“Best in town,” André said expansively. His face fell a bit. “It’s still not the Ritz, you understand.”
“And the screwdriver and the batteries? And the wire?”
André paused at a crossroad, checked traffic, and then turned into it. He glanced at Kek sideways. He didn’t sound happy.
“I got them, but I think we’re asking for trouble trying to force that case. We both agreed it couldn’t be opened without blowing the two of us to kingdom come. And even if we don’t scatter ourselves all over Zaragoza, if there are any signs of tampering.… Well, don’t forget that Sanchez still has Anita.”
Kek looked at him. “Do you think I’m forgetting that?”
“No,” André said. He looked uncomfortable. “But you know what I mean—”
“Look,” Kek said quietly. “We brought the suitcase into Spain despite Herr Schneller and customs both. Now we’re going to teach Señor Luis Sanchez not to be impolite to young ladies. And not to get M’sieu Kek Huuygens to bring narcotics to him across national boundaries!”
“Except that killing ourselves doesn’t sound like much of a lesson to Luis Sanchez—”
“We’re not going to kill ourselves. I hope. Anyway, we’ll discuss it in the morning,” Kek said and yawned deeply. His eyes suddenly opened wide as he thought of something else. “I hope you have some decent cognac in your room.”
“Plenty. But about the suitcase—”
“Forget it until tomorrow. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” André said, “and I know you know a lot, but you don’t know too much about locks—”
“I said, trust me,” Kek repeated and grinned in the darkness. “Or, rather, trust me and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Between us we know just about everything.…”
A good night’s sleep and a typically Aragonian breakfast did much to bring Kek Huuygens back to his normal spirits; forgotten was the long, tiresome plane trip, the irritation of the personal search suffered in Madrid, and even the mental discomfort of playing the part of the boorish airline passenger with the lost suitcase. Even Hans Schneller, now undoubtedly wishing he had not pitted himself against Kek Huuygens—not to mention André and the entire Lisbon police department—played no part in his thoughts. His concentration was dedicated entirely to Señor Luis Sanchez and the punishment he merited. When he thought of his plans he was forced to grin.
They paused outside the breakfast room of the inn. The morning sun coming over the hills to the east touched the sill of a low window, sending their shadows grotesquely down the long corridor. Kek looked up at his large companion.
“André, those things you bought yesterday—”
André nodded. The mystery was to be revealed at last, and about time. “They’re in the car. I’ll get them.”
“No,” Kek said. “Just bring the car around. I’ll pay the bill and get the bags. This isn’t the place to—” He broke off.
“To do what?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I think we should be doing about it,” André said. “Nothing.”
“The car,” Kek said and started climbing the steps to their rooms. André went outside, shaking his head. The suitcase was dynamite—real dynamite—and only fools played with it. Fools or very stubborn people like someone he knew.…
The car was parked in the rear of the inn, outside of an old barn. André walked around the car as if to make sure it hadn’t been stolen in the night, then made a second tour, this time for the time-honored purpose of kicking the tires. Their excellent condition was testified to by the fact that they did not collapse under the monstrous boot. Whistling, he climbed back of the wheel and drove around to the front of the inn. Kek was standing there with the two suitcases; he set them in the back and got in.
“You know your way?”
“Me?” André looked hurt. “I hitchhiked to Barcelona from Lisbon a year ago and got myself stuck in these parts for three days. Know it? Like a native.” He turned onto the main highway and speeded up. “If I’d been here another two days, I could have voted.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Kek said. “Once we get out of town, find us a small road off to one side—going to a farm or something. I want a place that’s deserted.”
“Deserted places are what they have around here in abundance, but why?” He brought his attention back to the road in time to miss an elderly bicyclist pedaling along on the edge of the road. André pulled past and brought his attention back to Huuygens. “I’d hoped you had given up your notion of messing around with the suitcase.”
“Just one small mess around,” Kek said, but there was no humor in his voice. His eyes were somber as he studied the countryside. Suddenly he pointed. “How about that road there?”
André sighed. This Kek was a stubborn, stubborn man! Hard-headed. But not to be denied. The big man touched the brake, slowed down, and turned the wheel; they bumped from the smooth asphalt to a rutted dirt road that wound off into the rolling hills, quickly taking them from sight of the highway. André’s hands were loose on the steering wheel; they swayed and bounced with the dips and rises. They had gone on for about five minutes when Kek put his hand on the other’s arm.
“This should do it.…”
André obediently pulled the car from the road to the grassy shoulder and brought it to a stop. Kek climbed down, pulled the suitcase from the backseat, and then looked up at the big man.
“The stuff—”
“Look, Kek—”
“Yes?”
André paused at the tone the other man used; there was danger in it. He sighed helplessly and opened the glove compartment. The items were dug out and handed over.
“Fine,” Kek said. “Now, you drive on about five hundred yards and wait until I wave to you. The book didn’t say anything about blowing oneself up doing this, but there’s no sense in taking any more chances than necessary.”
“You better let me handle any blowing up,” André said evenly. “That used to be my profession, in case you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget,” Kek said and flashed a brief, sudden smile. “The only thing is I read the encyclopedia, and you didn’t.” The smile disappeared.
André looked at him a moment and shrugged. There was no arguing with the man. He put the car into gear and bumped along the shoulder rather than attempting to dip back to the road at that point. It seemed clear that Kek was planning to blow the suitcase up from a distance, something quite obviously impossible at the inn. That would explain the spool of wire and the batteries, but why the screwdriver? To make contact with something? As an old dynamiter, André was hard put to understand the means Kek planned.
Nor why he had gone through all the trouble of smuggling the suitcase successfully into Spain just to dispose of it. It could have been destroyed as easily in Argentina; they sold wire and screwdrivers and batteries down there as well. A further thought made the whole thing even more inexplicable—without the suitcase, what did Kek plan to say to Luis Sanchez? After all, the skinny man from Barcelona still held Anita.…
The whole thing didn’t make sense. He awoke from his reverie to find himself much more than five hundred yards away and, in addition, around a bend in the road. He also found himself hunched over the wheel, as if in anticipation of the explosion’s roar. He dipped back into the road, managed to turn around in an old cart path, and rocked back over the ruts in the direction he had come from. He negotiated the curve and began to brake as soon as he saw Huuygens; Kek was waving him on. André stepped on the accelerator and instantly braked again. It would benefit nobody to break a crankshaft or axle!
He drew up before Huuygens, frowning. Kek climbed into the car, dragging the suitcase after him. He placed it in the rear, tossed the other items into the glove compartment, and looked at André.
“Let’s go.”
André frowned. “What happened?” He put the car in gear; they bounced along the rough road. “Change your mind?”
Kek laughe
d. He seemed much more relaxed.
“No, I didn’t change my mind. It’s just that the Encyclopaedia Britannica and I work fast.” He leaned back. “I think I’ll take a nap. We still have a big day ahead. I’ll spell you driving when we leave Barcelona. Try to pick out the soft spots in the road.” He closed his eyes and then opened them. “By the way, I called Sanchez this morning before breakfast. We’re to meet him at noon at a place called Villarino Bar. In the manager’s office. Do you know it?”
“Know it?” André said. He sounded insulted. “I called you from there. That’s where I finally ran Duarte to ground.”
“Fine!” Kek’s eyes were twinkling. “Sanchez was quite pleased we were ahead of schedule. May he stay pleased for a long time! Poor Schneller.…”
Poor Schneller? André frowned. Where did Schneller come into the picture? Of course there were many reasons for saying “Poor Schneller,” but none of them seemed appropriate in the circumstance. André glanced at the man beside him.
“Poor Schneller?”
“He’ll have a lot of explaining to do for a long time to come,” Kek said cryptically and closed his eyes a second time.
The high-crowned asphalt highway leading east from Zaragoza winds alongside the twisting Ebro River through the rolling hills of Los Monegros; at Mequinenza one is given a choice of routes to get to Barcelona. It was early; André decided on the longer but more scenic way, through Ascó and Reus, dipping down to the Mediterranean at Tarragona and taking the road along the bluffs above the sea, coming upon Barcelona from the south. The day was brilliant with sunshine and tiny, puffy white clouds against a sky as blue as the sea that accompanied them.
André handled the car with ease; at his side Kek slept peacefully. It was the bumping over cobblestones and the increased sounds of traffic that finally brought him from his nap. They were well within the city. He yawned and sat up, looking around.
“Where are we?”
“Barcelona,” André said, a bit proudly.
“So soon?” Kek yawned and looked at his watch. “No—right on time. How far to the Villarino?”
“About three blocks,” André said. “It’s in the Plaza de Antonio Lopez.” He slowed down and stopped for a policeman directing traffic.
Kek frowned in thought. “Take a turn around the plaza when you get there; point the place out to me. Then stop around the first corner and let me out. And wait for me there.” He anticipated the argument and answered it. “Muscle wouldn’t help if there’s trouble; I’m sure Sanchez is prepared for any contingency along those lines. And there’s going to be no trouble.” He smiled. “Not for us.…”
“Well, all right,” André said. He didn’t sound as sure as his companion, but he was prepared to go along with him for the time being at least. “But if you aren’t out of there in fifteen minutes—”
“Just don’t call the police,” Kek said and laughed.
André was not amused. He turned into the square, passing a large truck, and made a turn around it, jerking his head toward the bar. It wasn’t really necessary; the Villarino was well advertised by a huge sign that covered the width of the building. André pulled around the next corner and stopped; Kek got down and dragged the suitcase free.
“This shouldn’t take too long—”
“It better not,” André said ominously. “You sure you don’t want help?”
“I want you right here with the car, ready to go.”
He winked at the big man behind the wheel and walked around the corner and back toward the bar. If the Encyclopaedia Britannica was worth the price, the adventure of the suitcase should end on a note that would not only repay his time and trouble, but also repay Sanchez for his poor manners with women. He threaded his way through the marble-topped tables, deserted at that hour of siesta, and came into the cool dimness of the bar. Two men leaning on the long counter considered him carefully. One studied the suitcase a moment and straightened up.
“Huuygens?”
“That’s right.”
“You alone?”
Kek looked at him. The man looked a bit confused and then tipped his head. “This way.”
He led the way to the back of the long room, turned into a corridor, and tapped on a door at its end. Without waiting for a response, he swung the door open and jerked his head in command for Kek to enter. Kek smiled at him genially and walked into the room.
The first thing his eyes sought and found was Anita. She was sitting quite calmly near the window, smoking. She smiled at him and nodded but did not speak. Kek turned. Sanchez was sitting at the manager’s desk, his thin fingers tapping the blotter restlessly. A short, fat man sat beside him—Duarte, Kek decided. Four men, tough-looking and obviously armed, completed the complement, standing at various places along the wall, making the room appear smaller than it was. Kek brought his attention back to Anita, speaking over Sanchez’s head.
“How are you, honey? Did they treat you well?”
“Fine, dear. I’m a bit tired, though.…”
“We’ll be leaving soon, sweet.” He smiled at her and turned to Sanchez, the smile still on his face. “Here’s your suitcase, señor. A paper to sign and I believe we can complete our business.”
“In a moment.…” Sanchez reached out and took the suitcase from him. He fished a monocle from a pocket, screwed it in place, and studied the combination lock. Whatever markings had been put there to determine authenticity apparently he found. He smiled, looked at Duarte as if to say I told you so, and nodded at Kek.
“You have the escrow paper?” Kek reached into his pocket and handed it over. Sanchez studied it a moment, signed it with a flourish, and handed it back. “There we are. A pleasure to do business with you, m’sieu.” His head turned to look at Anita. “Mademoiselle, your company was a pleasure.”
Anita looked at Kek, surprised it had been that easy.
“We can go?”
“I’d just like to wait and see the suitcase open, if I could. After all—”
“You can go, m’sieu.” It was Duarte, and both his voice and his face were hard. “You did your job and you’ve been well paid for it. I suggest you and your—your girl—go quickly and quietly.”
Anita came to her feet eagerly. Kek shrugged.
“If you put it like that, of course.… Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He paused at the door, his arm around Anita’s shoulder. “By the way, in the future I suggest you get someone else to run your errands. I don’t care for your methods.”
“Don’t worry,” Duarte said flatly.
“Thank you,” Kek said, as if in gratitude, and ushered Anita out.
He led the way through the empty bar at a reasonable pace, but once in the street he took her arm and hurried her toward the car. She followed along willingly. André had the car door open for them as soon as he saw them come around the corner. They crowded into the front seat with him; the big man stepped on the accelerator, wheeling away from the curb, turning toward the avenue leading from the square to the west. Kek put his hand out.
“No—Wait. You know that little street that goes past the manager’s window in the back? There was a window—”
“I know it.” André frowned. “What about it?”
“Pull in there a minute.”
André stared at him a second and then shrugged. He obediently swung the car around. Kek was grinning. They passed the bar, turned a corner. André braked slightly and swung hard. They bounced into a narrow alley. The open window of the manager’s office could be seen a bit farther along. Kek dropped his voice.
“Don’t pass it. Stop here.”
André brought the car to a halt; the engine pulsed quietly. He looked at Kek, frowning. Kek had his hand up in anticipation; there was a look of glee on his face. Suddenly André’s attention swung to the window. There was the sharp sound of ringing, instantly cut off. Both André and Anita stared at Kek. He still held his hand up, commanding them to wait, his face hard put to contain his laughter. The sound of the st
rident bell came again and again was instantly cut off. Kek winked at André.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
André backed the car from the alley; he swung the wheel and headed them for the river avenue and the road north to Mataró and eventually the border.
“All right,” he said. “What was that all about?”
Kek was laughing. “Bless that encyclopedia! And bless Anita’s snoring—”
“I do not snore!”
“—and bless Schneller’s use of steel balls in his soundproof lock.…” Kek saw the questioning look on the other two faces and relented. “‘Electromagnetism,’” he said softly. “Not too far from ‘Elephants.’ A bit of wire wound around—preferably soft iron, but a steel bar like a screwdriver will also work—hooked to a battery, and you have a magnet. With a lot of power. More than enough to scramble Herr Schneller’s little steel balls in their little sockets.…”
Anita stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
André understood. “You mean the suitcase can never be opened?”
“Not without blowing up.” Kek grinned. “Think of the beauty of that as a lesson to Señor Sanchez! To have millions of dollars in cocaine in his hands and not be able to get to it!”
“He’ll get hold of Schneller—”
“Good! They can sit there together, trying the numbers, and listening to that beautiful bell ring. And Schneller will explain that something must have gone wrong, but nothing could have gone wrong, and they’ll be sure Schneller removed the cocaine and changed the combination, and he’ll be hard put to explain, and they’ll all just sit there and try and try again and again—” His face sobered. “Eventually, of course, the batteries for the bell will wear out, and then—”
André glanced at him. “In Schneller’s words: Blooey?”
“No,” Kek said. “They’re not that insane. I think they’ll just sit and stare at it and visualize the contents.…”
“You’re nasty,” André said and grinned.
“Yes,” Kek said and dropped the subject. He pulled Anita to him and kissed her tenderly. He touched her cheek softly with a finger, tracing it along the firm line of her jaw, looking up at André. “I know I said I’d take over the driving after Barcelona, but right now I’m occupied.…”
The Tricks of the Trade Page 17
