndicate. In secrecy, of course, but the funds have been so huge they have moved the value of currencies and that you cannot hide. So, again, it seems like the Americans..."
"But you think not?" Beaurain asked. "Who then?"
"If only I knew which of Berlin, Horn or Norling was the chief executive. The top controller goes under the code-name Hugo. That is a name you whisper. Find Hugo and you have the Syndicate by the throat."
"Why do you call it the Stockholm Syndicate? Why Stockholm?"
Beaurain had deliberately returned to his old role of Chief Superintendent grilling a suspect, hurling question after question with such speed that the recipient answered without thinking.
"Because that is how it is known. My enquiries have traced funds through many channels and always the end of the line is Stockholm."
"How do the men who run this
"I only learned several months later." Their host turned in his chair to look out of the open windows. "The killings at the Château Wardin were a demonstration of the Syndicate's power. A number of prominent citizens up to Cabinet level were phoned and told what was going to happen, that the same thing could happen to their own loved ones if they refused to co-operate. You see, the conspiracy started early." He turned and looked at Beaurain's frozen expression. "As I said, it is the uninhibited use of terror, intimidation and bribery. I suspect that soon whole countries will be practically run by this evil organisation. You are powerless to do anything about it, Jules. Or are you? By the way, I wondered whether your visit was to ask me about Telescope?"
"What do you know about it?" Beaurain asked.
"Very little. It is organised like the wartime escape routes for Allied fliers from Brussels to the Spanish border."
"And its leadership?"
Goldschmidt did not reply at once. He took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and studied Beaurain as he polished them with a blue silk handkerchief. He glanced at Louise whose expression was deliberately blank; she hoped not too blank. He replaced his glasses.
"I know nothing of its leadership,"
"Getting back to the Syndicate …"
"It is controlled by three rarely-seen men. One of them is a dealer in rare books who, when he comes to Bruges, has a house in the Hoogste van Brugge only five minutes' walk from where we are now. I find that a trifle insulting. Let me show you on the street map."
Beaurain and Louise studied the map briefly. The address was, as Goldschmidt had said, surprisingly close. "These three men have names?" Beaurain asked.
"The one in Bruges is a Dr. Otto Berlin." Goldschmidt extracted a card from a drawer and wrote on it. "The second is a Dr. Benny Horn, a Dane who operates a rare bookshop in the Nyhavn waterfront area in Copenhagen."
"I know the area," Louise said.
"Good, good. Do not go there alone, my dear, I beg of you. The third is a Swede, a Dr. Theodor Norling, and he too is in the rare book trade. He has an address in Gamla Stan, the Old City district of Stockholm. You know that, I believe, Jules?"
"Yes." Beaurain took the card and glanced at the address. "I don't follow why they are all in the rare book trade. It's some kind of cover?"
"They can travel about officially purchasing some rare volume for a valued customer. Rare books! They are cold-blooded killers."
Goldschmidt spoke with abnormal vehemence. "Trust no-one, Jules. There is treachery everywhere. Unless the Stockholm Syndicate is destroyed quickly it will have the whole western world in its grip."
"Surely that's rather an overstatement," Louise suggested gently.
"You think so?" The rare coin dealer gazed hard at the English girl. "It operates like some international protection racket. Clearly you have no idea who they already have."
"Wher e does the money come from?" asked Beaurain.
"That's the trouble," Goldschmidt said. "We know that billions of dollars have been transferred to Europe by
certain American multi-nationals to support the Syndicate. In secrecy, of course, but the funds have been so huge they have moved the value of currencies and that you cannot hide. So, again, it seems like the Americans..."
"But you think not?" Beaurain asked. "Who then?"
"If only I knew which of Berlin, Horn or Norling was the chief executive. The top controller goes under the code-name Hugo. That is a name you whisper. Find Hugo and you have the Syndicate by the throat."
"Why do you call it the Stockholm Syndicate? Why Stockholm?"
Beaurain had deliberately returned to his old role of Chief Superintendent grilling a suspect, hurling question after question with such speed that the recipient answered without thinking.
"Because that is how it is known. My enquiries have traced funds through many channels and always the end of the line is Stockholm."
"How do the men who run this
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