“Know it?” André said. He sounded insulted. “I called you from there. That’s where I finally ran Duarte to ground.”
“Fine!” Kek’s eyes were twinkling. “Sanchez was quite pleased we were ahead of schedule. May he stay pleased for a long time! Poor Schneller...”
Poor Schneller? André frowned. Where did Schneller come into the picture? Of course there were many reasons for saying “Poor Schneller,” but none of them seemed appropriate in the circumstance. André glanced at the man beside him.
“Poor Schneller?”
“He’ll have a lot of explaining to do for a long time to come,” Kek said cryptically and closed his eyes a second time.
The high-crowned asphalt highway leading east from Zaragoza winds alongside the twisting Ebro River through the rolling hills of Los Monegros; at Mequinenza one is given a choice of routes to get to Barcelona. It was early; André decided on the longer but more scenic way, through Ascó and Reus, dipping down to the Mediterranean at Tarragona and taking the road along the bluffs above the sea, coming upon Barcelona from the south. The day was brilliant with sunshine and tiny, puffy white clouds against a sky as blue as the sea that accompanied them.
André handled the car with ease; at his side Kek slept peacefully. It was the bumping over cobblestones and the increased sounds of traffic that finally brought him from his nap. They were well within the city. He yawned and sat up, looking around.
“Where are we?”
“Barcelona,” André said, a bit proudly.
“So soon?” Kek yawned and looked at his watch. “No — right on time. How far to the Villarino?”
“About three blocks,” André said. “It’s in the Plaza de Antonio Lopez.” He slowed down and stopped for a policeman directing traffic.
Kek frowned in thought. “Take a turn around the plaza when you get there; point the place out to me. Then stop around the first corner and let me out. And wait for me there.” He anticipated the argument and answered it. “Muscle wouldn’t help if there’s trouble; I’m sure Sanchez is prepared for any contingency along those lines. And there’s going to be no trouble.” He smiled. “Not for us...”
“Well, all right,” André said. He didn’t sound as sure as his companion, but he was prepared to go along with him for the time being at least. “But if you aren’t out of there in fifteen minutes—”
“Just don’t call the police,” Kek said and laughed.
André was not amused. He turned into the square, passing a large truck, and made a turn around it, jerking his head toward the bar. It wasn’t really necessary; the Villarino was well advertised by a huge sign that covered the width of the building. André pulled around the next corner and stopped; Kek got down and dragged the suitcase free.
“This shouldn’t take too long—”
“It better not,” André said ominously. “You sure you don’t want help?”
“I want you right here with the car, ready to go.”
He winked at the big man behind the wheel and walked around the corner and back toward the bar. If the Encyclopaedia Britannica was worth the price, the adventure of the suitcase should end on a note that would not only repay his time and trouble, but also repay Sanchez for his poor manners with women. He threaded his way through the marble-topped tables, deserted at that hour of siesta, and came into the cool dimness of the bar. Two men leaning on the long counter considered him carefully. One studied the suitcase a moment and straightened up.
“Huuygens?”
“That’s right.”
“You alone?”
Kek looked at him. The man looked a bit confused and then tipped his head. “This way.”
He led the way to the back of the long room, turned into a corridor, and tapped on a door at its end. Without waiting for a response, he swung the door open and jerked his head in command for Kek to enter. Kek smiled at him genially and walked into the room.
The first thing his eyes sought and found was Anita. She was sitting quite calmly near the window, smoking. She smiled at him and nodded but did not speak. Kek turned. Sanchez was sitting at the manager’s desk, his thin fingers tapping the blotter restlessly. A short, fat man sat beside him — Duarte, Kek decided. Four men, tough-looking and obviously armed, completed the complement, standing at various places along the wall, making the room appear smaller than it was. Kek brought his attention back to Anita, speaking over Sanchez’s head.
“How are you, honey? Did they treat you well?”
“Fine, dear. I’m a bit tired, though...”
“We’ll be leaving soon, sweet.” He smiled at her and turned to Sanchez, the smile still on his face. “Here’s your suitcase, señor. A paper to sign and I believe we can complete our business.”
“In a moment...” Sanchez reached out and took the suitcase from him. He fished a monocle from a pocket, screwed it in place, and studied the combination lock. Whatever markings had been put there to determine authenticity apparently he found. He smiled, looked at Duarte as if to say I told you so, and nodded at Kek.
“You have the escrow paper?” Kek reached into his pocket and handed it over. Sanchez studied it a moment, signed it with a flourish, and handed it back. “There we are. A pleasure to do business with you, m’sieu.” His head turned to look at Anita. “Mademoiselle, your company was a pleasure.”
Anita looked at Kek, surprised it had been that easy.
“We can go?”
“I’d just like to wait and see the suitcase open, if I could. After all—”
“You can go, m’sieu.” It was Duarte, and both his voice and his face were hard. “You did your job and you’ve been well paid for it. I suggest you and your — your girl — go quickly and quietly.”
Anita came to her feet eagerly. Kek shrugged.
“If you put it like that, of course... Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He paused at the door, his arm around Anita’s shoulder. “By the way, in the future I suggest you get someone else to run your errands. I don’t care for your methods.”
“Don’t worry,” Duarte said flatly.
“Thank you,” Kek said, as if in gratitude, and ushered Anita out.
He led the way through the empty bar at a reasonable pace, but once in the street he took her arm and hurried her toward the car. She followed along willingly. André had the car door open for them as soon as he saw them come around the corner. They crowded into the front seat with him; the big man stepped on the accelerator, wheeling away from the curb, turning toward the avenue leading from the square to the west. Kek put his hand out.
“No— Wait. You know that little street that goes past the manager’s window in the back? There was a window—”
“I know it.” André frowned. “What about it?”
“Pull in there a minute.”
André stared at him a second and then shrugged. He obediently swung the car around. Kek was grinning. They passed the bar, turned a corner. André braked slightly and swung hard. They bounced into a narrow alley. The open window of the manager’s office could be seen a bit farther along. Kek dropped his voice.
“Don’t pass it. Stop here.”
André brought the car to a halt; the engine pulsed quietly. He looked at Kek, frowning. Kek had his hand up in anticipation; there was a look of glee on his face. Suddenly André’s attention swung to the window. There was the sharp sound of ringing, instantly cut off. Both André and Anita stared at Kek. He still held his hand up, commanding them to wait, his face hard put to contain his laughter. The sound of the strident bell came again and again was instantly cut off. Kek winked at André.