The QE2 Is Missing

The suitcase was ancient, made of thick, heavy leather and plastered with stickers from hotels long closed, ships long scrapped. It was a survivor from an earlier age when weight did not matter, an extinct species in the jet age, and Hank wondered where on earth they had found it. Why they had found it was obvious; it would take an electric saw to get through the metal fittings and impervious cowhide. The double locks opened easily to his key, but they were far more sturdy and secure than normal baggage locks. He threw the case wide and looked at the electronic equipment nesting among the foam packing inside.

He hoped that he would remember how to work it. He had to remember! It had appeared simple enough when it had been demonstrated to him, and he had been able to assemble it himself after the first try. Hopefully he still could.

The first thing he took out of the case was a diagram of the sports deck of the QE2. Two adjoining areas had been ringed in red. One was labelled Yours, the other Theirs. The wall between his cabin and the adjoining suite had been scrubbed over heavily with red ink. Hank turned the diagram to orientate it with the cabin and found the correct wall. It looked just like a wall. There was a framed painting in the center of it, with a settee just below it. Good enough for a start. He poked behind the painting and saw it was secured to the bulkhead by screws. No problem there.

In addition to the electronic equipment, the suitcase also contained a complete tool-kit. Hank used a screwdriver to loosen the two screws on one side so the picture could be levered away from the wall. The tiny microphone could then be put into position behind it and held in place with the sticky tape. He moved it up before securing it so that the wire lead that dangled below came even with the bottom of the frame. He put the screws back into place and was satisfied that there was no evidence visible of his work. The tiny connector on the wire was just seen as a metal dot, and then only if one bent down and looked up under the frame.

Next came the portable radio and cassette player. It was Japanese and large and expensive, with the cassette drive set into the front below the many-banded dials and controls for the radio. It looked very much like every other one of the millions of sets sold. Yet it was very different from all of the others, as much as it resembled them. Hank pressed two of the controls at the same time and the entire front dropped open. Behind it was a deck for six inch, reel-to-reel tape recording. He checked that the tape was in position and closed it up again. Then he opened the back and took out the power cord which he plugged into the points on the wall, after unplugging a lamp. There was another, smaller, cord in the same compartment which he connected to the microphone behind the lamp. Good. All in place, all ready to go. But did it work?

As he turned the set on, Hank had the feeling that he was really not cut out for this kind of work. His heart thudded heavily and warningly and his fingers were shaking. He had never studied this sort of thing in Columbia Law School. There was a rustle of static from the speaker, but nothing else. In a panic he turned the volume higher — and a booming voice flooded the room.

“Was ist los? Was tust du da …. ”

In a panic he switched it off and stood, shaking, aware of how much his hands were sweating. Had they heard it next door? There was no way of telling. The walls seemed sound-proofed well enough. Could he be sure? As he was reaching down to turn it on again there was a loud knocking on the door.

Trying not to rush and injure the delicate wiring, he disconnected the lead to the microphone and stowed it into the back of the machine.

“Hank? Are you there?” Frances called through the door.

He opened it and let her in — then dropped into the nearest chair.

“Seen a ghost or something?” she asked, concerned.

“No. Just getting used to this secret agent job. I’m not sure that I’m really cut out for this kind of work. I have been setting up the equipment they gave me — and frightening the bejezus out of myself at the same time. Where have you been?”

“Spending money,” she said happily. “They are really wonderful in the shops here so they let me sign for it — even though I didn’t know our cabin number or anything.”

“Captive consumers,” he said, sighing wearily. “The only way they can lose out is if you jump overboard. What did you buy that was so important?”

“This — and it is important.”

Frances held her left hand out to him and wiggled her fingers. It took him a long moment to realize that she was referring to the wide gold band on her third finger. “Very nice,” he said, with a certain lack of conviction.