Kek Huuygens leaned back comfortably in the rear seat, his mind on the steps still to be taken to assure his success. His plan as far as Schneller was concerned was, he knew, a chancy one, but it had possibilities; even had it been more foolproof, though, it still would have required the supplemental help of a bit of luck, and he had to hope this would be around when needed. True, he always did his best to encourage luck to aid him, and this time had been no exception.
For example: Certainly by now even as stupid a person as Herr Schneller should have come to consider the possibility that the myriad destinations to which M’sieu Huuygens had purchased passage were all smoke screens. Certainly by now Herr Schneller should have come to consider the probability that M’sieu Huuygens had used the transportation desk in the hotel. And certainly by now Herr Schneller should have been able to rout out the clerk and bribe him enough to discover the ticket issued to Lisbon. Do not disappoint me, Schneller, Kek thought; do not be too bright, but do not be any more stupid than necessary, either. I have left you ample time to get to Lisbon ahead of me; be there when I get there so I can get you out of my hair once and for all. I have a suitcase to deliver, and you are promising to become a nuisance...
He glanced through the rear window of the hired car, wondering as he did so what purpose the check served. There was no indication that any of the many cars traveling in the same direction on the parkway behind him were necessarily interested in him. Or not interested in him, as far as that goes, he thought; it was a public highway, open to private detectives as well as virtuous smugglers. And it made little difference. In an hour he would be on his way, and if Schneller was not waiting for him in Lisbon, he’d have to worry about everyone around him from then on. Be stupid, Schneller, but not too stupid...
He turned back, facing the front, and then had to reach quickly for the strap as his driver swerved sharply through the wide gate and then straightened out into a lesser curve to bring the car to a stop before the main entrance of the airport. He descended and waited on the curb as his bag was hauled out from the driver’s seat. He paid the man and looked about. As he had known from his inspection of the premises on his arrival the previous day, a porter appeared almost instantly, his combination luggage truck and ticket stand filled with baggage checks for all airlines. Kek handed over the suitcase most willingly.
“KLM.”
“Yes, sir!” The porter picked up the suitcase, satisfied himself that its weight did not require verification, and reached for a KLM baggage ticket. “And your destination, sir?”
“Lisbon,” Kek said cheerfully.
“Yes, sir. Lisbon,” said the porter and drew a ticket properly marked LIS. He looped it around the handle of the covered suitcase, ripped off the stub in the same gesture, and handed it over, his palm out. Kek slipped it into his pocket, fumbled some change loose, and then stopped. His face was bright with embarrassment. The porter had a cold feeling something was going to cost him his tip.
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry,” Kek said and looked it. “I’m afraid my mind was wandering. Did I say Lisbon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I must have been thinking of something else. I meant Amsterdam.”
The porter smiled, relieved. “No trouble at all, sir.” He ripped the baggage tag from the handle, replaced it with one properly stamped AMS, and handed Kek the stub. Kek put it in his pocket and then remembered the old stub. He brought it out, tore it up, and dropped the pieces into a receptacle.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling self-deprecatingly, and tipped most generously.
“No trouble at all,” the porter assured him, pleased with the outcome of the matter, and wheeled the bag away.
Step one... Kek took a deep breath and walked into the large terminal, crossing the main lobby, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the polished terrazzo, his eyes routinely checking the faces of those he passed. There was none familiar, but then he realized he was being foolish. If Schneller had hired thugs to stay with him, he wouldn’t spot them in a one-second check. Forget it and hope he saw Schneller in person in Lisbon...
He walked over to the check-in desk of KLM and handed over his ticket envelope. A flaxen-haired lovely with perfect teeth and a well-filled blouse beneath her uniform jacket accepted the envelope; she took some of the contents and left some in the share-and-share alike of airlines throughout the world, punched, stamped, and stapled the remainder, clipped a seat assignment to the tattered remnants, and handed it back. Kek accepted it and wandered away, pitying the poor accountants who had to make sense from the paper chase that had to result from such a system.
A raucous screech from a wall-mounted loudspeaker was apparently being repeated; Kek managed to interpret it as the first call for his flight and made his way to a queue forming before a KLM standard. He relinquished his ticket; it was returned to him more mutilated than ever and he moved on. A uniformed policeman was diligently going through hand luggage on a small bench in the aisleway; Kek, empty-handed, passed on to be politely but thoroughly patted in a search for firearms by a second policeman. Behind him as he continued toward the plane the precautions against potential hijackers continued. Now that would really be smuggling, he thought with a smile, and entered the plane. I wonder how I’d go about smuggling a plane from one place to another without using the threat of a gun? Guns took all the skill out of it. A nice problem, and one with which to while away some of the long hours of the flight, except that he had a more important problem that required solution in the very near future. Could he hand over that suitcase to Sanchez without in some way punishing him for his impolite promotional methods in getting him to take the job? Honor demanded it...
He found his seat and sank into it. Too early to begin to worry about the problem of Sanchez and his just retribution; time now for step one-and-a-half. Step one-and-a-half was never written down or even memorized in the course of a Huuygens scheme; when practical it came between steps one and two. Step one-and-a-half involved getting outside of a few solid drinks once step one had been safely accomplished. The sad thing, of course, was that he would have to wait until takeoff before he could prevail on one of the stewardesses to fulfill the requirements. A pity, he thought, and leaned back, staring from the window of the plane at the terminal building and the file of people waiting to enter the cabin. Maybe he shouldn’t wait for step one-and-a-half to begin thinking of Sanchez’s payment; time was running out...
The night had come and passed; morning had been heralded by breakfast trays, with the inevitable tangle of serving stewardesses and passengers fighting for rest-room priority, toothbrushes in hand; this had been followed almost immediately, it seemed, by the confusion of cocktails and lunch. Now at long last the aisles were cleared, the last infant settled, the magazines retrieved, and the stewardesses now sat back in the galley, exhausted, tucking wisps of hair back under their caps and projecting their thoughts ahead to Schiphol and home.
The seat-belt warning was flashed on; as if in response, the 707 shuddered slightly as its landing gear was lowered. It locked in place with a thump that, as always, reminded passengers that after all airplanes were only machines and like all machines subject to sudden and unaccountable failure. The flaps came down, motors whining piteously; the plane’s speed was checked. Weary travelers scratched bearded cheeks and leaned to look through the windows, seeking communion with solid earth, watching the city of Lisbon reveal itself slowly beyond the frothy edge of the huge ocean they had just traversed. It had been a boring flight — the best kind to the minds of both passengers and crew — and most of them were thinking of clearing immigration and customs and then going somewhere for a hot bath and a better rest than the convoluted position demanded by aircraft seating permitted.