The QE2 Is Missing

Charles Street in Mayfair is not far from Park Lane and most of the top hotels in London. The area is well lit, clean, well-policed, and reeks of gentility and money. The two Paraguayans parked their car in Berkeley Square and strolled slowly in the direction of the park. If they were noticed, they were accepted, for they were neatly dressed and groomed; the thin attache case Diaz carried could have held papers rather than the tools of the criminal trade.

Without slowing or looking about, they turned into the doorway of the building where de Laiglesia lived. There were other apartments here and Diaz had enquired about a vacancy some months earlier; taking the opportunity to make an impression of the estate agent’s key at the time. They saw no one as he unlocked the front door and made their way up the stairs to the second floor. Diaz had the lockpick ready in his fingers as they approached the door in the front of the building. Diaz knocked on the door, waited a few moments, then knocked again.

“He’s out,” Luis said, “you know that.”

“Of course I know that. But perhaps he left a visitor behind who doesn’t know that. Always use care.”

Luis shrugged expressively, saying as clearly as he could with words that he disagreed. When no one answered after the second knock, Diaz took out the pick and inserted it in the lock.

“What are you doing there?” a woman’s voice asked from down the hall.

Diaz calmly knocked on the door again, at the same time palming the lockpick.

“Can’t you hear me? What do you want?”

Luis was standing stock still, not knowing what to do. But Diaz turned slowly, saw the sharp-faced woman in the open door down the hall, and tipped his hat politely.

“Excuse me, madam. I didn’t realize that you were talking to us.”

“Well, who else is in this hall? Well?”

“How charming of you to ask.” Diaz smiled warmly. “We are here knocking on the door of our friend Mr. Penninck who pressed the button to release the catch on the ground floor door so we could enter the building. Does that answer your question, madam?”

The woman sniffed and withdrew her head — then almost smiled. “It is a very good answer. Except that you are on the wrong floor. Mr. Penninck is the floor above.” She closed the door with a triumphant bang.

“So sorry,” Diaz said, winking strongly at the befuddled Luis.

They walked heavily down the hall and up the stairs. Diaz leaned close to whisper.

“Do you see what I mean about taking care?”

“Yes… but who is this Penninck?”

“I have no idea. But I took the precaution of noting his name when I was last here. In case I should ever have to explain my presence in the building.”

Luis was impressed. Even more so when Diaz knocked on the fire door, then opened it. “Ahh, hello, do come in,” he said in a deep voice trying to disguise his own. Then he slammed the fire door shut and touched his fingers to his lips.

On the floor below they heard a door close.

“For a lawyer you make a pretty good thief,” Luis whispered.

“Many people would say that they are the same thing. We’ll wait a few minutes, then go down as quietly as we can. No noise. If she sees us again we’ll have to leave.”

Diaz forced himself to wait a full three minutes. They slipped down the stairs and tiptoed to the apartment door below. Diaz had the lockpick ready in his fingers and he quickly inserted it and probed for the combination. Luis looked worriedly towards the entrance of the woman’s apartment. When the door finally opened they pushed in as quickly as they could and closed it silently behind them.

Inside the dark apartment Luis used his pencil flashlight. It threw only a small spot of light onto the floor, just enough for him to see his way across the room to close the curtains.

“All right,” he said.

Diaz turned on the lights and they looked about the room. “There’s the briefcase,” he said.

“And if you look you will see that there is a wall safe right above it. I hope that I am wrong.”

“Unhappily you are correct,” Diaz said gloomily, poking about inside the empty case. “Whatever he brought back is undoubtedly in the safe now.”

“Can you open it?”

“I am a better lawyer than a thief, Luis, still learning my new trade. We could get someone who could break into it without leaving any marks. But not before tomorrow. By that time the Major will be through with his whores and will have taken the contents of the safe to the Embassy.”

Diaz was looking about the room as he talked, at the pretentious and gawdy furniture, the vulgar prints on the walls. A sideboard was covered with bottles of expensive liquor mixed with flasks of cheap aguardiente; the Major had low tastes. On the floor next to the sideboard was a wastebasket shaped like a drum. Diaz went to it, kneeled and took out a crumpled red and yellow folder.