Гарри Гаррисон - The QE2 Is Missing

Hank reluctantly withdrew from the warm embrace to reach for his drink, which he drained. “I wonder where he is now?” he said, frowning at the wall as though he could see through it and into the minds of the men on the other side. “They know all right. Where is Wielgus?”

“The hairdresser is here now, Herr Doktor,” Starke said, coming out onto the balcony where Joachim Wielgus was sprawled out comfortably on the lounge.

“Is it the same poofter as before?”

“The same. But always a good party member, and a major in the Waff en SS on the Eastern Front.”

“All things in his favor, my good General. But a homosexual still, both before and after the war.”

“And a hairdresser before and after the war as well — so we must make allowances. He is a valuable man.”

“Of course he is, Starke! But you must permit an old friend a grumble now and then. We must make do with what we have, of course. Here, let us have another Schinkenhager so I can prepare myself for the ordeal.”

“A fine idea.”

Stark took the chilled schnapps from the ice-bucket and poured full two of the thimble-sized glasses and passed one over to Wielgus. They raised their glasses in a small salute and drained them, smacking their lips in satisfaction. Two old men warming in the afternoon sun of Cuernavaca, staring abstractly at the expansive view of Mexican mountains and sky. Wielgus took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together with resolution.

“Duty calls,” he heaved himself up out of the comfortable lounge. “Just see that you keep the schnapps cold and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He still walked like a Prussian; age would never change that. His shoulders were back, erect, and his feet slammed heavily onto the tiled floor with every step, When he opened the door to the hall Klaus was waiting there, snapping to attention, waiting for orders as patiently as he had done for the past thirty-six years.

“Take me to him,” Wielgus said and Klaus led the way, opening the door for him, then closing it after he had gone in. Sonderbar was waiting, looking young, slim and relaxed. Until one got closer and saw the dyed hair and rouged cheeks. There was no trace at all of the former SS major in his stance or attitude. He waved Wielgus to the chair he had set before the large mirror.

“Lovely afternoon, Herr Doktor, but, of course, it’s always lovely in Mexico. Now let’s get this cloth around you — so. Do you have that photograph we took last time? It would make things easier. Thank you.”

Wielgus pushed the cloth down while he dug the wallet from his jacket pocket and took out the polaroid picture. Sonderbar tucked the sheet back into position, then examined the photograph.

“Yes, indeed, a very nice job, if I can be so bold as to say so myself. Everything done to alter your normal features as much as possible. You have been losing your hair for years, not that it doesn’t suit you, of course — you have a nobly shaped skull and displaying it is all for the best. A shame to cover it, but still… and I do believe I have here the wig I made for you last time, how very nice and, see, a perfect fit…. ”

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.

It was tightly packed with small chamois bags. Each one was secured with a leather thong which also bore a numbered metal tag. Without wasting any time Wielgus began taking the bags from the box one by one and checking their numbers against the list. When the number matched the list he put the bag to one side. This did not take long. When the task was complete he took out his pen and checked each bag off until he was satisfied that he had all the listed numbers. Only then did he put the large quantity of remaining bags back into the safe deposit box and carefully close the lid. The bags he had removed filled the briefcase two layers deep.