The Tricks of the Trade

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  “I’m sure they would both be very nasty,” Kek agreed pleasantly, but his sharp gray eyes were studying the big man closely. “However, since I have no intention of failing.…” He shrugged, his meaning clear.

  “Still,” Schneller said stubbornly, it never does any harm to have some form of insurance. For example, you obviously have some plan for getting into Spain. You probably feel it best to do so alone. However, it’s my opinion you would be much better off with a companion—”

  Kek’s eyebrows went up. “You mean a woman?” His eyes were joking.

  “No, no! I mean—”

  “You mean a bodyguard.” Kek shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t work that way.”

  “Then at least let us know your plans. You’ve been assured of payment; I understand it’s in an escrow account merely requiring Sanchez’s signature. So it seems to me the need for secrecy is past. I feel we have a right to know how you plan to get it into Spain—”

  Kek looked at him. “We?”

  “We. All of us with a stake in the matter.”

  “I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

  “Then at least let us have people at the various places you will be passing through. For protection.…”

  “Against what?” Kek asked curiously. “The danger is from customs, and how do you propose to protect against that?”

  “No, no,” Schneller said and removed the unlit cigarette from his lip. He looked at it a moment and laid it aside, bringing his attention back to the stocky man. “The question is how you propose to protect against that.” He leaned forward, oozing respectability and good intent. “Believe me, m’sieu, the time for secrecy is past. You have the suitcase; you are guaranteed payment. There is no need for secrecy at this point.”

  “You honestly believe that?”

  “Quite,” Schneller said as convincingly as he could. His eyes had narrowed. Despite his best efforts, his fingers showed the strain; they curled slightly along the crease of his trousers.

  “Fair enough,” Kek said lightly. “You start the no-secrecy bit. Give me the combination of the lock—and stay here while we open the case—and I’ll be happy to tell you my whole story.”

  The look of anticipation on Schneller’s face disappeared as if wiped away by a huge hand, replaced by a cold glare of fury. The pale eyes considered the other man for several moments. He came to his feet slowly and moved toward the door.

  “Very cute, M’sieu Huuygens,” he said. His face was expressionless other than his eyes; they were alive with malevolence. “I wish you luck in getting your suitcase through customs.”

  “Thank you,” Kek said in the same tone. He held up a hand. “One thing, Herr Schneller. You say you have an interest in the suitcase getting to Barcelona; you can help by seeing to it that I am not constantly followed. I have trouble enough getting myself and my luggage through customs without having to explain a watchdog to the officials.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “We all have troubles,” Schneller said at last. His tone was wooden. He twisted the lock and pulled the door open. “Good-bye, m’sieu.” He nodded abruptly, his face stiff, and walked heavily down the hallway, not bothering to close the door.

  Kek walked to the door. He watched the large, bulky man punch the elevator button viciously and then closed the door softly. He locked it and walked over to tap on the door of the adjoining room. It opened and André appeared. He was grinning widely.

  “It’s a pity Anita wasn’t here. If ever I heard a demonstration aimed at curing the smoking habit! However.…” He looked down at the suitcase. “So that’s it, eh? And our friend wanted to know how you intended to get it past Spanish customs, eh?” He shook his head in mock sadness. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a nosey guy.”

  Kek looked at him without smiling. “You heard?”

  “Of course I heard,” André said disdainfully. “I’ve got ears like a beagle and your friend didn’t exactly whisper. Besides, you wanted me to hear.” André’s grin faded. “He asked a good question, though. Just how do you expect to get it in?”

  Kek looked at him solemnly. “If you were listening,” he said seriously, “you know that’s by far the least of the problems. The proper question is, how do we open the damn suitcase?”

  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 h
ow 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!”