“Worse came to worst a long time ago,” Kek said shortly. “What the devil are we doing here, anyway?”
“Saving my neck,” André said quietly. “Or did you think I didn’t know?”
Kek glanced over at his large friend, surprised as always at the sharp insight André exhibited at times.
“Only partially. There’s still the matter of my bet with Girard.” He changed the subject. “Anyway, it’s the best idea I can come up with. Also the only one. I admit it lacks finesse. As a matter of fact, it’s a terrible plan, an awful plan, and I don’t like it at all. The only thing is I don’t have a better one. Do you?”
“No.”
“Then let’s get on with this museum-breaking, shall we? It’s late and I’m getting tired.”
“Gallery-breaking,” André said, always the stickler, and led the way in the proper direction.
The Ile Rocheux Gallery of Art, pride of the island and home of the Chang carving, “The Village Dance,” was located at the end of a narrow park on the opposite side of the city from Sucker Street, but since Cap Antoine was not all that big, the distance was not all that great. It was, however, far enough from the harbor hubbub to save it from the raucous noise, as well as from many pedestrians at that hour of the morning. André and Kek, approaching circumspectly from the path which the rear wall of the gallery faced, were suitably impressed by the deserted area, lit only by a lone streetlight, as well as by the welcome silence; nor did their rope-soled deck sneakers disturb it.
André paused, looked about, and a moment later had pushed through the tall bushes that formed the rear boundary of the gallery grounds. Kek waited only long enough to note no objection to the surreptitious entry into the grounds, and then followed.
André was standing in the deep shadows of the side wall, looking up. Above his head a telephone cable looped itself gracefully from a street pole, clung to the wall by means of a clip, and then dropped down on cleats to disappear through a small pipe into the building. The point of entry was well within André’s reach. He looked about and then reached upwards swiftly. One powerful snip and he was back in position, all in one motion. They waited tensely for several minutes to see if anyone might burst from the building to investigate. No one did. Kek nodded, pleased that nobody had been talking to his girlfriend on company time; he liked to see dedication to duty. On the other hand it was very possible they were so used to having the phone service cut off that they assumed it was normal. He tapped André on the shoulder, pointed toward the back, and nodded.
André looked around and then edged his way to the rear corner of the large edifice. He crouched, peered carefully about the edge, and then straightened up, motioning to Huuygens. Another second and he had disappeared.
Kek made the corner in a quick, silent sprint, turned it, and almost fell down the steep stairwell André had described. He caught his balance and edged downward, glaring at André. In the faint light of the streetlamp angling into the areaway, Kek could see the look of embarrassment on the big man’s face.
“I forgot to tell you it was so close, didn’t I?” André whispered.
Kek put his finger to his lips and pointed to the lock. André nodded and turned. He brought out his flashlight, flicked it on, held the beam on the lock for the briefest of moments and then flicked it off. A smile appeared on his face.
“It’s that same lock,” he said in a pleased whisper. “I can open it blindfolded.”
Kek nodded, agreeably surprised as always when confronting economy in government; a more profligate administration might well have changed locks after a suspected burglary attempt, but not those in charge of the Ile Rocheux Gallery. He hoped it might indicate equal inattention on the part of the guards to other criminal possibilities.
There was a light scraping of metal on metal, then silence for several moments. Kek was about to suggest that André put on a blindfold if that would help, when the large man tested the knob and then swung the door wide to disappear inside. Kek followed, closing the heavy door behind him. In the complete blackness of the windowless room he was suddenly aware of his breathing; it seemed to his sensitive ears to sound like a subway train on an express run. He was sure that the guards had to hear it, even through the heavy door, the fifty feet of corridor, and the thick floor that separated them.
He brought out his flashlight and switched it on. To his surprise his breathing no longer seemed to be making such a deafening racket. He promised himself to investigate this phenomenon some day, but not tonight. He swung the light about. As André had indicated, the area seemed to combine the services of storage room with workshop. Large stone figures were placed haphazardly about in the crowded space, making it look like some street scene in an ancient Arawak village. A bench along one wall was apparently used either to make repairs or for assembly of the large statues. A torso reclined on it, patiently awaiting legs and arms, the stone eyes staring calmly at the ceiling. On the far side of the room the door to the corridor was closed.
“The first thing we do,” Kek said quietly, “is to move these figures out of the way. I want a clear straight line between the two doors. If we have to leave in a hurry — and in the dark — I don’t want to run head-on into one of these stone giants. I’ve had enough of that sort of thing tonight as it is.”
André tested one. “They’re heavy.”
“I’m sure. If they were light we could run right over them. Let’s go. And quietly.”
They bent to their task, shifting the stone figures one by one until a reasonably clear path had been laid out for their escape. The limited room prevented a perfect job, but it was far better than it had been. Kek paused, panting.
“Well, with a bit of dodging we ought to make it. Even if we hit them now, all we’ll break is a shoulder, which is better than a head.” He looked at the door to the corridor. “Now, according to that drawing, the fuse box is on, or in, the corridor about fifteen feet from this room and roughly forty feet from the stairway. Right?”
André nodded. “On the left-hand wall.”
“Then let’s go.” He put the flashlight beam on the door, held it there until André was behind him and his hand was on the knob, then switched the light off. In the sudden darkness his breathing seemed loud again. He pulled the knob.
The corridor was clearly outlined without the need for any flashlight; light from the floor above shone obliquely down the stairway at the far end and angled itself across the tunnellike hallway, illuminating it sufficiently. Kek nodded briefly and stepped out. André passed him, taking up a protective stance further along the bare corridor. Kek reached up to the box, set at head height into the wall.
His admiration for Paquet et Cie. grew as he lifted the metal cover and peered within. As neat as the drafting room had been, as tidy as the file holding the drawing they had studied, just so organized was the fuse box. Little metal nameplates clearly identified each circuit, the alarms on one side, the light mains on the other. With a nod of thankfulness to the architectural firm — and a solemn promise to himself never to use them if security ever mattered in one of his endeavors — Kek slowly and silently pulled down the requisite switch and closed the box.
André had been glancing back nervously over his shoulder. Kek grinned and motioned André to come back to him. When the large man had slipped silently to his side, Kek put his lips to the other’s ear.
“Your floor plates have been defused. I’m going to take a peek upstairs. You wait here.”
André nodded. Kek walked quietly on rope soles to the steps and then started up them slowly and carefully. As he went from tread to tread, the murmur of voices from the room above grew in volume. He came to the landing and stepped back into the alcove. From there the floor line of the room above was clearly visible through the heavy posts of the railing. The room he was surveying was larger than he had anticipated; the walls were lined with huge paintings while the small case containing the precious carving was clearly visible in the center of the room in the place of honor. But the thing that caught and held Huuygens’ attention was none of the art objects; it was the fact that instead of the two guards he had been led to expect, the room contained three men — two soldiers and an officer.