“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 how 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?”