by Barry Eisler
“Okay, then.” She held his gaze for another instant, then turned to head back to the front of the room. Treven was about to follow her when a muscular, crew-cut guy in a dark suit came in. Treven made him instantly as a bodyguard—the build, the watchful presence, and no way was the guy here for a workout wearing a suit.
“Oh, one thing,” Treven said to Alisa, who turned back to face him. “The spa. There’s a steam room in there, right?”
He was stalling for time, wanting to see what the bodyguard did and who might come in behind him. It wasn’t necessarily going to be Shorrock. The Wynn did a lot of business with VIPs. Whoever it might be, he knew he’d look less noteworthy chatting up one of the attendants than he would on his own.
“There is,” Alisa said. “The steam is infused with Eucalyptus, so it’ll really clear out your pores and open up your sinuses.”
“I’ll have to give it a try. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Eucalyptus steam bath before.”
She smiled. “You’ll like it. I use the women’s every day I’m here.”
Treven tracked the bodyguard in his peripheral vision. The man scoped the room, but not carefully. Treven had the sense he was only confirming there was no other way in or out. And why be more thorough than that? Shorrock was important, true, but it wasn’t as though he was the president. And like Rain had said, if Shorrock was doing something unscheduled, the security detail would be more focused on someone following him than they would be on people who were already there.
“Every day?” Treven said. “You must have the cleanest pores in Vegas.”
Alisa laughed. “I don’t know about that, but it’s definitely good for your skin.”
The bodyguard walked back to the glass doors and held one open, and bam, in walked Shorrock. Treven felt his heart rate kick up a notch. Son of a bitch, they had him.
“I’ll tell you,” Treven said, keeping Shorrock in his peripheral vision, “I’ve always been jealous of people who get to work out for a living.”
“You look like you’re doing okay,” Alisa said, glancing down at his torso. “What are you in town for?”
The guard, he noted, hadn’t come back in. Shorrock was heading for the back of the room, where the free weights were.
“Just a reunion with some friends,” Treven said. She’d pinged him with that glance and the question about his plans. If he pinged back, she’d escalate. “Play some poker, maybe see that Cirque de Soleil show.”
She nodded, noting, no doubt, that this was the second time he’d failed to return a volley. “Enjoy,” she said. But then, keeping the door open: “And let me know how that steam bath goes.”
He smiled. “I will.”
He knew it would look odd if he stuck around much longer, but he thought he could afford to take just a few minutes more and see if he could pick up anything operational.
He walked to the water cooler and filled a cup, then strolled over to the front of the room to grab a towel. Through the glass he could see the bodyguard, pacing slowly in front of the salon, which put him between the elevators and the entrances to the gym and the spa. Yeah, the guy wasn’t worried about people who were in the gym already, but he might key on new arrivals. Treven thought Dox should hold off, that it was time to send in Rain. Rain was the only one of them whose size wasn’t itself conspicuous, plus he was Asian, or Asian-looking, anyway, which likely put him generally outside the kind of profiling Shorrock’s bodyguards would be doing. And beyond that, there was something about Rain’s demeanor that made him easy to overlook. There was a stillness about him when he was in public that might initially be mistaken for blandness, or even timidity. It was the mistake the contractors had made, and Treven would never forget the way the average-sized, meek-seeming Japanese guy he had assumed Rain to be had suddenly decloaked and dropped the two much larger men with his bare hands before anybody could even get there to stop it.
Besides, they’d agreed Rain would do the actual hit. He had the most esoteric experience—the rest of them were strictly firearms guys. In fact, of all the men Treven had killed, more than he could remember in combat, assassinations, and self-defense, he couldn’t think of a time he’d used anything other than a gun. Not that it would be so terribly complicated to spray someone in the face with cyanide, but on the other hand aerosolized cyanide was dangerous shit, and in an op anything could go wrong. The surest, and safest, way to deliver the dose would be directly into the target’s open mouth, and if there was anyone who could get close enough to make that happen, he guessed it was Rain.
He walked back to the free weights area. Shorrock, a wiry guy of about fifty wearing Under Armour shorts and a tee shirt, was doing pushups, his movements crisp and efficient. He had an iPod Shuffle strapped to his arm. Treven noticed he’d set down an aluminum water bottle at the base of the dumbbell rack, probably filled with some sports drink. The guy looked at home in the gym. Treven started to turn away, then noticed something on the carpet next to the water bottle. Son of a bitch, it was a keycard, in the hotel’s signature flaming red.
His mind raced through the implications. They’d expected Shorrock to take a locker in the spa. Obviously he hadn’t—maybe because he didn’t have time, maybe because Eucalyptus steam baths weren’t his thing. He’d come straight to the fitness center, after which, presumably, he’d be heading straight back to his room.
Was there a way to get the room number? There was a sign-in sheet at the desk outside. To use the gym, Treven had needed to write down his name and room number. The people at the desk then checked the computer to confirm he was a registered guest. Presumably, Shorrock had filled out the form, too. Maybe the bodyguards had told him not to, but Treven doubted it. Their security posture seemed pretty relaxed. It was a Las Vegas casino, after all—what could possibly happen?
He stood behind the massive pillar in the center of the room so the bodyguard outside couldn’t see him if he looked in, and glanced around to confirm no one was within earshot. The place was huge and the closest people were on the treadmills and exercise bikes, a good fifteen feet away. The whirring of the machines was audible from where he stood.
He pulled his cell phone from his shorts pocket and called Rain. “He’s here,” he said quietly.
There was a brief pause. Rain said, “Okay. I know you can’t plausibly stick around much longer. We’ll rotate my partner in and I’ll head to the spa to wait.”
“No, the spa’s no good. I’m pretty sure he’s not using it. He set his keycard down on the floor right here, so I’m guessing he never got a locker.”
“His keycard?”
Treven moved from one side of the pillar to the other to ensure no one had approached. “Yeah, we’re thinking the same thing. I’ll check the sign-in sheet at the desk and see if I can learn his room number. You send your partner down to the spa—have him tell the desk he’s just checking it out to see if he wants to spend the forty bucks. There’s a bodyguard outside but I don’t think he’ll care about your partner if he’s heading into the spa instead of the gym. I’ll swap our friend’s card for mine—”
“Don’t forget, the Wynn stamps guest names on the cards. They’re not just keys, they’re like credit cards for the resort.”
“He’d have to look awfully closely to notice that—he’s just going to see his red plastic keycard where he left it, not the little gold lettering on the bottom.”
“You’re right. Keep going.”
“I’ll head to the spa like I need to hit the head, and hand off the key to your partner. He lets you into our friend’s room, then heads back to the spa on some pretext, gives me back the key, and I swap it back. You take care of business in the room, perfect privacy, and we’re done.”
“The room’s too risky. Security detail might routinely check it just before our friend goes in.”
“Fuck, that’s true.”
“Plus these keys are smart cards. They can be programmed to log the times they’re used. No way to know whether the Wynn does that, but if they do
, and someone were to check, it would look strange for the key to have been used to access his room while he was signed in at the gym.”
“Then why not take the key off him when the job’s done and disappear it? Keys get lost all the time, who knows where it’s gone. Anyway, no key, no evidence.”
Silence for a moment. Then Rain said, “That’s true. Still, if I let myself in and a bodyguard shows up for a sweep, the whole op is blown. But now that you’ve got me thinking, the key’s still useful. Do what you said. Call me if you can get the room number. If you can, I’ll call it from a hotel phone. If no one answers, I’ll take a chance on going in, plant one of the wireless cameras, and get out.”
“So we can know when he’s coming and going and then pick him up by the elevators.”
“Exactly. And maybe overhear something about his schedule, too. Better to anticipate him than follow him. I’ll let the others know what’s going on.”
“Understood. Okay, let me see what I can do here. I’ll call you back.”
He clicked off and put the phone back in his pocket. Shorrock had switched to sit-ups, twisting alternately left and right at the apex of each rep. Looked like a warm-up routine of bodyweight calisthenics. Treven took out his room card and undid the Traser watch he was wearing. He walked over to the dumbbell rack, squatted as though to select the one he wanted, and dropped the watch next to the base of the rack. As Shorrock came up, twisting to his left and away from Treven’s position, Treven hefted a dumbbell with his right hand and smoothly swapped the keycards with his left. He moved a few paces away, used the dumbbell to do a tricep stretch for a few moments, then set the weight back in its place and headed out.
The bodyguard was still pacing by the salon and paid Treven no particular notice. Why would he? Treven had come from the gym. The guard had already classified him as harmless. Mistake.
He stopped at the sign-in desk. There was another pretty woman stationed there, a new one whose nametag read Victoria, not the woman who’d signed him in two hours earlier. “Hi,” he said. “I’m going to use the spa now, but if I want to come back later, am I still covered?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Victoria said. “Spa privileges are always applicable for the whole day you’ve paid for them, or else they’re already included in your resort package. But you’re good either way.”
“Terrific,” Treven said. He glanced down at the sign-in sheet. The last entry read, Shorrock. And under room number, 5818. “Do I have to sign in again?”
“No, sir, you’re fine. Enjoy the facilities. Joshua inside will give you a tour, if you like.”
Treven thanked her and went in. The place was huge and absurdly deluxe—half locker room, half gentleman’s club, all leather and granite and inlaid mosaic tile—and he couldn’t imagine what it must have cost. An attendant—Joshua, from the nametag—came over and asked him if he needed anything, a tour, instructions, recommendations. Treven told him he was fine and the man moved discreetly off.
Treven took out the phone, sat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs, and called Rain. “Got the key,” he said quietly. “Room 5818. Repeat: 5818. I’m in the spa.”
“Good. My partner’s on the way.”
Treven clicked off and tried to look like he was relaxing. Three minutes later, Dox walked in. “Hot damn,” he exclaimed, the hick accent especially thick. “Have you ever seen anything like this? I swear, I love Las Vegas!”
Treven winced inside. There was something to be said for hiding in plain sight, but Dox was pushing it.
Joshua walked over. “Would you like a tour of the facilities, sir?”
“It’s good of you to offer, son,” Dox said, “but I’m already a believer. Wondered whether a glorified locker room would be worth forty dollars, but you’ve set my mind at ease. Just going to take a little look around so I can see what I’ll be coming back to.”
“Very good,” Joshua said. “If you need anything at all, please just ask.”
“Well,” Dox said, “now that you ask, you got anything to drink?”
“Cucumber infused water? Or citrus infused?”
“Oooh, a cucumber infusion. That sounds nice. I’d like to try one, if you don’t mind.”
Joshua walked over to a crystal cooler filled with water, ice, and cucumber slices, and began filling a glass. Treven got up and walked past Dox, palming him the keycard without looking at him as he went by. He went inside one of the toilet stalls, from which he heard Dox say with theatrical satisfaction, “I swear, that is refreshing and delicious. You’re a good man, Mister Joshua, and I’ll be back in a little while for sure. Going to be the best forty dollars I’ve ever spent.”
Treven used the toilet, then got himself a cucumber infusion and returned to the leather chair, where he leafed through a hotel magazine. A soft-looking guy in a plush hotel robe, his face red and dripping with sweat, presumably from the eucalyptus steam room, came from around the corner and sat nearby. Too bad. Well, they couldn’t expect to have the area to themselves. They’d been pretty lucky already.
Less than ten minutes later, Dox was back. He started to head toward Treven, then saw the guy in the robe. He stopped and called out, “Mister Joshua, I forgot to ask you. Will I need bathing attire to enjoy the hot tub? Or is a more natural state of affairs permissible at this facility?”
Joshua appeared from around the corner. “Uh, it’s, whatever you’re comfortable with, sir,” he stammered.
“Well, I’m comfortable with just about anything myself. It’s anyone else I don’t want to make uncomfortable. Some people, you know, they don’t like the sight of the naughty bits.” He smiled at the guy in the robe as though he might be a prime example.
In spite of the tension, or actually because of it, Treven had to suppress a laugh. Joshua said, “Really, sir, it’s entirely up to you.”
Dox beamed. “Thank you again, Mister Joshua. I’ll just help myself to another cucumber infusion and be on my way. Sorry for distracting you from your duties.”
“No distraction at all, sir,” Joshua said. “If you need anything else, please just let me know.”
Joshua disappeared around the corner again. Dox picked up one of the hotel magazines. “The Robb Report,” he said, flipping through it. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous. Look at this, a new Veyron Super Sport for two point four million dollars. Yeah, the old model just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. Maybe I’ll order one, if things go well at blackjack tonight.” He set the magazine down and walked off.
The guy in the robe started to get up. “There’s a new Veyron?” he said.
Treven was out of his seat so fast he might have been a Veyron himself. “Wow, I need to see that,” he said, snatching up the magazine. He held it in one palm and it opened naturally to the page where Dox had wedged Shorrock’s room key.
“Jeez,” the guy in the robe said. “You going to buy one right now?”
Treven palmed the key and made an expression of chagrin. “You’re right,” he said, “that was rude.” He held out the magazine.
“No, that’s okay,” the guy said. “I can wait.”
Treven glanced at his wrist. “Oh, shit, I left my watch in the gym. No, take it, I shouldn’t have grabbed it like that and anyway, I need to get my watch.” He handed it over and headed back to the gym, wondering if Dox was as dumb as he seemed. He was starting to think maybe not.
He walked past the bodyguard, who glanced at him without interest, and into the gym. Alisa saw him and said, “Did you forget something?”
“I did, actually. My watch. Did anyone turn one in?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Where did you leave it?”
“Back by the dumbbells. I’ll take a look.”
He started to head back. Shorrock was gone. So was the water bottle. So was the keycard.
Shit, shit, shit…
He glanced around wildly, momentarily forgetting himself. Shorrock was on an elliptical machine. He’d been obscured by one of the pillars. Okay, okay.
The water bottle and keycard were on the floor next to him—he must have been in the habit of taking his things with him as he moved from station to station. And he obviously hadn’t noticed the card wasn’t his. The problem was, the card was now on the floor right next to him, and the glass wall he was facing was reflecting like a mirror because the corridor outside it was lit less brightly than the gym itself. And unlike before, when he was twisting from side to side as he did sit-ups, the elliptical machine had him facing unwaveringly ahead into the mirrored glass.
He had to swap the keys back. If Shorrock made it back to his room with the wrong key, he’d know somebody had switched them. The security detail seemed relatively relaxed, but this would be a giant red flag. They wouldn’t leave Shorrock alone for a minute, not to mention all the attention that would be focused on the guy whose key Shorrock had wound up with.
He remembered why he was ostensibly in here, and walked over to the dumbbell rack. Alisa came up alongside him. “Left side or the right side?” she said.
Shit, this was getting more complicated. “Left side,” he said.
She knelt down. An idea came to him. He squatted down next to her and pulled the laces loose on one of his sneakers.
“There it is,” she said. “You’re in luck.” She reached back and retrieved it, then stood and handed it to Treven.
He smiled. “Nothing like a little luck in Vegas.”
They started heading back to the front, passing the elliptical machines. Alisa said, “So, are you going to try the—”
Treven tripped. He let the watch go flying and arrested his fall by placing his hand on the floor right next to Shorrock’s key. Alisa lunged for the watch. She missed it, but her attention had been drawn long enough for Treven to make the switch. He was betting Shorrock’s gaze had followed her lateral movement rather than his downward one, but even if not, he’d look down and see his card and water bottle exactly as he’d left them.
“Shit,” Treven said, straightening up. “That’s embarrassing.”
Alisa picked up the watch, glanced at it, and gave it back to him. “Looks like it’s okay.”