11

In the oversized hands of the man from Perpignan the suitcase took on the proportions of an attaché case. It came to Kek Huuygens that in all the years he had known André he had never before seen him properly dressed and with his hair properly trimmed; the Parisian tailor who had outfitted him had done a good job, and with the suitcase in his hand he looked like a prosperous businessman ready for the office, blown up from life-size. Like a businessman on a billboard, Kek thought and watched.

André began by shaking the case sideways, his ear pressed against it. As far as Kek could tell, there was no sound from the interior. André nodded and came to his feet. He carried the suitcase to the bed where he could examine it in greater comfort, sat down, and took it in his lap. He studied the latches carefully and turned it over to consider the pin hinges at the bottom. To his eye they all appeared normal, although the workmanship was far better than the normal manufacturer provided. He put the case aside momentarily, came to his feet, and went into his own room to return with a magnifying glass and a stethoscope. First he repeated his examination of the outside of the case, using the lens to restudy the hinges, latches, and lock. This done, he picked up the stethoscope, plugged it into his ears, and held the listening mouthpiece against the combination lock.

“Turn the dial,” he said. “Slowly.” He smiled into the gray eyes watching him intently. “Very slowly, my friend. And let us hope he’s either a liar or as good a locksmith as he claims.”

“There’s a bell—”

“I know. I heard it.” André closed his eyes to concentrate better. “I prefer those at Notre Dame.”

He pressed the stethoscope tightly against the combination lock as Kek turned the dial slowly. André’s eyes opened for a brief second at something, then closed again; his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Kek continued to inch the dial around steadily; he completed one turn and started on another. There was a frown on André’s rugged face, difficult to interpret. He opened his eyes, noted the position of the dial, and shook his head.

“Other way now.” He closed his eyes again, his huge hand dwarfing both the mouthpiece of the stethoscope and the lock, pressing the two together with surprising gentleness.

Kek reversed directions. André suddenly opened his eyes.

“Go back again.…”

Kek went back slowly, watching André. André listened some more, watching the dial, and then shook his head in disgust. “I’m hearing things. Keep going.”

Kek went on until the dial pointed to zero again. André sighed, removed the stethoscope, and slid it into his jacket pocket. He added the magnifying glass and stared at the suitcase somberly.

“Either he’s bluffing or it’s a lovely job. Actually,” he added, a touch of professional envy in his voice, “it’s a lovely job whether he’s got it rigged to blow up or not. You can’t hear a thing.”

“If it’s any use,” Kek said, “when he spun the dial to shut off the bell, he turned it counterclockwise.”

André shrugged. “His story was that the case blows up if anyone hits the right number after the bell. Which means the last number is reached going clockwise.” He looked up. “All that gives us is the original direction to start. In a four-number combination you’d start by going counterclockwise.”

“Isn’t that some help?”

“Well,” André said, “if you want to look on the bright side, it brings the chances of finding the right combination by accident—or trial and error, as far as that goes—from about two million to one down to about one million to one.” He sighed and stared at the case. “A really lovely job. If the lock is built with ball bearings under springs, they’d just roll up into their proper socket in turn and there’d be no sound at all. And with the springs, you couldn’t shake them out of place or sequence or into any particular socket. Beautiful.…”

“If you call that beautiful.”

“Well,” André said, “there’s always the chance your friend Schneller just rigged a bell and no dynamite at all.”

Kek shook his head. “He wasn’t bluffing. You just heard him; you didn’t see him.”

“I don’t think he was bluffing either. Why should he?” André put the suitcase on the floor. He leaned back against the pillows, dwarfing them, his feet sprawled out half on the bed, half on the floor. “Anyone capable of building that neat a job could rig a booby trap in it easily enough. And for that much cocaine?” He turned his head, staring down at the suitcase almost with admiration. “No. I’d say the thing is one large, economy-sized grenade.”

“And you can’t open it.” It was a flat statement, not a question.

“Not without blowing up the hotel,” André said and smiled ruefully. “And considering what they charge for rooms in this place, you can imagine the cost of wrecking fifteen or twenty of them.”

“Not to mention us,” Kek said. It was a poor attempt at humor to lighten his disappointment.

“True.” André shifted position, settling down. “So where do we go from here? Wait until we’re somewhere over the ocean and gently drop it in?”

Kek shook his head. “No. I deliver it, contents and all.…”

André’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He hitched himself up on his elbows. “After all you’ve said about never handling narcotics? And after Sanchez tried to make a pincushion out of Anita?”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other,” Kek said and frowned. “I thought I’d deliver him a slightly different cargo than he shipped, and let him and Schneller argue about where the original went, but I never considered not delivering at all. It’s my own fault for taking on the job, but I did and I’ve never failed to deliver yet.” He smiled faintly, an unhumorous smile. “Anyway, airlines frown on people opening doors at thirty thousand feet up.”

“There is that,” André admitted.

“More important at the moment, since it seems the suitcase will remain unopened, is our friend Schneller.…”

“Schneller? You mean the delivery boy? What’s he look like? I heard him, but I missed his face.”

“You missed little. A big blond man, as big as you. And as strong, probably. And nastier, I should judge. A storm-troop type.”

“Who smokes too much.”

“Who smokes too much,” Kek agreed.

“What about him?”

Kek frowned at the man on the bed. “Do you remember how curious he was about how I planned to get the case into Spain and how helpful he’d like to be?”

“Well,” André said, his tone asking Kek merely to be reasonable. “You can hardly blame him. Knowing how to get it into Spain could be useful. For taking other suitcases into other countries in the future.” He smiled. “As I said, I wouldn’t mind having the secret myself.”

Huuygens shook his head decisively. He began to pace the room.

“No, that wasn’t his reason. He was after my itinerary.” He paused to look at André. “Think a moment. If you were paying someone to carry a suitcase worth millions of dollars from one place to another, what would you do?”

“You mean, other than putting in a little package of dynamite to prevent undue curiosity?”

“Of course,” Kek said a trifle impatiently. “The dynamite itself may be a threat, but actually it’s ridiculous. How would it help you if your messenger got himself blown to pieces? You’d still lose your suitcase and everything else.” He shook his head. “No. You’d take out better insurance than that.”

“I would?”

“You would. You’d have him followed.”

André nodded, smiling. “You’re probably right. I’m a very untrusting guy.” He quirked a curious eyebrow at Kek. “So you expect to be followed?”

“I don’t expect to be,” Kek said evenly. “I have been. Ever since I got off the plane this morning.” He saw the look on André’s face. “I wasn’t too surprised. I expected it.” He paused in his pacing. “Look, this Schneller comes into a strange hotel room and hands over a suitcase supposedly worth a fortune to a complete stranger. He doesn’t ask for identification; he doesn’t take any precautions at all. Why?”

“Because it’s not the right suitcase?”

“I think it’s the right suitcase. Why make two cases that complicated? And why hand over any suitcase to a stranger? No, it’s because he knows I’m Kek Huuygens. And how does he know? Because I’ve probably been followed since I left Paris by one of Sanchez’s people. Or, if not, because Schneller’s people picked me up when I got here—which I think is the case, because I didn’t feel followed before, if you know what I mean, and I expected to be.” He resumed his pacing, still talking. “Schneller’s people saw me go through customs today, and someone in customs identified me to him. And he was doing it, of course, for Señor Sanchez.”

André frowned. “So why ask you to take along a bodyguard if he has a shadow on you?”

“Because you can shadow a man fairly easily in a city, if you have enough men to do it, but on a trip it would help a lot if one had a definite itinerary—”

The telephone rang sharply. Kek looked at his watch as if surprised that time had passed so quickly and walked over to the desk, lifting the instrument.

“Sanchez,” he said to André, even before listening, and then paid attention to the call. “Yes? Yes, this is M’sieu Huuygens. Ah, hello, Señor Sanchez. How’s the weather in Barcelona? High winds and rain, you say? What a pity! It’s much better here—medium cirrus clouds and intermittent sunshine.…”

André was staring at him. Kek cupped the receiver and grinned at the man on the bed.

“Sanchez likes codes; or maybe he’s brushing up on a bit of his French he doesn’t use very often. In any event, that bit of nonsense means it’s really me talking to him, and that I’ve taken delivery of the suitcase from Schneller.” He turned his attention to the telephone again. “I beg your pardon? I’m sorry, the line wasn’t too good there for a moment.”

“I said, there’s someone here who would like to speak with you.” Sanchez’s voice was suave; the cold, superior smile on his skeletal face could almost be seen over the miles of cable. Kek’s smile was wiped away instantly; his jaw tightened as he waited. There was only one person it could possibly be!

There was the briefest of pauses and Anita was on the line.

“Kek? Hello, Kek?”

Huuygens glared at André, his face hard. “They’ve got Anita!”

“Again?”

“Again!”

“That girl’s kidnap prone—”

“She certainly is!” Kek spoke into the phone harshly, his eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“They brought me here in a car, in a trunk through the border guards, I suppose. I don’t know; I was asleep. That’s the second time I was stuck with a needle!” Anita sounded irked by the repetition. “I hope these people know how to properly sterilize needles—”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m all right now. I had a sore—it was sore for a while from the needle, and I had a headache at first again, but not so bad this time”—Anita sounded as if she were developing an immunity to needles—“but they’re treating me fine now. The woman who’s watching me—not the one you know—is teaching me needlepoint.… That’s appropriate, isn’t it?”

“Anita! Forget the needlepoint! How are you?”

“I said I was fine. The thing is, I’d wanted to have the living room repapered as a surprise while you were gone, but now I won’t get a chance to—”

“Anita! Will you forget the living room! How are you?”

“I’m fine, dear. I told you that.” Anita suddenly seemed to realize her predicament and its effect on Kek. “I’m sorry, Kek. I know how upset this must make you—”

“Upset!”

“If you’d marry me,” Anita said reasonably, “these things probably wouldn’t happen. People almost never kidnap married women. I suppose because they figure the chances are too great nobody would pay the ransom.”

“Anita!” Kek’s tone brooked no nonsense. “Get off the line and let me talk to Sanchez!”

“All right, dear,” Anita said soothingly. “But you really mustn’t worry about me. I’m fine. Honestly I am. And I’m doing an antimacassar for your big chair, purple and green. It will match the wallpaper if I ever get a chance to—”

“Anita!”

“All right, dear,” Anita said. “Have a good time in Buenos Aires. And hurry home.”

There was a brief pause and then Sanchez was on the line.

“Ah, M’sieu Huuygens—”

“Listen, Sanchez! Why the necessity of holding Anita when you’ve got the suitcase foolproof?”

“Ah, m’sieu—insurance.…” If Kek felt any surprise at hearing his own word come back to him he made no immediate comment. Sanchez continued. “True, you cannot open the suitcase, but you might well fail to deliver it. I am aware of your reputation for treating clients honestly, but there’s too much at stake here for us to depend just on your good word. As for madame, you have my word she will be treated well—”

“If you so much as touch her, I will kill you,” Kek said in a conversational tone.

“I am well aware of your regard,” Sanchez said with a touch of amusement. “There would be little point in bothering her otherwise. As long as you complete your mission, of course. I want the suitcase in Barcelona by next Sunday at the latest. Do you hear?”

Kek took a deep breath. There was obviously nothing he could do at this distance in the matter of Anita. He could, however, clear up a suspicion he had been forming since hearing Anita’s voice.

“How much insurance do you need, Sanchez? If you’re so anxious for my success, you should know that having me followed will only lead to trouble. And failure. And if it does.…”

“Followed?” Sanchez chuckled deprecatingly. “Why should I have you followed? Especially since I have your young woman here? No, no, Huuygens, don’t imagine little people back of bushes. Nor would I suggest you search for excuses. I’m rather disappointed.…” The voice hardened. “Concentrate, instead, on getting the suitcase here. By Sunday!”

There was a click and the sound of the dial tone. Kek replaced the telephone in its cradle and stared at the carpet, his mind considering this new angle. André cleared his throat.

“What did Anita say?”

Kek frowned savagely. He had not been amused by the exchange with his lovely Anita. “She says she’s fine and maybe I ought to marry her, since married women seldom get kidnapped.”

“She’s probably right,” André said and feigned agreement. “I know I’ve never felt the urge to kidnap one.” He straightened his face, coming back to the more important subject. “What did Sanchez have to say for himself?”

“Sanchez said he wants the suitcase in Barcelona by Sunday. Which is no problem.” Kek resumed his pacing. “He also said he isn’t having me followed—as he put it, why should he? And why should he, indeed?” His eyes came up steadily. “And that, my friend, is a problem.”

André considered him a moment and then nodded in understanding. “You mean it looks as if your friend Schneller is overstepping his authority a bit, eh?”

“I’m afraid,” Kek said and went to stare out of the window.

“And,” André went on, warming to his theme, “if Schneller is having you followed, not for Sanchez, he must be doing it for himself. Right?”

“Right.”

“And if he knew where you were going, and when, he might just be able to arrange to have someone waiting for you along the line. And you would be left holding the bag. I mean, not holding the bag,” he amended in the interests of accuracy and sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to find a crook you can trust these days.”

“Too true,” Kek said absently and continued staring into the street, his mind busy with the problem.

“It would also mean, of course, that your friend Schneller would have to do something to prevent your being around afterward,” André said, expounding his theory further. “Something like killing you. Because you’re the type to go crying to Sanchez and tell him the big, bad man from Buenos Aires slapped your wrist and took away all your candy.”

“That’s me,” Kek said and grinned without turning around. “Just a poor sport.”

“And Sanchez might just believe you. So Schneller can’t leave you around.” André became serious. “So what do we do about it? Take Schneller along and drop him into the ocean?”

“They still object to opening plane doors at thirty thousand feet. Besides,” Kek said, looking down, “if Schneller has any idea of taking the suitcase away from me, he’d probably hire somebody to do the job, much as he’d hate to—”

“Hate to?”

“About all that Sanchez told me about the man is that he hates to spend money. A maniac tightwad. But he’d pay to have someone take me; it would be worth it to him. After our little talk he knows I’ll have an eye out for him; and he’s like you in one respect—he’s hard to hide.” He frowned. “And the people he could hire just in Buenos Aires that I don’t know come to about six million. Not to mention a lot of others in other cities.”

André saw a hole in the argument. “Except,” he said, “if he takes the suitcase away from you before Spain, how will he get it through customs?”

“He doesn’t want it in Spain, for heaven’s sake! That’s the last place he wants it. He wants the bag and me to disappear together, all right, but anywhere else. They buy cocaine in lots of places these days.” The crowds he was staring at without seeing in the streets below seemed to suddenly give him an idea. “You know.…”

“What?”

Huuygens suddenly turned, smiling. “It would be better, wouldn’t it, if Herr Schneller took on the job of taking the suitcase away from me? Personally? Rather than some unknown thug he could hire that I wouldn’t know or recognize?”

“I suppose. But how do you get him to do it?”

“It might just be possible.…”

He held up a hand against interruption and began pacing the room. The people in the street had reminded him that it was easier to lose a man in a crowd than in an empty street. His idea had begun to take form. It was rough at that stage, which was natural, but that did not bother him; he knew instinctively it was a workable concept. He began to put some of the details in, staring at the girl leading the burro, but not seeing the picture at all. Suddenly it struck him that that was exactly what he was planning to do: lead a burro. The smile on the girl’s face was transformed to his own.

Insurance, Schneller had said, and Sanchez and he had both repeated the word. Well, this wasn’t exactly insurance, but it was a chance to get Schneller off his neck at least. He had always known how he was going to get the suitcase past the customs in Spain; the nice thing about this new plan was that it did not interfere with the original scheme at all. It did not, unfortunately, also include a means of teaching Señor Sanchez a lesson for sticking pins into girls, but that was a problem that would have to wait. One enemy at a time—today Schneller, tomorrow Sanchez. He let his thoughts go back to his new scheme, taking it from the beginning; now the little tumblers—unlike those spring-loaded ball bearings in Schneller’s suitcase—began to drop into place with almost audible clicks. Nor did any warning bell ring as the outlines of the plan began to solidify. He checked it over one final time and then turned to the patiently waiting André.

“André, we’ll need a bit of shopping—”

“For anything interesting?”

“Suitcase covers, two of them. You know, those canvas things.…”

André frowned. “I haven’t seen one of those in years.”

“They still have them in luggage stores. My suitcase is roughly the size of one. With covers on they’ll be pretty hard to tell apart from a distance.”

André’s eyes lit up. “The old shell game?”

“Something like it. Except you’ll be taking one of the walnut shells with you when you leave.”

“That’s cheating,” André said, scandalized, and swung himself from the bed. He pulled the unaccustomed necktie into place, straightened the jacket, and ran his fingers through his nearly-white gray hair. “Two suitcase covers coming up! I gather you want me to do the shopping? If you’re being followed? Down two flights by stairs and then the elevator,” he added sotto voce, as if repeating instructions, and then looked up, frowning, doing a double take. “Hold it! What do you mean, I’ll be taking one of the walnut shells with me. Aren’t we traveling together?”

“No. You leave tonight; I go tomorrow.”

André shook his large head stubbornly. “No, sir! Not with that storm-troop type after you! We didn’t come together because there was a reason; now there’s a reason we go back together, and we do!”

“We don’t!” Kek said definitely. “There’s also a reason. And I suppose it’s about time you found out what the plans are.”

“Well, thank you very much,” André said stiffly and sat down again on the bed. He got up to tug on his trousers, protecting the unusual crease, and then sat down again, waiting. Kek stopped his pacing and stood facing the big man, beginning to outline his plan. André listened with no expression on his face, although at one point he smiled and then immediately brought his face back to its immobility. When at last Kek finished there were several moments of silence. Then André sighed and came to his feet.

“It could work,” he said slowly. “I don’t mean the smuggling; that’s perfect. I mean the thing with Schneller. Still, in everything, there are a couple of things I’m not too fond of—”

Kek faced him, unsmiling. “Just a couple?”

“Mainly. First, I don’t like the fact that you still don’t know how to teach Sanchez a lesson and still plan on giving him that suitcase.…”

“And?”

“And suppose that Schneller doesn’t follow the bait? Suppose he doesn’t react the way you expect him to?”

Huuygens sighed and turned to look out of the window again out over the city, but not seeing it.

“Then,” he said, “we may be in trouble.…”