Гарри Гаррисон: The QE2 Is Missing

“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.

“It’s marked by drops of water,” he said. “As though it has been out in the rain. An advertisement for a world cruise on the fabulous QE2” He laid it out flat on the desk and opened it. On the inner page was a list of fares and schedules, with accommodation varying from ‘Duplex Suite with Private Veranda’ and ’Two-Room Duplex with Bath, Shower and Toilet’ to ‘Quad, Two Beds & Two Uppers’ right down at the bottom of the list.

Someone had been doodling on the brochure with a red felt-tip pen. Marking little crosses and circles and hatching in the white spaces that surrounded the printing. The sort of doodling that someone might do during a boring ride to London in heavy traffic.

The doodler had done some marking on the printed copy as well. Diaz laid his fingertip on the two inked circles and looked up into Luis’s eyes.

“Does it mean anything?” Luis asked.

“It might. And we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

Luis nodded slow agreement.

The circles red-ringed the listing for the two duplex suites.

The Trafalgar Suite and the Queen Anne Suite. The best accommodation on the world’s most luxurious liner.

The two men shook hands briefly, then parted just around the corner from the Cunard ticket office, Diaz staying and watching for a moment as the other casually opened the Cunard door and walked in.

As the man entered, the clerk looked up, then nudged the girl next to him.

“Now, just look at this fine specimen that’s just come in from the lobby,” Willy Mahon said. “Look closely, Heather, and tell me just what you think of him.”

Heather was an executive trainee at Cunard, destined for greater things in the offices of the company. That was her future. However, right now she was serving as a sales assistant in the booking office in London. Willy Mahon was her training officer, and after the first weeks of getting to know him she was finally beginning to appreciate his better qualities. Not his personal qualities, a quick grope and an even quicker slap had established that relationship quite early. It was his sales ability she admired, his knowledge of the complicated fare structure of all the Cunard ships, linked with a talent for always selling a cruise or accommodations costing that little bit more than the customer thought he could really afford. She followed his instructions now and looked closely at the young man who was examining the rack of sales brochures. She tried to sum him up.

“Young, late twenties, not too well dressed, probably can’t afford a cruise, and will probably ask us where he can book on a tramp steamer. Right?”

“Wrong on all counts, ducks, except maybe his age. This chap is a gent and maybe the heir to millions. Notice how tightly rolled the umbrella is. Dead giveaway. And the clothes are old, but that’s to show that he doesn’t care about money. You shouldn’t let that fool you. Take a look instead at the jacket he’s wearing. It’s hand-woven thornproof tweed and it would set you back the best part of a hundred knicker if you wanted to buy one like it. Shoes polished to a dull glow — and handwoven thornproof tweed and it would set you monocle if they weren’t out of style right now. And notice one hand in the bottom jacket pocket. That’s to show he doesn’t care if someone pinches his wallet or not — since there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“My, aren’t we being Sherlock Holmes today?”

“Listen, love, I could have taught that old junkie a thing or two — yes, sir, can I be of assistance?”

“Yes… ahh, perhaps. A cruise, that’s the thing.”

Willy cast a glance of triumph towards his assistant as the nasal Oxbridge tones washed over them. Heather acknowledged his accuracy with a nod and a thumbs-up sign out of sight behind the counter. Then moved decorously away so that he could slip in for the hard sell and the kill.

“Could I interest you in a world cruise, sir? Since you have the brochure in your hand I thought…?”

“Quite…,” the customer gaped slightly at the colorful brochure, as though seeing it for the first time, then dropped it onto the counter. “QE2. A rather nice…. “

“Nice, sir — why that’s like calling the Mona Lisa a fair painting. She’s the flagship of the British fleet, sir, the queen of the oceans so to speak. There’s nothing like her sailing the seven seas, nothing.” As he talked Willy produced a glossy pamphlet adorned with a large colored photograph of the QE2 sailing one of these seas.

“She’s one of a kind, sir, and you’ve never seen her like before nor will you ever again. I won’t bore you with the details of her standard accommodation — five hundred and forty-one rooms in all there — but just look here at the three hundred and twenty deluxe rooms, all outside and all with bath and shower, twenty of them deluxe suites with outside verandahs…. “

“I know. I’ve sailed on her,” the customer said with great weariness. “Stilton wasn’t quite ripe.”

Willy was indestructible and he loved a challenge. His smile was a sincere one as he instantly produced another elaborate brochure and spread it out over the first one.

“Of course, you know the vessel, sir, so I want to outline this world cruise, the first of its kind, a rest, a relaxation, holiday, call it what you will, but it’s the sort of thing that happens but once in a lifetime. We leave Southampton on the fifth of April and awaken in the warm sunlight on the way to Capetown. From there to Australia, on to Hawaii and…. “

“Yes, I can see that in the itinerary. It’s the accommodation that I really care about.”

“As well you might, sir.” Another quick rustle of paper. “And right here on this deck plan you can see the rooms that are available on the signal and sports decks.”

The customer dropped an unerring finger onto the most expensive accommodation and Willy, knowing the thrill of the chase, closed in for the kill.

“This,” the customer said, “it is a suite, isn’t it? Seems all right.”

“And that it is, sir. The Queen Anne Suite. Equalled but not bettered by the Trafalgar Suite opposite.”

“Available?”

“Very possible, sir. Just a moment to check. The price…. “

“Unimportant.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll just be a tick.”

Willy was humming as he went to the computer terminal, at peace with the world, happy enough to bestow a conspiratorial wink upon Heather. He punched in the request for accommodation — then gaped at the screen. He cleared it, some mistake, surely it was, but the same details were displayed yet again. He tapped the keys for more information then scribbled some notes on a pad. He returned to the counter, a far less exuberant man than the one who had left it moments ago.