The QE2 Is Missing

Sonderbar babbled on like this and Wielgus tuned him out of his attention. The man must be suffered in silence; he was too valuable to them all. In the mirror he watched the transformation take place. A pepper-and-salt wig to cover the baldness. Subtle darkening around the eyes to increase the apparent depth of the sockets. Some bits of molded plastic inside his mouth to change

Harry Harrison the shape of his cheeks; foul-tasting but necessary. A moustache glued into position; he had never worn one; and finally the eyeglasses. A stranger looked back at him from the mirror. Close friends might still recognize him, but there was no resemblance to the man in the 1941 photograph his enemies possessed.

“Very good, Major Sonderbar, very good indeed. May I have the photograph back?”

“Of course. How nice of you to say so. I rarely do this sort of thing these days, but it is nice to know one’s hand has never lost its skill. Shall I remain here — or return tomorrow?”

Wielgus looked at his watch. I’ll be back by late afternoon, positively. Is that all right?”

“Absolutely perfect. The good General Starke has an incredible cook and I shall glut myself with luncheon and wine and doze and be fit as a fiddle for your return.”

Wielgus grunted something noncommittal and left. A little of Sonderbar went a long way. Klaus jumped up from the chair in the hall where he had been waiting and snuffed out his cigarette. “What do you think?” Wielgus asked.

“A very good job, sir. Changes your appearance completely.”

“That’s all that is required. Let’s go now. The bank closes at one and I want to get there as close to twelve-thirty as I can. Can you do it?”

“The traffic will be heavy, but there should be no problem as long as Juan stays close.”

“He will — if he knows what is good for him.”

Juan, and the other bodyguard, were leaning against the wall in the shade of the jacaranda, but they got into the Volkswagen as soon as Wielgus appeared. Klaus held the door open in the black Mercedes while he climbed in. Usually they both sat in the front, but today they had different roles to play. Klaus put on his chauffeur’s hat, then started the engine.

From Cuernavaca to Mexico City is close to a hundred kilometers. It took three hours on the old, winding road, but no longer. The toll highway now climbs the hills and dives through tunnels in the mountains, then connects with the freeways through the city itself. Here the traffic jams began and Wielgus ignored them, turning up the air conditioner and reading the Wall Street Journal. When they pulled up in front of the Banco de Commercio it was twenty-five minutes to one. The Mercedes stayed in the no-parking zone in front of the bank, while the Volkswagen parked at a fire hydrant across the street. Wielgus took up the large briefcase and went into the bank.

Inside the bank he went to one of the high desks, placed the briefcase between his feet and filled out an application form for access to a safe deposit box. He wrote the form quickly, he knew the box number by heart, but hesitated before signing the card. Instead he took another card and practiced signing “Hermann Klimt” on the back of it a number of times until it flowed smoothly and he was satisfied. He put his card carefully into his pocket before walking slowly to the barred entrance to the safe deposit boxes and ringing the bell there. It took a moment before the old guard shuffled out of the back.

“Buenos dias, senor.”

Wielgus answered him in fluent, though accented, Spanish, and passed the card through the bars. The guard examined it at arm’s length, nodded and unlocked the gate.

“Would you please sign here — then here, sir. Thank you. This way please.”

The guard was a poor man and this was an important job. Rubbing shoulders with the rich day after day. He strutted importantly and produced his key with a flourish and turned it in the left-hand lock on box 457903. Wielgus inserted his key in the right-hand lock and turned it as well. With both locks open the guard pulled out the large box and lifted it in both arms, breathing heavily.

“Heavy, sir… but I’ll manage. In here, please.”

He dropped the box on the table in the small room. Wielgus waited until the door was closed before he moved. Then he locked the door, opened his briefcase and put it on the table and took out a typed list from it which he placed on the table as well. Only then did he open the box and look in at the interior.