Jimmy unfolded his six-foot-three, staring down.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Watch my things and I’ll go get your ticket. And my own. Which are going to be side by side on the same flight. Because once we are on that plane, I expect you to repay me by explaining what this is all about.”
Kek nodded slowly in agreement. “The last time I saw you I promised you a story, didn’t I? Well, once we’re on the plane, you’ll get it.” He frowned; one hand came up unconsciously to tug at his earlobe; his voice was somber. “This is one I think I want to get off my chest.”
“Good enough. What about your luggage?”
“I’m traveling light this time. Even lighter than usual.” The strong hands spread themselves in apology. “I have no luggage.”
One final condition occurred to Jimmy. “And while I’m gone, you can order the drinks.” He grinned. “And pay for them.”
He expected at least a smile in return, but the handsome face remained wooden. “If you wish,” Kek said with complete indifference, and raised a hand to attract the attention of a waiter.
The plane had lifted itself to cruising altitude; their seat-belts were lying relaxed in their laps, two glasses of Maciera Five Star reposed on the trays before them, and their cigarettes were burning steadily. Jimmy Lewis properly felt that all conditions had been met; he turned to his companion.
“All right, Kek,” he said quietly. “What’s the story?”
Huuygens took one last puff on his cigarette and crushed it out; there was a certain finality in the gesture. His hand reached out, grasping the glass of cognac, twisting it on the plastic tray to form damp circles. His eyes came up, expressionless.
“You were always a curious man, Jimmy,” he said quietly. “And on occasion I’ve satisfied that curiosity, partly because I know you and like you, but mainly because you’ve known when to reveal something, and when to keep it to yourself. The story I’m about to tell you will surprise you, I’m sure — and I’m not even going to tell you how much to publish and how much to keep back. I’m going to leave that to your good judgment.” He paused, waiting for Jimmy to comment, but the other merely continued to eye him steadily. Huuygens sighed.
“Once upon a time there was a man who had done me great harm — a man I hated more than any person on earth — a man masquerading under the name of Enrique Echavarria—”
“Keep going.”
“All right.” Huuygens shrugged. He picked up his cognac, downed it quickly, and shuddered a bit. Jimmy frowned; it was quite unlike Kek to drink this way. Huuygens reached up to ring for the stewardess, and then leaned his head back against the seat cushion, speaking to Jimmy, but staring up at the ceiling of the plane. The afternoon sun, slanting in the window beside him, marked the rugged outline of his profile.
“Well, about a week ago I received a telephone call from Lisbon, telling me that Echavarria was there...” His voice went on quietly, telling it all — his memories, his emotions, his actions. Even his doubts. He seemed to be recalling it softly for his own examination, rather than for Jimmy’s benefit. The stewardess kept his glass filled without instruction; Jimmy had stopped drinking in favor of listening with absorbed attention.
The sun had almost sunk to the horizon by the time Huuygens came to the culmination of that wild chase through the back streets of Lisbon. He paused a moment and then raised his glass, downing it. His eyes came up to Jimmy’s; his voice was bitter.
“She drove into the yard and ran over to him just as he was untying the ropes. I think I tried to yell, but it was too late. The explosion destroyed everything...”
Jimmy’s eyes slowly widened as the full meaning of Kek’s words registered. He stared at his companion in shocked horror.
“You booby-trapped him!”
Kek opened his mouth to reply and then paused. The stewardess had appeared at their seats, collecting their glasses, indicating the lighted panel over their seats. They crushed out their cigarettes and tightened their seat-belts. Jimmy continued to stare at him in wonder. “You booby-trapped him!”
“Yes,” Kek said simply.
“That suitcase André gave you was a bomb! He knew...”
“Of course he knew.” Kek’s tone was almost curt. “All through the Resistance he was our dynamiter. André and his suitcases were well known in the Midi. And he knew I hadn’t come to Lisbon just for the trip. He knew why I had come.”
Jimmy’s head continued to shake wonderingly. “You booby-trapped him. You led him on and on until he didn’t even stop to think before he tore at those ropes. You—” he suddenly frowned “—you also booby-trapped the girl.”
“I don’t know.” Huuygens turned his head, staring expressionlessly out of the window at Paris glittering below. “I don’t know if I knew she would follow, or not. But the point is, you see, that she didn’t trust me. Don’t ask me if I knew she wouldn’t — or couldn’t — because I don’t know...” He brought his eyes back. “Still, she shouldn’t have married the man who killed my family...”
“Then you lied to her,” Jimmy said slowly. “You told her you didn’t hate her.”
“I didn’t hate her.” Kek shook his head. “I don’t believe you can ever hate the first girl you love, even though it may be someone who never really existed. You see, love is an emotional thing, while hate — contrary to popular belief — is a logical thing.” His eyes went back to the window. “No, I didn’t hate her. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t—”
“And those miniatures,” Jimmy went on, “that you said were so precious...”
The plane was swiftly dropping lower; a grinding sound reverberated as the landing gear was lowered and locked in place. Kek turned to Jimmy.
“Do you have your car?”
“In the parking lot, as usual. Why?”
“I want a ride home. Wait for me after customs.”
“Wait for you?” Jimmy stared at him. “You’ll have to wait for me. You have no luggage.”
Kek smiled bitterly. “Do you honestly think so? You know better than that. The customs people tend to examine me rather thoroughly, luggage or not.” He turned to stare down at the runway, watching it rush up to meet them.
Jimmy realized the truth of Kek’s statement within minutes. As they came through immigration and Huuygens presented his passport, a small conference immediately began, and even as the tall reporter advanced with the other passengers into the customs section, he saw his friend taken aside, politely but firmly, and then ushered down an aisle toward a small room.
He waited in the parking lot with growing impatience. It was fully an hour before Huuygens finally made his appearance; he crawled into the front seat of the Volkswagen and closed the door. Jimmy started the engine at once, shifted into gear, and cut into the traffic moving toward the city. Once on their way he turned to his companion.
“Well?”
Huuygens shrugged. “Well, they seemed a bit perturbed that I had no luggage for them to search — I don’t know if it struck them as suspicious, or if they resented not being able to tear it apart — so they gave me a personal search that was even more efficient than usual. I had to undress and allow them to go through my clothing piece by piece. Not pleasant — nor particularly unusual — but unfortunately there isn’t much I can do about it.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Jimmy slowed down a bit to allow a truck to pass; the very novelty of his action clearly indicated his interest in his subject. “We were speaking about those precious miniatures just before we landed—”