Book Two
10
Seen from the upper floor of the Plaza Hotel, the chimney pots of Buenos Aires stretched out like a field of tree stumps in a curiously stepped clearing. With its blotches of green marking scattered squares and parks, it was reminiscent of Paris, especially with the incessant honking of horns from the crowded streets below orchestrating the scene. From his height Kek could see the Calle Florida, made into a flowered mall since his last visit; he turned in the other direction and enjoyed the unchanged sight of the Plaza Britannica, with its line of red buses waiting patiently at the curb to take tourists in the mornings up the river to Tigre and its interwoven maze of waterways or at night down to La Boca for the local flavor of the cantinas and the native bars.
The arched roof of the Retiro railroad station loomed beyond the formalized gardens of the plazas, resembling Waterloo or King’s Cross in London; and past the station and the parks he could see the passenger docking slips with the River Plate over their shoulder, reddish-brown and endless, a silt-laden sea. From the height of his room the shore of Uruguay could be seen as a faint shadow on the horizon; a tiny ship trailed wavering smoke as it traversed the channel from Montevideo. Kek looked down again at the crowds jamming Florida and Charcas and smiled; as always it struck him how different the Argentinian was from other South Americans. A Brazilian, for example, looked as if he was browsing when he was shopping; the Argentinian, in contrast, usually looked as if he was shopping when he was merely browsing. The city was called by its inhabitants the Paris of South America, but its people seemed more like Berliners. This Hans Schneller who was supposed to deliver the suitcase to him would, he was sure, fit in well here.
The telephone rang as he consulted his wristwatch, wondering at the delay. He walked over to the desk and raised the receiver, pleased that things were starting.
“Hello?”
“Señor Huuygens?” The voice was Teutonic in accent, heavy and wheezing.
“Speaking.” Kek assayed French and was relieved to be answered in the same language. He could have conducted the conversation in German but preferred not to. His experience in general had led him to believe that there was an advantage in using a language less familiar to an opponent, although he had to admit this had not seemed to work with Señor Sanchez.
“This is Señor Schneller,” the thick voice said. “I am in the hotel lobby. You — you changed your room, I see. I called the one I had reserved for you, but some child answered, and then the child’s mother, so I checked with the reception.” The wheezing voice tried to hide its querulousness and failed signally. “You did not like the room I reserved for you?”
“It was simply that I prefer being on an upper floor,” Kek said and made his voice apologetic. It was true, of course, that had Herr Schneller reserved the tower suite of the hotel, Kek Huuygens would then have said that he preferred a room on a lower floor. It had been a long time since Huuygens had accepted a room reserved for him by a client or anyone connected with a client; adjoining rooms could also be rented and all sorts of naughty surveillance equipment installed. It was a sad commentary on the people he found it necessary to associate with in his business, but a true one. If adjoining rooms had to be rented, Kek Huuygens preferred to rent them himself and usually did.
As Herr Schneller should know, Kek thought with a disapproving glance at the telephone and wondered why it should make any difference to the man.
“As you wish,” Schneller said stiffly and finally managed to mask his disappointment.
“Yes,” Kek said and dismissed the subject of housing. “Will you be coming up?”
“Of course,” Schneller said, amazed at the question, and hurriedly hung up.
Kek moved back to the window as he waited, using the time to consider where he would dine that evening; there was no point in speculating on Schneller or the suitcase when they would both be in his room in minutes. Restaurants, he thought — one thing was certain, nobody could complain about the restaurants in Buenos Aires. They had to serve the best food in the world. He was in the process of making his ultimate selection between the grillroom of the hotel itself, La Cabaña, or the Little White Horse, when the doorbell of his suite rang. It was a sharp, brief, no-nonsense ring. Typical, he thought with an inner smile and walked over and opened it.
Señor Schneller filled the opening. He was so much like the image Kek had created in his mind from hearing the voice that for a moment he had the feeling they must have met before — a touch of déjà vu that passed as quickly as it had come. One never could truly forget people like Schneller. He was a large man, larger than Kek had anticipated, but Huuygens was sure that what appeared to be fat beneath the vest and jacket was solid muscle. His clothes appeared to have been forced over his bulky frame, possibly against his will; he seemed in constant danger of splitting the seams. His broad, flattish face was pale and shaved so closely that it glistened, the tiny veins etched darkly on the ivory skin. His eyes were a watery, washed-out blue, almost colorless, and his hair was cut in a brush, standing up like a used broom. He stood at military attention for a moment and then brought his heels together, clicking them lightly, making a short half-bow from the waist.
“M’sieu Huuygens.”
“Herr Schneller.”
Kek waved his guest in. The big man entered and for the first time the suitcase he held behind his back came into view. He turned and locked the door behind him, walked over to the desk, and seated himself on the small hard-backed chair there. It was not a comfortable chair, but its position beside the tall window afforded him the light he required. He brought the suitcase into his lap and with his other hand reached for his belt, producing a monstrous key ring on a thin leather strap. One key was laboriously selected, and for the first time Kek noticed the chain that passed through the suitcase handle and was fastened to a thin steel band that went around the thick wrist. Properly careful, Kek thought and watched in silence. The chain was released and removed from the handle; another key was found which unlocked the steel cuff. Schneller set the suitcase down and unhooked both keys from the ring, wheezing all the while. The two keys, the cuff, and the chain were all placed on the desk. Schneller turned, looking up.
“Delivered,” he said in a flat tone and reached for his pocket again. This time he came up with a packet of yellow cigarette papers and a sack of tobacco. He tapped grains into a slip of paper, puffing as he did so, and rolled the cigarette expertly with one hand. It was raised to the tongue, licked, and finished in a gesture so quick as to be almost invisible. Kek watched with interest. He had not seen anyone roll a cigarette for many years; he had to admit Schneller did it well. As he did most things well, Kek thought, and turned his attention to the suitcase.
“That’s it, eh?”
“That’s it.” For one brief moment the hard face relaxed a bit, even displaying the semblance of a smile. It was something like watching wax melt and then re-form. “It’s a problem carrying a suitcase through the lobby of a hotel; every bellboy wants to earn a tip by helping. And hiding a chain under a jacket sleeve doesn’t help, I assure you.” He tipped his head backward, even as he fumbled in a pocket for a match. “You might want to use the chain.”
“I might.” Kek sounded as if the question of whether he might use the chain or not was strictly his own affair. He walked closer, looking down on the suitcase he had contracted to carry through Spanish customs. Across from him Schneller finally located a pad of matches on the desk; he applied fire to the cigarette and puffed pungent smoke deep into his lungs, for which he was rewarded with a coughing spell which he finally managed to control. He sat wheezing a bit; when his breathing was better he leaned backward and placed the spent match with almost geometrical precision in the center of the ashtray and then looked up at Kek’s face with a faint smile, trying to judge the other man’s reactions.