The suitcase, Kek saw, was about two feet long, a foot and a half high, and possibly seven or eight inches in depth — what the Americans called a one-suiter, if his memory served. It had a rigid frame and body and was covered in a brown plastic embossed in a simulated leather grain. Unlike normal suitcases, however, he noticed the latches on either side were not furnished with key locks but instead were smooth; the security of the case depended entirely on a combination lock provided beneath the handle. This was partially concealed — but with no attempt to hide — by a genuine leather identification tab which snapped in place to cover it. With the exception of the locking mechanism, the small suitcase was similar to thousands, if not millions, to be found in use in any country in the world.
Kek hid the smile of triumph that automatically came to his lips. He hadn’t really even needed André for this one; combination locks of that size could be opened without even drilling. Or the hinge pins could be removed and replaced without a sign.
The man who had delivered the case lounged as easily as he could in the hard chair, puffing steadily on the cigarette pasted in one corner of his mouth. He watched Kek’s study of the suitcase almost with amusement. When he spoke the butt, stuck to his lower lip, bobbed in cadence with his speech, smoke jetting out to surround each word. His voice was husky, on the constant verge of coughing.
“I imagine Sanchez explained about the suitcase?”
Kek looked slightly surprised. “Explained?” He shrugged. “No, nothing beyond the fact that I’m to deliver it in Barcelona.”
Schneller smiled, a swift twisting of his thick lips wiped away as quickly as it had come. He picked the cigarette butt from his lower lip, turned to wipe ash from it, and then turned back quickly, as if something might possibly have happened to his beloved suitcase in the momentary absence of his attention.
“That’s all? Rather odd,” he said and carefully replaced the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “However, since I have a slight personal interest in the suitcase not being tampered with — slight, but in this case rather substantial — I’d better explain certain things. For example—” He paused for one last gargantuan puff on the flimsy cigarette; it rose in near-flame and he quickly crushed it out, relapsing in a coughing fit. When he had his breath he wiped his eyes and began again. “For example,” he repeated, “I built the case myself — built it from scratch, not adapted it — so perhaps I’d best tell you of some of its — what’s the word? Qualities? Advantages? Features?” He nodded, satisfied he was not being egotistical. “Features.”
There was a note of pride in his voice. A cold feeling began to form in Kek’s stomach. The big man reached into his pocket again for his tobacco and cigarette papers. A second cigarette was formed and lit, a second coughing fit indulged in; at last Schneller was ready to continue, smoke spewing with the words.
“The case,” he said, “is a work of genius, and I am not bragging. A masterpiece. Under the plastic cover the sides are made of fiber-glass and polyester resin, hand-formed to shape, much like the new boats one finds today. It is extremely strong and impossible to penetrate without—” He coughed, apologetically this time, as if the possibility of getting into the case was a subject best not to mention. “Within the case, between the body and the decorative lining, is a fine copper wire mesh. As I’m sure you know, copper is an excellent conductor of electricity. This mesh is connected to a series of long-life batteries, arranged so that should one of them fail for any reason at all, the others would — will, I should say — continue to function.”
He took the cigarette from his lip and turned to remove ash. His tone had been that of a professor conducting a lecture; a blackboard pointer, Kek thought, would have seemed more appropriate in his heavy hand than the dwindling cigarette. The small butt was carefully replaced and Schneller went on.
“When the case is closed and locked, as it is now, an electrical circuit is opened. Conversely, when the suitcase is opened — or if the case should be forced, of course, or the sides punctured, or the hinges or latches tampered with in any way — then the electrical circuit is closed. And the circuit—”
He paused to take a final puff on his cigarette, began to cough, and bent over, fighting for breath. He managed to crush the cigarette out and sat erect, drawing in great gobs of air. When his voice was once more under control, he went back to his theme. Whether he was bragging or warning, his audience was listening intently.
“—the circuit,” he repeated, “will detonate four sticks of dynamite which are contained in a separate sealed compartment inside. This compartment, also containing the detonator, is completely cast in acrylic. This is to prevent anyone from trying to insert an inert gas into the case, in the hopes that the gas might prevent sparking and, hence, explosion.”
His almost colorless eyes mocked Huuygens, as if the stocky, gray-eyed man watching him so expressionlessly might actually have considered trying to circumvent his genius with some such childish means.
“Do you understand?” he asked gently.
Huuygens considered the man. It occurred to him that possibly, for one time in his career, he had bit off more than he could chew. His face continued to reflect nothing but polite interest, however, as he answered.
“I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “I don’t quite understand why you think this should interest me.”
Schneller smiled wolfishly. “Curiosity,” he said, “killed a cat. We wish to be sure it does no harm to a courier.”
Kek smiled with him. “I share your concern.” He looked down at the case, his voice mildly curious. “There is, of course, a means of disarming the mechanism? I assume the parchment is not intended to remain inside forever?”
“Parchment?” Schneller frowned in nonunderstanding.
“The contents,” Kek reminded him gently and wondered at the stupidity of Sanchez in not properly briefing his crew. Still, it was nothing as compared to his own stupidity in taking on the job in the first place. “I mean, I gather someone will eventually wish to open it? In Barcelona?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course there is a means of disarming it. It is in the combination lock.” The pale-blue eyes laughed at Kek, unafraid to give the answer — anxious, in fact, to give the answer. He sat a bit more erect, watching Kek as if to make sure his words were being followed with the attention they deserved. “The lock has four numbers for completion. You—” he smiled, “I don’t mean you, personally, m’sieu, but you can fool around with it as much as you like without danger; you can hit the first number of the combination by accident or even, for the first number, of course, by design. You might even hit both the first and the second number by accident, although the chances are rare. If by the ten thousand-to-one chance you should happen to hit them and then fail to hit the third number exactly before you reverse for the final time, you are getting close to trouble. However, you still have a chance to live, assuming you are not deaf...”
“Deaf?”
“Yes,” Schneller said proudly. “There is a warning. A bell.” He leaned over, stretching, and drew the suitcase to him. He took it in his lap, bending over it, and then looked up. “With your permission, m’sieu. If you would just turn your head a moment?”