The Hochmann Miniatures

by Fish, Robert L. ;

  Jimmy Lewis marched through the broad entrance of Portela airport with a hard look on his normally pleasant face. Somewhere in Paris there was a joker whose sense of humor had not only cost him a wasted trip, but had also earned him a chilling talking-to by a small but angry assistant chief of detectives for Lisbon. Plus an escorted ride to the airport in a police car, and the admonition to take the first plane out of Portugal. True, the joker had possessed a sexy voice, but at the moment his only interest in her was quite different; all he wanted was to locate her and beat her to death with her own right arm.

  The wide tiled concourse of the airport terminal was fairly crowded as he made his way toward the Air France counter. While he skirted the noisy groups scattered about, he reluctantly dismissed the lovely idea of murder, and concentrated instead on composing a cable to his editor that might explain, even it did not justify, the fiasco. Done poorly, it might put the clincher on his getting fired; done with skill, it might even allow him to have the paper foot the expenses instead of their coming from his own pocket.

  In his preoccupation he scarcely noticed the handsome man in dark glasses who sat hunched over a magazine on a bench nearest the broad windows; it was only as he was passing that the man accidentally shifted his feet, nearly tripping him. Jimmy turned to remonstrate, and then paused, his dark frown disappearing in favor of a wide smile. He shifted his camera to join his overnight bag in his left hand while he thrust out his right, his irritation instantly forgotten in his surprise.

  “Kek! What are you doing here?”

  To his amazement, his reception from his old friend was anything but cordial. The extended hand was disregarded; the eyes that were raised to his were obscured by the dark glasses, but the hard set of the jaw and the lips pressed thinly together clearly marked disapproval. The man came to his feet, folding his magazine, tucking it into his pocket.

  “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, m’sieu,” he said stiffly in French, and walked away.

  Jimmy stared after him in astonishment. Any doubts he might have entertained were instantly removed by that familiar vibrant voice, and no one who knew the man could fail to recognize that purposeful stride. Jimmy watched him come to the wide stairway and mount it in the direction of the second-floor restaurant; one strong hand moved up at regular intervals to grasp the polished handrail and then release it, as if he were somehow measuring it for some mysterious purpose. The man paused at the top for several seconds, glancing down at him, and then turned to disappear through the heavy doors. Jimmy hesitated only a fraction of a second, and then followed him.

  The man was sitting on the sun deck when he arrived, alone at one of the wire-legged tables that were scattered about the balcony; he watched Jimmy approach quite calmly. This time he made no attempt to retreat further nor to avoid recognition. Jimmy tossed his gear onto one of the empty chairs at the table and dropped down into another.

  “All right, Kek. What’s this all about? Why all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense?”

  Huuygens’s eyes came back from their contemplation of the doorway over Jimmy’s shoulder; he studied the tall young man for several seconds. Then he finally nodded, as if he had come to a conclusion after considerable thought.

  “You can do me a favor.”

  “Of course.”

  The dark glasses gauged the other carefully; their obscurity seemed to add even more impersonality to the emotionless voice. “I have a reservation on Air France back to Paris. Someone may or may not be watching the ticket counter, but I’d rather not take any chances. If you could pick it up for me.…”

  There was no doubt that he was speaking with deadly seriousness; Jimmy’s eyes narrowed at the thought of some intrigue that might salvage something out of his useless trip. Wherever Huuygens was, there was sure to be news, if only he could dig it out.

  He nodded. “All right. Is it in your name?”

  For a moment the lips quirked in the old Huuygens manner, but instantly straightened out. “Of course,” he said dryly, but there was none of the usual humor in his voice. “I have enough problems with the people at French customs without trying to get past them with a false passport.”

  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——”

  “Oh, those?” Huuygens lit a cigarette and flicked the match from the window almost absently. He nodded. “Well, of course, much as I wanted to destroy Senhor Enrique Echavarria, I hated to see that fabulous collection of miniatures destroyed. So, in my hotel room that morning.…” He paused suddenly, and then stared at Jimmy’s profile in wonder. “Good heavens! Do you realize it was only this morning? It seems like days ago.”

  “The miniatures,” Jimmy repeated stubbornly.

  Kek leaned back again. “Amazing! It’s fantastic how the mind can be fooled on the question of time. I shouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a method here that might be used to confound our dear friends in customs——”

  “The miniatures!” Jimmy insisted.

  “Ah, yes. Well, this morning, then, I carefully prepared a package the size and shape that the miniatures would occupy when I later wrapped them in the library vault; the contents were nothing more than stationery from the hotel. And I carried it in my inside jacket pocket, between the lining and my passport. Admittedly, Hans’s search was only perfunctory, but in any event he wasn’t interested in the feel of paper; he was looking for weapons. And when I later packed the miniatures, I made sure that even the transparent tape I used was placed in the same position on the package as they were on the false one in my pocket.”

  Jimmy nodded slowly as the pieces fell in place in his mind. “And when the servant went out to get a better pair of pliers, you simply exchanged the two packages and slipped the miniatures into your jacket pocket.”

  Kek nodded, as if pleased by the other’s intelligence, and tossed his cigarette out of the car window. “Exactly.”

  Jimmy frowned as he further considered the facts. “But what did you do with them? The miniatures, I mean? After all, the search you went through in customs.…”

  Kek smiled at him gently. “I told you in Lisbon that you were doing me a favor by picking up my ticket. Of course I had to lure you to the sun deck where I would be alone when you so kindly returned to the lower level for the tickets.…”

  He reached into the back seat of the car and picked up the Graphic Super Speed camera. His smile became slightly rueful.

  “I’m afraid your film pack had to be dropped in a rubbish bin; it would have been difficult to explain at customs. I hope it contained nothing more interesting than the pictures you usually take.”

  He took the camera from the case and retrieved a small packet from the film-pack throat. He tapped it reflectively a moment, and then with a sigh slipped it into his pocket. The camera was returned to its case and replaced on the back seat.

  They were in the Avenue de Neuilly, approaching the Bois de Boulogne. Jimmy cut through traffic, preparing to make the turn at the Porte Maillot; he stared through the windshield with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Do you mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that you planned this thing so carefully, in such detail, and then simply had the miraculous good fortune to run into me accidentally at Portela airport to get your miniatures out of Lisbon?” His eyes swung from the road to Kek’s face; there was a moment’s silence as he studied the sardonic look on the other’s face, the slanted eyebrows, the steady gray eyes. He returned his attention to the traffic. His voice was bitter.

  “I’m really not very bright, am I? Enrique Echavarria’s real name was Wilhelm Gruber. Wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Kek said softly.

  The car swung to the curb before the apartment building. The two men sat in silence for several moments, each with his own thoughts; the engine of the little Volkswagen throbbed gently, waiting to be off once again. At last Jimmy nodded.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, thoughtfully. “It’s quite a story. Wilhelm Gruber dead—blown up in a car registered to an unknown Spaniard.… I think it can be reported without involving you in any way. I may turn out to be a hero to my editor, of course, but that can’t be helped.” A sudden thought came to him; he looked up, grinning cheerfully. “By the way, someday I’d like to meet that sexy-voiced decoy you used to get me down to Lisbon.” His eyes remained steady on Huuygens’s face. “I have a feeling there might be quite a story in her. And you.”

  Kek glanced out the car window, up toward his apartment. A light shone from behind his balcony, friendly and inviting. He got down f
rom the car, closing the door behind him, smiling at the man behind the wheel. He suddenly felt a release from the tensions of the past week, a soothing sensation of calmness, of sanity, of coming safely to a welcome haven after a storm-tossed trip.

  “Someday you might be right,” he said, and turned toward the apartment with a growing feeling of anticipation that surprised even himself.…

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Kek Huuygens Mysteries

  1

  “Good-bye, my darling.”

  “Good-bye, my sweet.”

  “Good-bye, my love.”

  “Good-bye, dear.”

  “I hate to go, my darling.”

  “I know, sweet.”

  “How will you ever manage without me?”

  “I have no idea. Your cab is waiting, dear.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right, darling?”

  “Your cab is still waiting, sweet. And cabs are hard to come by in Brussels. If that one downstairs gets tired of wasting gasoline, you’ll miss your train.”

  “But what will you do without me to take care of you?”

  “My dear Lisa,” Kek Huuygens said with smiling patience, “you will only be gone three days. I shall struggle through that endless period in some manner, difficult though it be. And you are only going to Maastricht to visit your mother, and that is roughly two hours by train from here, and probably even less by bicycle. You are not going to the South Pole for a three-year tour of duty. Although,” he added dryly, “you seem to have packed for it.”

  “You are a beast,” Lisa said calmly, and pulled on her gloves. “Before we were married you took quite a different tone, my lad.”

  “Before we were married,” Kek said reasonably, “the Walloonian blood you inherited from your father would never have permitted you to leave a taxi waiting for an hour, running up bills. Nor would it have permitted you to keep your husband from important business meetings which would enable him to keep you in bonbons and taxis running by the hour!”

  Lisa pouted. “But Willi promised we could keep the apartment for a month.”