Free The Stockholm Syndicate by Colin Forbes

building to the ramp at the rear of the chopper. They took him the same way out - he felt and heard the change from carpet to stone; then the stone steps followed by an absence of sound suggesting grass. The bonfire stench didn't seem strange: from his tour of duty in London he recalled that the British kept foul-smelling fires smoking all summer.
    "Don't forget to light that bonfire in good time," Beaurain had reminded Stig Palme. "Litov is bright -he must not get a whiff of the Ardennes pines while he's being carried aboard'.
    It had been 3 a.m. when they had come to collect Litov. Still wearing his wrist-watch, he had managed to check the time before one of the masked guards applied the blindfold. If he was being returned to the same starting-point the flight from England should take about three hours.
     
    When the Sikorsky landed, Litov, still imprisoned on the stretcher in the cargo hold, found himself re-living his earlier experience in reverse. There was a bump as the chopper came to earth, a pause while the rotors stopped spinning, followed by the purr of the hydraulics as the automatic ramp at the rear of the cargo hold was lowered.
    His blindfold was removed by a guard with a Balaclava concealing his face. These people didn't miss many tricks, Litov thought smugly - and then he was being lifted down into broad daylight. The strong scent of Ardennes pines entered his nostrils and above he saw the tops of the trees encircling the secret helipad. The two guards carried him to the familiar van with Boucher across the rear doors. They dumped him on the same leather couch alongside the left-hand wall, the doors were closed and Kellerman and Palme sat facing their captive with machine-pistols across their laps.
    "We are driving you to Brussels Midi station," Kellerman told Litov in English as the van began to move. "Here are your papers, Mr. James Lacey or whatever your name is."
    Litov could hardly believe it. Kellerman bent over him and returned his wallet to his inside pocket. Was this a trick to throw him off balance, to make him relax before they subjected him to torture or a trial of endurance?
    But he half-believed the guard who returned to his seat as the van gathered speed. Why should they let him go at all? The guard gestured towards the wallet he had returned.
    "You will find all your money intact. Belgian francs, deutschmarks Dutch guilders. Telescope does not steal like the Syndicate."
    Litov stiffened, tried to keep his face expressionless. What the hell was going on? This was the first admission that these men belonged to Telescope. And why the casual mention of the Syndicate? To test his reaction? Of one thing Litov was now certain he was being freed in the hope that he would lead them to the Syndicate's headquarters. He had trouble concealing his satisfaction. They were in for a surprise, a very nasty surprise indeed.
     
    *
     
    Pierre Florin, desk sergeant at Brussels police headquarters, requested a week's leave soon after the two men had accosted Louise in the reception room. It was the sight of Beaurain running up the stairs to attend the meeting and the realisation that the girl knew Beaurain which had scared Florin. Because of his long years of service his request was immediately granted.
    He spent most of the seven days in his bachelor's apartment in south Brussels. One of the fake detectives visited him one evening.
    "Why have you taken this leave, Florin?" he demanded. "It draws attention to you at just the wrong moment."
    "I am worried. Beaurain..."
    "You are a fool. Beaurain is no longer on the force."
    "He carries enormous influence." Florin could not keep still, and kept moving restlessly about, fussily moving cheap mementoes of holidays in Ostend. "I would not like to be grilled by Beaurain," Florin continued, confirming the other man's opinion that he would crack under interrogation. "I want my money." The lean-faced man extracted a sealed envelope and dropped it on the floor, making Florin