Kek took a deep breath. There was obviously nothing he could do at this distance in the matter of Anita. He could, however, clear up a suspicion he had been forming since hearing Anita’s voice.
“How much insurance do you need, Sanchez? If you’re so anxious for my success, you should know that having me followed will only lead to trouble. And failure. And if it does...”
“Followed?” Sanchez chuckled deprecatingly. “Why should I have you followed? Especially since I have your young woman here? No, no, Huuygens, don’t imagine little people back of bushes. Nor would I suggest you search for excuses. I’m rather disappointed...” The voice hardened. “Concentrate, instead, on getting the suitcase here. By Sunday!”
There was a click and the sound of the dial tone. Kek replaced the telephone in its cradle and stared at the carpet, his mind considering this new angle. André cleared his throat.
“What did Anita say?”
Kek frowned savagely. He had not been amused by the exchange with his lovely Anita. “She says she’s fine and maybe I ought to marry her, since married women seldom get kidnapped.”
“She’s probably right,” André said and feigned agreement. “I know I’ve never felt the urge to kidnap one.” He straightened his face, coming back to the more important subject. “What did Sanchez have to say for himself?”
“Sanchez said he wants the suitcase in Barcelona by Sunday. Which is no problem.” Kek resumed his pacing. “He also said he isn’t having me followed — as he put it, why should he? And why should he, indeed?” His eyes came up steadily. “And that, my friend, is a problem.”
André considered him a moment and then nodded in understanding. “You mean it looks as if your friend Schneller is overstepping his authority a bit, eh?”
“I’m afraid,” Kek said and went to stare out of the window.
“And,” André went on, warming to his theme, “if Schneller is having you followed, not for Sanchez, he must be doing it for himself. Right?”
“Right.”
“And if he knew where you were going, and when, he might just be able to arrange to have someone waiting for you along the line. And you would be left holding the bag. I mean, not holding the bag,” he amended in the interests of accuracy and sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to find a crook you can trust these days.”
“Too true,” Kek said absently and continued staring into the street, his mind busy with the problem.
“It would also mean, of course, that your friend Schneller would have to do something to prevent your being around afterward,” André said, expounding his theory further. “Something like killing you. Because you’re the type to go crying to Sanchez and tell him the big, bad man from Buenos Aires slapped your wrist and took away all your candy.”
“That’s me,” Kek said and grinned without turning around. “Just a poor sport.”
“And Sanchez might just believe you. So Schneller can’t leave you around.” André became serious. “So what do we do about it? Take Schneller along and drop him into the ocean?”
“They still object to opening plane doors at thirty thousand feet. Besides,” Kek said, looking down, “if Schneller has any idea of taking the suitcase away from me, he’d probably hire somebody to do the job, much as he’d hate to—”
“Hate to?”
“About all that Sanchez told me about the man is that he hates to spend money. A maniac tightwad. But he’d pay to have someone take me; it would be worth it to him. After our little talk he knows I’ll have an eye out for him; and he’s like you in one respect — he’s hard to hide.” He frowned. “And the people he could hire just in Buenos Aires that I don’t know come to about six million. Not to mention a lot of others in other cities.”
André saw a hole in the argument. “Except,” he said, “if he takes the suitcase away from you before Spain, how will he get it through customs?”
“He doesn’t want it in Spain, for heaven’s sake! That’s the last place he wants it. He wants the bag and me to disappear together, all right, but anywhere else. They buy cocaine in lots of places these days.” The crowds he was staring at without seeing in the streets below seemed to suddenly give him an idea. “You know...”
“What?”
Huuygens suddenly turned, smiling. “It would be better, wouldn’t it, if Herr Schneller took on the job of taking the suitcase away from me? Personally? Rather than some unknown thug he could hire that I wouldn’t know or recognize?”
“I suppose. But how do you get him to do it?”
“It might just be possible...”
He held up a hand against interruption and began pacing the room. The people in the street had reminded him that it was easier to lose a man in a crowd than in an empty street. His idea had begun to take form. It was rough at that stage, which was natural, but that did not bother him; he knew instinctively it was a workable concept. He began to put some of the details in, staring at the girl leading the burro, but not seeing the picture at all. Suddenly it struck him that that was exactly what he was planning to do: lead a burro. The smile on the girl’s face was transformed to his own.
Insurance, Schneller had said, and Sanchez and he had both repeated the word. Well, this wasn’t exactly insurance, but it was a chance to get Schneller off his neck at least. He had always known how he was going to get the suitcase past the customs in Spain; the nice thing about this new plan was that it did not interfere with the original scheme at all. It did not, unfortunately, also include a means of teaching Señor Sanchez a lesson for sticking pins into girls, but that was a problem that would have to wait. One enemy at a time — today Schneller, tomorrow Sanchez. He let his thoughts go back to his new scheme, taking it from the beginning; now the little tumblers — unlike those spring-loaded ball bearings in Schneller’s suitcase — began to drop into place with almost audible clicks. Nor did any warning bell ring as the outlines of the plan began to solidify. He checked it over one final time and then turned to the patiently waiting André.
“André, we’ll need a bit of shopping—”
“For anything interesting?”
“Suitcase covers, two of them. You know, those canvas things...”
André frowned. “I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“They still have them in luggage stores. My suitcase is roughly the size of one. With covers on they’ll be pretty hard to tell apart from a distance.”
André’s eyes lit up. “The old shell game?”
“Something like it. Except you’ll be taking one of the walnut shells with you when you leave.”
“That’s cheating,” André said, scandalized, and swung himself from the bed. He pulled the unaccustomed necktie into place, straightened the jacket, and ran his fingers through his nearly-white gray hair. “Two suitcase covers coming up! I gather you want me to do the shopping? If you’re being followed? Down two flights by stairs and then the elevator,” he added sotto voce, as if repeating instructions, and then looked up, frowning, doing a double take. “Hold it! What do you mean, I’ll be taking one of the walnut shells with me. Aren’t we traveling together?”
“No. You leave tonight; I go tomorrow.”
André shook his large head stubbornly. “No, sir! Not with that storm-troop type after you! We didn’t come together because there was a reason; now there’s a reason we go back together, and we do!”
“We don’t!” Kek said definitely. “There’s also a reason. And I suppose it’s about time you found out what the plans are.”
“Well, thank you very much,” André said stiffly and sat down again on the bed. He got up to tug on his trousers, protecting the unusual crease, and then sat down again, waiting. Kek stopped his pacing and stood facing the big man, beginning to outline his plan. André listened with no expression on his face, although at one point he smiled and then immediately brought his face back to its immobility. When at last Kek finished there were several moments of silence. Then André sighed and came to his feet.