In addition to the electronic equipment, the suitcase also contained a complete tool-kit. Hank used a screwdriver to loosen the two screws on one side so the picture could be levered away from the wall. The tiny microphone could then be put into position behind it and held in place with the sticky tape. He moved it up before securing it so that the wire lead that dangled below came even with the bottom of the frame. He put the screws back into place and was satisfied that there was no evidence visible of his work. The tiny connector on the wire was just seen as a metal dot, and then only if one bent down and looked up under the frame.
Next came the portable radio and cassette player. It was Japanese and large and expensive, with the cassette drive set into the front below the many-banded dials and controls for the radio. It looked very much like every other one of the millions of sets sold. Yet it was very different from all of the others, as much as it resembled them. Hank pressed two of the controls at the same time and the entire front dropped open. Behind it was a deck for six inch, reel-to-reel tape recording. He checked that the tape was in position and closed it up again. Then he opened the back and took out the power cord which he plugged into the points on the wall, after unplugging a lamp. There was another, smaller, cord in the same compartment which he connected to the microphone behind the lamp. Good. All in place, all ready to go. But did it work?
As he turned the set on, Hank had the feeling that he was really not cut out for this kind of work. His heart thudded heavily and warningly and his fingers were shaking. He had never studied this sort of thing in Columbia Law School. There was a rustle of static from the speaker, but nothing else. In a panic he turned the volume higher — and a booming voice flooded the room.
“Was ist los? Was tust du da …. ”
In a panic he switched it off and stood, shaking, aware of how much his hands were sweating. Had they heard it next door? There was no way of telling. The walls seemed sound-proofed well enough. Could he be sure? As he was reaching down to turn it on again there was a loud knocking on the door.
Trying not to rush and injure the delicate wiring, he disconnected the lead to the microphone and stowed it into the back of the machine.
“Hank? Are you there?” Frances called through the door.
He opened it and let her in — then dropped into the nearest chair.
“Seen a ghost or something?” she asked, concerned.
“No. Just getting used to this secret agent job. I’m not sure that I’m really cut out for this kind of work. I have been setting up the equipment they gave me — and frightening the bejezus out of myself at the same time. Where have you been?”
“Spending money,” she said happily. “They are really wonderful in the shops here so they let me sign for it — even though I didn’t know our cabin number or anything.”
“Captive consumers,” he said, sighing wearily. “The only way they can lose out is if you jump overboard. What did you buy that was so important?”
“This — and it is important.”
Frances held her left hand out to him and wiggled her fingers. It took him a long moment to realize that she was referring to the wide gold band on her third finger. “Very nice,” he said, with a certain lack of conviction.
“At least try to sound as though you meant it! I have been getting by up until now with my engagement ring turned backward to hide the stone, but that can’t go on forever, you know. I now at least look like an honest woman, though you have compromised me forever. When do we get married?”
“My God,” Hank said, quietly and to himself. This was getting to be one of those days. He remembered that the steward had pointed to a cabinet and had said “bar” and he went to it. It opened to reveal not only glasses and a filled ice-bucket, but filled bottles of booze. Good old Cunard! He poured a large Scotch whisky and remembered in time, before he drank it, to call back over his shoulder.
“Look, darling, a complete bar. How about a little drink to celebrate?”
“Celebrate what — my career as a ruined woman living a lie? Large pink gin. Come on Greenstein, fix a date for the wedding!”
“Tomorrow. Aboard the ship,” he said desperately.
“No, they all think that we’re already married. Try again. Thanks. Cheers.”
They raised their glasses and drank and the door opened.
Hank’s heart started hammering fiercely again. Christ — he had forgot to lock it! And there was all the stuff spread out on the bed!
“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” the young man said, knocking as he poked his head through the door.
“Just having a drink,” Frances said with more presence of mind than Hank could rustle up. He took a despairing glance at the leather suitcase: at least it was closed. The man came into the room. He wasn’t as young as he had looked at first sight, blond and tall. Although he was smiling his face was hard and stiff.
“Welcome aboard.” It sounded more like “velcome” when he said it. “My name is Fritz and I’m right next door. We heard that your uncle had to leave suddenly. Hope that it wasn’t bad or anything. What a nice big cabin you have here.”
He walked into the room, the smile fixed and unmoving, looking about at everything. Hank’s eyes were pulled to the picture on the wall. Could the wire be seen? Had he stowed the lead back all the way into the machine?
“How nice of you to ask,” Frances said in her most practiced cut-them-dead, colder-than-ice voice. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Greenstein, Fritz. Mr. Wunderbaum is my husband’s uncle. Everything is fine. We will tell him you asked after him. Will that be all?”
Fritz was impervious to insult. He stood before the settee looking down. “That’s a nice tape player you got there. Got good tone, I bet.”
Anger at the man’s presence drove away all of Hank’s early fears. The son of a bitch was just here to snoop. “If you can see the tape player, Fritz,” he said, “you can see the door. Use it.”
“Not very friendly,” the man said. The smile was gone now. “Aboard a ship, everyone close, you should be friendly.”
“Out!” Hank took a step towards the man — whose hands suddenly closed into fists. Then he thought better of it, straightening up and letting his fingers open wide. “You enjoy your trip,” he said, going to the door. He looked back and winked, then left. Hank slammed the door behind him — and locked it this time. He let his breath out in a whoosh, and realized he was still carrying the drink. He took a big gulp.
“What on earth did that terrible man want?” Frances asked.
“To take a look at us,” Hank said, putting down his glass and going over to the tape player. He reconnected the microphone lead as he talked. “There is something big going on and these boys are suspicious of everyone. They are particularly suspicious when the occupancy of the cabin adjoining theirs is changed. And their suspicions just happen to be right.”
He turned the sound up just in time to hear a door close in the suite next door. As the voices began in fast German he switched on the recorder. “It’ll be very interesting to hear what they think about us,” he said. Frances raised her glass in a salute. “It works. My husband-to-be is a genius. Does he also speak German?”
“School German, just enough to get by. But you can be sure that there are people who will get these tapes and be able to understand every word of that.”
“Can you follow it?”
“A little. Whoever’s closest to the mike is asking where the other bottle of schnapps is. Our friend Fritz is in the background — that’s him — yes it must be him. That voice, with the 'scheissdreck juden’. That would be him.” Hank was angry again and Frances looked up sharply.