Kek looked at him. “Do you think I’m forgetting that?”
“No,” André said. He looked uncomfortable. “But you know what I mean—”
“Look,” Kek said quietly. “We brought the suitcase into Spain despite Herr Schneller and customs both. Now we’re going to teach Señor Luis Sanchez not to be impolite to young ladies. And not to get M’sieu Kek Huuygens to bring narcotics to him across national boundaries!”
“Except that killing ourselves doesn’t sound like much of a lesson to Luis Sanchez—”
“We’re not going to kill ourselves. I hope. Anyway, we’ll discuss it in the morning,” Kek said and yawned deeply. His eyes suddenly opened wide as he thought of something else. “I hope you have some decent cognac in your room.”
“Plenty. But about the suitcase—”
“Forget it until tomorrow. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” André said, “and I know you know a lot, but you don’t know too much about locks—”
“I said, trust me,” Kek repeated and grinned in the darkness. “Or, rather, trust me and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Between us we know just about everything...”
A good night’s sleep and a typically Aragonian breakfast did much to bring Kek Huuygens back to his normal spirits; forgotten was the long, tiresome plane trip, the irritation of the personal search suffered in Madrid, and even the mental discomfort of playing the part of the boorish airline passenger with the lost suitcase. Even Hans Schneller, now undoubtedly wishing he had not pitted himself against Kek Huuygens — not to mention André and the entire Lisbon police department — played no part in his thoughts. His concentration was dedicated entirely to Señor Luis Sanchez and the punishment he merited. When he thought of his plans he was forced to grin.
They paused outside the breakfast room of the inn. The morning sun coming over the hills to the east touched the sill of a low window, sending their shadows grotesquely down the long corridor. Kek looked up at his large companion.
“André, those things you bought yesterday—”
André nodded. The mystery was to be revealed at last, and about time. “They’re in the car. I’ll get them.”
“No,” Kek said. “Just bring the car around. I’ll pay the bill and get the bags. This isn’t the place to—” He broke off.
“To do what?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I think we should be doing about it,” André said. “Nothing.”
“The car,” Kek said and started climbing the steps to their rooms. André went outside, shaking his head. The suitcase was dynamite — real dynamite — and only fools played with it. Fools or very stubborn people like someone he knew...
The car was parked in the rear of the inn, outside of an old barn. André walked around the car as if to make sure it hadn’t been stolen in the night, then made a second tour, this time for the time-honored purpose of kicking the tires. Their excellent condition was testified to by the fact that they did not collapse under the monstrous boot. Whistling, he climbed back of the wheel and drove around to the front of the inn. Kek was standing there with the two suitcases; he set them in the back and got in.
“You know your way?”
“Me?” André looked hurt. “I hitchhiked to Barcelona from Lisbon a year ago and got myself stuck in these parts for three days. Know it? Like a native.” He turned onto the main highway and speeded up. “If I’d been here another two days, I could have voted.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Kek said. “Once we get out of town, find us a small road off to one side — going to a farm or something. I want a place that’s deserted.”
“Deserted places are what they have around here in abundance, but why?” He brought his attention back to the road in time to miss an elderly bicyclist pedaling along on the edge of the road. André pulled past and brought his attention back to Huuygens. “I’d hoped you had given up your notion of messing around with the suitcase.”
“Just one small mess around,” Kek said, but there was no humor in his voice. His eyes were somber as he studied the countryside. Suddenly he pointed. “How about that road there?”
André sighed. This Kek was a stubborn, stubborn man! Hard-headed. But not to be denied. The big man touched the brake, slowed down, and turned the wheel; they bumped from the smooth asphalt to a rutted dirt road that wound off into the rolling hills, quickly taking them from sight of the highway. André’s hands were loose on the steering wheel; they swayed and bounced with the dips and rises. They had gone on for about five minutes when Kek put his hand on the other’s arm.
“This should do it...”
André obediently pulled the car from the road to the grassy shoulder and brought it to a stop. Kek climbed down, pulled the suitcase from the backseat, and then looked up at the big man.
“The stuff—”
“Look, Kek—”
“Yes?”
André paused at the tone the other man used; there was danger in it. He sighed helplessly and opened the glove compartment. The items were dug out and handed over.
“Fine,” Kek said. “Now, you drive on about five hundred yards and wait until I wave to you. The book didn’t say anything about blowing oneself up doing this, but there’s no sense in taking any more chances than necessary.”
“You better let me handle any blowing up,” André said evenly. “That used to be my profession, in case you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget,” Kek said and flashed a brief, sudden smile. “The only thing is I read the encyclopedia, and you didn’t.” The smile disappeared.
André looked at him a moment and shrugged. There was no arguing with the man. He put the car into gear and bumped along the shoulder rather than attempting to dip back to the road at that point. It seemed clear that Kek was planning to blow the suitcase up from a distance, something quite obviously impossible at the inn. That would explain the spool of wire and the batteries, but why the screwdriver? To make contact with something? As an old dynamiter, André was hard put to understand the means Kek planned.
Nor why he had gone through all the trouble of smuggling the suitcase successfully into Spain just to dispose of it. It could have been destroyed as easily in Argentina; they sold wire and screwdrivers and batteries down there as well. A further thought made the whole thing even more inexplicable — without the suitcase, what did Kek plan to say to Luis Sanchez? After all, the skinny man from Barcelona still held Anita...
The whole thing didn’t make sense. He awoke from his reverie to find himself much more than five hundred yards away and, in addition, around a bend in the road. He also found himself hunched over the wheel, as if in anticipation of the explosion’s roar. He dipped back into the road, managed to turn around in an old cart path, and rocked back over the ruts in the direction he had come from. He negotiated the curve and began to brake as soon as he saw Huuygens; Kek was waving him on. André stepped on the accelerator and instantly braked again. It would benefit nobody to break a crankshaft or axle!
He drew up before Huuygens, frowning. Kek climbed into the car, dragging the suitcase after him. He placed it in the rear, tossed the other items into the glove compartment, and looked at André.
“Let’s go.”
André frowned. “What happened?” He put the car in gear; they bounced along the rough road. “Change your mind?”
Kek laughed. He seemed much more relaxed.
“No, I didn’t change my mind. It’s just that the Encyclopaedia Britannica and I work fast.” He leaned back. “I think I’ll take a nap. We still have a big day ahead. I’ll spell you driving when we leave Barcelona. Try to pick out the soft spots in the road.” He closed his eyes and then opened them. “By the way, I called Sanchez this morning before breakfast. We’re to meet him at noon at a place called Villarino Bar. In the manager’s office. Do you know it?”