11

By noon the ashtray had been filled and emptied several times into the wastebasket beneath the desk, but the brandy bottle had not been touched. The remains of several pots of coffee and three sandwiches accounted for both his breakfast and his lunch. Twice, the comely camarera had been sent away when she came to straighten out the room, and even now was petulantly sorting linens in the tiny closet at the end of the hall, wondering unhappily just what there was about her to cause the handsome gentleman in 607 to remain a gentleman.

Kek crushed out his cigarette and leaned over, studying the final list on his desk, the result of hours of untiring thought. He lit another cigarette automatically and came to his feet, moving to the window, staring down unseeingly. His mind checked each of the many steps of the plan, going over them for the tenth time or more, reviewing the timetable he had established, trying to find some fault, some chink in the unassailable and inevitable logic of the scheme. He could find none. There were always, he knew, unknown factors that cropped up unexpectedly; these would have to be dealt with at the moment, as best they could. The mark of success was nearly always the ability to handle such unknown factors smoothly and without panic. But far more important was to arrange things so that something that should have been foreseen and calculated did not suddenly appear as a surprise.

He turned back to his desk, dropping into the chair there, frowning at the list once again, and then nodded decisively. It was a good plan, with every opportunity of success, and he had studied it long enough. It was now time to put it into practice. With the feeling of relief that always came at this stage of a job, he crumpled the paper and applied a match to it, placing it in the ashtray to burn itself out, and then mixing the still-warm ashes with the matchstick.

The telephone rang; he tossed the matchstick on top of the other debris in the ashtray and reached over to pick up the receiver.

“Hello? Yes?”

“M’sieu Huuygens?” The question was obviously rhetorical, or the caller would not have continued. “This is Senhor Echavarria.…” The guttural voice was without emotion. “Do you have any news?”

“News?”

“How are your plans going?”

Kek smiled faintly, staring at the still-smoking ashes. He reached out and retrieved the matchstick, stirring them a bit more. “Very well.”

“Good! And do you have any idea yet as to how long it will be until.…” The voice trailed off significantly.

Huuygens closed his eyes, pictured the timetable a moment, and then reopened them. “At the moment it’s a bit difficult to say, exactly. It depends to a large degree on what I am able to accomplish today. My visa will be ready tomorrow, but there’s also the question of selecting the right—transportation.…”

“Of course.”

“Still, I hope we may be able to finalize our business on Friday.”

“In four days? So soon?” The guttural voice sounded surprised.

Kek assumed a cold tone. “Time is money, m’sieu. As it is, I shall have to spend a week in travel that I had not originally calculated.”

Gruber hurried to clarify his position. “I’m not objecting to the time, I was merely rather amazed. For me, the sooner the better. Would you suggest I call you on Thursday, then? In the evening?”

“That would be fine. By then I should be able to give you the exact time.”

“Good. And now that that’s out of the way,” Gruber continued smoothly, “I might mention that my wife informs me that she met you yesterday. And seemed quite convinced that you are the ideal man for the—ah, the assignment.”

“Oh?” Kek sounded noncommittal, but he frowned, wondering what the other was leading up to.

“Yes. She also appeared to be quite attracted to you,” Gruber went on, and suddenly chuckled. The chuckle disappeared as if swallowed, replaced by the original suave tone. “Quite enthusiastic. You would have to know my wife better to realize how rare that is with her. Unfortunately.…” His voice trailed off apologetically.

Kek waited a moment and then spoke. “Unfortunately what, m’sieu?”

Gruber appeared to change the subject. “From your conversation of yesterday, m’sieu, it occurs to me you are undoubtedly planning on transporting the—ah, the merchandise—on a carrier that might not have proper accommodations for a lady.” He coughed diffidently. “Also, of course, Friday is a bit sooner than we had originally thought. I’m afraid my wife will not be able to—to——”

“You mean, will not be able to accompany us?”

“Exactly! She could join me—us, that is—later. There are many things she could find to do around the house.” A further thought struck Gruber, an argument possibly even more convincing. “I also imagine it might ease your problem somewhat if fewer people were involved in your travel arrangements——”

“Changing my plans every five minutes scarcely eases my problem!” Kek made no attempt to hide his irritation. He waited a few seconds and then went on, making a concession. “However, I haven’t gotten along so far that it seriously upsets anything. If that is the way you prefer it——”

“Fine! I appreciate your cooperation, m’sieu. I honestly think it would be much better this way. For all of us. I’ll call you on Thursday, then. Until then, m’sieu.…” The telephone was disconnected with a soft click.

Huuygens hung up slowly. He could almost see the other man leaning back in his chair in the dim library, a wolfish grin of satisfaction on his lips. The thought brought a similar smile to his own; the smile grew to a laugh. In his mind he mentally crossed off the first item on the list he had just burned. Thanks to Gruber, it would not be necessary for him to devise some argument to prevent Jadzia from accompanying them. That had been part of the scheme, a necessary part to clear his conscience, and Gruber—dear, jealous, stupid Gruber—had been kind enough to do it for him. He came to his feet and reached for his jacket, winking at himself grimly in the mirror as he pulled it on and walked to the door with a smile.

If our friends cooperate with me as well as our enemies, he thought, and if I handle my part of the scheme properly, this thing may work out very well indeed.…

The afternoon, as he had anticipated, was a busy one. To begin with, he stopped at a stationer’s shop and bought a large pad of red-edged gummed labels, all blank, a roll of transparent tape, a metal rule, and also a small bottle of marking ink, a fine brush, several packages of tissue paper, and a plastic bag of the type used for airplane travel in which to carry the other items. After the stationer’s shop, he next visited a small job-printing house in the neighborhood, where he had the gummed labels printed to his direction. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked the man to print him some business cards.

The legend that Kek produced for the printer to copy indicated that his name was Sr. Enrique Echavarria, and that he enjoyed the position of managing director of the Banco Internacional Económica of Madrid. The printer, a young man with far more important matters on his mind, gave no particular thought to the routine request, but set the type and went to work. Huuygens, waiting at a window and watching the traffic go by, considered with pride the name of the bank he had chosen. If there isn’t a bank with that name, he thought with an inner smile, there certainly should be; it sounds so beautifully substantial!

His next stop was at an automobile rental agency in the Avenida da Republica. The business cards he had just had printed—together with his distinguished appearance—worked their magic, and in a short while the necessary papers had been signed, a suitable deposit given, and he drove from the agency in a carefully selected sedan of demonstrated power. It was not, he realized, as flashy a car as Jadzia’s, but he was sure it would probably excite far less notice.

His next move was postponed until he was well away from the agency; had he made it there it might well have aroused curiosity. He drove into the park across from the hotel, selected a rather deserted drive, drew to the curb, and descended. He walked to the rear of the car, opened the trunk, and measured it carefully; to any passing driver he appeared to be merely a man checking his spare tire. Huuygens knew he could always exchange the car on one pretext or another if the measurements were not to his liking, but fortunately there was no need. The trunk was of a size that would serve perfectly.

There were still many things to do that day, and he got right to them. A hardware store nearby furnished him with a hammer, a box of nails, a screwdriver, and a pair of pliers. The owner of the store would have been amazed had he watched his customer once he was back in the car, because the first thing Kek did was to use the hammer and screwdriver as levers to twist the pliers until they were useless. He tried the jaws several times, failed to close them, and grinned as he tossed the tools into the plastic bag together with his stationer’s supplies.

His last chore for the day was to locate a small carpentry shop and order a packing case made to the dimensions he carried in his head. The cover, he explained to the owner, was to be made separately, and he would nail it shut once the box had been packed. The two hovered over sketches until Kek was sure the man knew exactly what he wanted; a price was established, a deposit given, and Kek left the shop with the assurance that the box would be ready by the next afternoon.

It was past six o’clock by the time he left the carpentry shop, and he drove back to the hotel with a feeling of accomplishment. It was the same good feeling he always had when a job was well under way, and the time schedule was being properly respected. He parked the car in the hotel garage and took the elevator up to his floor; even the ancient lift seemed in better spirits, or at least to Kek’s ears the usual metallic complaints were less strident.

In his room he tossed the plastic bag onto the bed, slipped out of his jacket, loosened his tie, and walked to the table before the windows. He had done a good day’s work and deserved a drink; he poured himself a stiff brandy and sank down in the easy chair, sipping it, and then glanced at his watch. Still a good hour and a half before André showed up for dinner—plenty of time to make his call to Anita.

He reached for the telephone and placed the call, leaning back idly, drawing his glass beneath his nose, appreciating the aroma. He could hear the exchange of operator-talk, and then at long last the ringing of a telephone at the other end. He frowned as the telephone continued unanswered, waited for several more rings, and then slowly depressed the lever, thinking. It was essential that he contact Anita as soon as possible, but he couldn’t leave the call in, since he had no idea where he and André would be dining. The best thing, he decided at last, would be to contact his answering service and have them keep trying Anita’s number. And have them leave a message with her to call him at midnight at the hotel.

He released the lever and placed another call for his own number in Paris. There was the usual delay; he finished his brandy and leaned back comfortably, waiting. At last he heard the number ring; the telephone was immediately picked up. His frown deepened; his answering service never responded until the fifth ring. He spoke cautiously.

“Hello?”

“M’sieu Huuygens’s residence. Who is this, please?”

Kek sat up straight in the chair. “Anita! What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Kek! It’s lovely of you to call.” She sounded delighted. “How have you been? How are things in.…”

“Anita! Answer me—what are you doing in my apartment?”

“Well.…” Anita paused as if arranging things in her mind so as to be perfectly accurate. “This morning I moved your desk over to the other wall—the one nearest the door, and—You know, Kek, I don’t believe that elevator man is from the police. He was very sweet. He helped me move the desk. I gave him five francs. And do you know?” Her tone became severe. “I’m sure Marie never moved that desk since you’ve been in this apartment. The dust under it!”

“Anita!”

“And I think the bar should be moved, too. I’m sure it’s absolutely filthy beneath. And it would really look better near the balcony doors. But I understand there are pipes and things to the sink.…”

Kek glowered at the instrument. “Will you leave my apartment alone? I liked the desk where it was!”

“You haven’t seen it where it is now.” Anita’s tone expressed surprise at his unadventurous spirit as far as furniture location was concerned. “It looks much better. Of course, we’ll have to change some of the pictures around, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll try to get to that tomorrow. I’m sure that sweet old man will help me.”

Huuygens was gritting his teeth. “You keep that sweet old man out of my apartment!”

“Why, Kek! Certainly you can’t be jealous of an old man? He was a perfect gentleman today—Oh!” Anita suddenly understood. “You don’t have to worry; I was with him every minute he was here. Although I’m sure he’s not from the police. The police wouldn’t give me the keys to your apartment, would they? Besides, if he had the keys, and he was from the police, he could be in here whenever he wanted.…”

Kek knew there was nothing incriminating in the apartment; there never was. “That’s not the point.…”

“But,” Anita went on, the soul of cooperation, “if you wish, I can have the locks changed tomorrow.”

“Great,” Kek said in disgust. “And just how do I get in when I get back home? Because, my sweet, you are leaving there at once!”

“I can’t, Kek. I’ve already sublet my apartment to some Americans. For an absolutely marvelous price! Especially considering the stove doesn’t work too well, but I don’t suppose that will bother them. They didn’t look the type to eat in very often. I just hope they don’t use my good china, but then, if they don’t cook, they won’t really need china, will they?” She went on with scarcely a pause. “Kek, when you called, you expected your answering service to answer, didn’t you? Was there anything you wanted that I could do for you? There weren’t any messages, because I checked.”

Kek had completely forgotten the original purpose of his call. He stared at the telephone a moment and raised his shoulders. The problem of the apartment and Anita’s tenancy would have to wait.

“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact I was going to ask them to get in touch with you and have you call me.”

“Oh, good! Then you did think of me!”

“Yes,” he said, and smiled wryly. “I wanted you to do me a favor.”

“But of course, darling.”

He stared at the telephone in silence a moment, and then shrugged. “I have a friend, a newspaper man named Jimmy Lewis. Mark down his number.” He gave it, waited a moment, and then continued. “Do you have it? Good. Now; I promised him a story if I came across one, and I have. So I want you to call him and tell him you have a very big tip, but that you won’t be able to give it to him until tomorrow night. Is that clear?”

“Do I tell him the tip is coming from you?”

“You do not. Don’t give him any names. Just sound mysterious.” He thought a moment and grinned. “And sexy. That’ll hold Jimmy. Then tomorrow night you call him and give him the tip. Which is.…”

“Why don’t I wait and do it all tomorrow?”

“Because I want to be sure he’s there tomorrow. I don’t want him to take off for parts unknown; I want him available. Incidentally, if he is out of town now, or you can’t get in touch with him, call me back and let me know. I’m at the Ouro Vermelho here in Lisbon. If I don’t hear from you I’ll assume you got in touch with him. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

It occurred to Kek that Anita would probably make a very good secretary at that. “All right. Now, I want you to check on all the flights to Lisbon from Paris—all airlines, even small ones—and tomorrow night after the last one has left—or at least after it’s too late for him to catch the last one, I want you to call Jimmy again. If I know him, he’ll be waiting for the call.”

“I understand. You don’t want him there until Thursday morning. And what do I say to him?”

Kek smiled faintly. “You simply say to him: Wilhelm Gruber is in Lisbon.…”

“Wilhelm Gruber? Isn’t he the …?”

“Never mind who he is or isn’t. Jimmy knows who he is. Just do it exactly as I’ve said.”

“Of course.” Anita sounded faintly hurt that Kek could think she wouldn’t. “That’s all I say? That Wilhelm Gruber is in Lisbon?”

“Not quite,” Kek said softly. “You will also say to him: ‘The man to see for all details is the assistant chief of detectives for Lisbon; a man named Michel Morell.…’”

André and Kek dined that night at a small restaurant perched at the end of a dock near the northern boundary of the city. Soft lights reflected colorfully from the ripples of the river; a guitarist in one corner bent far over his instrument, softly playing a fada. The occasional whisper of a huge prow cutting through the darkness in midstream gave sibilant counterpart to the music, and made the lights dance wildly in the backwash.

The food was delicious. André finished wiping his plate with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed, drew his napkin from his collar, and wiped his face. There was a pleased grin on his face.

“Not bad, eh?” He lit a cigarette from the pack on the table and reached for his glass of cognac. “There are considerations to not living in France. The food here in Portugal is as good or better, and far cheaper. And the cognac?” He kissed the fingers of his free hand. “No comparison …”

“A far cry from the old days of the Resistance, eh?” Kek also took a cigarette and lit it, leaning back comfortably, puffing on it with enjoyment.

“I should hope so!” André grinned. “And every now and then, as an added attraction, a friend from the outside world.” His grin faded. “You leave Friday, eh?”

“Thursday,” Kek corrected him gently.

“The day after tomorrow? But I thought you said.…”

“I told Gruber we were leaving Friday.” His gray eyes twinkled. “You see, André, everything in this business is either misdirection, or timing. Or both.” He shrugged. “Senhor Enrique Echavarria will simply have to be ready with one day’s less notice. It’ll give him less time to worry and fret.”

“I suppose you know best, but I hate to see you go so soon. When shall we see each other again?”

“I don’t know,” Kek said honestly, regretfully. “Someplace; sometime.…”

“I doubt it,” André said, and shook his huge head ruefully. His eyes came up. “Still, it was good to see you this time. You said before that this life is a far cry from the days of the Resistance. It is—in both ways. At least in those days I was a bit more of a man than I am today. Seeing you again makes me realize it.”

“We were all more men then than we are today. There was more reason to be.…”

“Yes.” André sighed and then suddenly grinned. “We had some times together, though, didn’t we? I’ll never forget you and that damned radio you dragged all over the place.…”

Kek also grinned. “And you. I remember one time in particular—the time we knocked out that police station at Vic-le-Comte. Georges, dragging that squealing schoolgirl out of the way at the last minute—by her pigtails. And you, running like mad down the street with that rifle of yours in one hand and that suitcase in the other. You looked like a commuter trying to catch the five-fifteen.” His smile faded. “Which reminds me.…”

André drank his cognac and reached for the bottle again. “Which reminds you of what?”

“That suitcase of yours reminds me I need one. I came away from Paris unprepared for some of the contingencies I’ve run into, timewise and otherwise. All I brought with me was a small overnight bag.” He pushed his glass forward. “Would it be possible to borrow a suitcase? Something like you used to drag around with you?”

“I suppose so.” André poured himself a drink and then filled Kek’s glass. “I’ll drop it off at your hotel tomorrow.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to luck.”

Huuygens smiled and shook his head. “There’s no such thing as luck.” He raised his glass as well. “Here’s to planning, friends, misdirection, and timing.”

“And luck,” André finished. He grinned and drank his brandy.