by David Archer
Dawson was calmly practicing his golf putt across the hotel room floor, tapping golf balls into a water glass.
“For a guy who makes his living by killing people,” Neil commented, “he’s certainly relaxed.”
“That’s what makes him so good at what he does,” Noah remarked, nodding his head. “He has to keep himself that way, ready for anything that might happen.” Dawson leaned his golf club against the wall and checked his watch, then picked up his briefcase and started for the door.
“He’s leaving early?” Neil asked.
“He’s a careful man,” Noah answered. “He probably wants to get a good look at the bistro before he goes in.” He adjusted his own tie and started back toward his front desk position.
“Noah?” Still staring at the monitor, the view now flipped to the outside camera, Neil cutting Noah’s exit short. “If I’m not mistaken, here comes Dawson’s lady.” She’d clearly been a lot closer to their location than they thought she was.
Gary, busy helping Renée pin a carnation onto the dress suit she’d changed into, popped his head up. He looked first at Noah, then craned his neck around to Neil, trying to see if he was serious, then glanced back again at Noah.
“It’s time,” Noah said. “It’s now or never.”
“This is going to be close.” Gary gripped Renée’s shoulders in a quick, encouraging gesture before bolting up the back stairs toward room eight.
Noah slipped swiftly into the lobby and Renée, still fiddling with the flower, moved over to watch the action on the monitor with Neil and Jenny.
* * *
Noah made it into position just in time to see a tall, stylish blonde walk through the front door.
Albert Corey, now dressed as a bellhop, stepped up swiftly to greet her. “Excuse me,” she asked him. “Could you tell me where room eight is, please?”
“Certainly, madam,” Albert answered cordially. “If you only turn right at the top of the first flight of stairs, you’ll find it right there.”
“Thank you.” The woman started up the stairs just as Dawson was starting down. Watching, Jenny and Neil held their breaths as the two of them passed each other, sighing in relief when no recognition passed between them.
At the top of the back stairs, down the hallway from room eight, Gary waited until Dawson was out of sight before hastily slipping into his room. The last thing they needed was for Dawson to get a glimpse of someone dressed exactly like himself hanging around his hotel room.
Less than a minute after Gary shut the door, there was a knock. He closed his eyes, taking a second to focus, forcing a Dawson-like expression onto his face. The best way to not be discovered as a fake was to be as close to the real thing as possible, and Gary was a consummate actor. He drew a deep breath and a bored sneer appeared on his lips as he cracked the door open.
The blonde woman outside his doorway smiled when she saw him. Gary opened the door wider.
“Jonathan,” said the woman. “It’s good to finally put a face to the name.”
“Did you bring it?” Gary asked, his tone anything but friendly.
She blinked, looked down, and took a large envelope from her bag. “It’s all in there,” she said, and turned to leave.
“Hold on,” Gary stopped her. “Who pays off when I finish the job?”
“I do,” she answered, her own voice now clipped and professional. “As I said, it’s all in there. Let me know when it’s done.”
She turned to walk away and Gary stepped out into the hall behind her. “There’s one more thing,” he said, and she stopped to look back at him. When she did so, doors on either side of her opened and four men and a woman suddenly surrounded her. Her eyes went wide as she looked at them, then turned back to Gary.
“I’m afraid you’re going to be a guest of the British government for a while,” Gary said. “Do enjoy your stay.”
* * *
Noah opened the envelope Gary had handed to him, sliding the contents carefully into his hand. A newspaper clipping appeared with a paperclipped, hand written note attached to the back. He turned the clipping right side up, holding it out so the agents gathered around him could see it. The picture accompanying the article showed them a very tall young man wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
“Apparently this is the target,” Noah said, catching Neil’s eye with a meaningful and slightly regretful look.
“Looks like I’m elected,” Neil said, his lanky height making him the most logical double for the man on Spear’s hit list.
Noah read the note accompanying the article. It read, “Leonard Hapgood, Vice President of Lending for Commerce Bank of New York, will be at the Teagarden Hotel, room 221. He’ll be in his room from 2:30 to 5:00 pm today working on a speech, and he’ll be alone.”
“At least we know when and where he’s supposed to make the hit,” Gary said.
“As well as who he’s supposed to kill,” said Noah with another glance at Neil.
“Okay, I’m personally hoping we can avoid letting it actually come to that,” Neil said with a nervous grin.
Neil stripped off the windbreaker he’d been wearing and replaced it with a dark blue suit jacket. Gary picked up a modified digital camera and flipped the desk light toward the large map on the back wall while Neil buttoned the top buttons of his shirt and clipped on a necktie, then added a pair of glasses.
Noah fed the article they’d received into the printer, checking to make certain the camera was already connected. He looked up, indicating to Gary that he was set, and said, “Okay, we’re good.”
Neil posed in front of the map layout as the picture was snapped and automatically transferred to a copy of the newspaper article, overlaying the image of the real Leonard Hapgood. Noah picked it up as it slid from the machine. Briefly checking it for flaws, he then slid it and the written note back into the brown envelope Renée held open for him.
“You’re on,” he said to her.
The look she threw back flashed confidence. She couldn’t mimic voices quite as well as Gary, but she could improvise just fine.
* * *
The taxi driver let Dawson off in front of the bistro, leaving him at the area farthest from the adjacent river. Grateful for the lack of speeding tickets and truck blockades, Dawson gave the driver a healthy tip.
As he walked away, any thought of the cab and its driver vanished from his mind. He didn’t notice that the driver kept watching him as he carefully evaluated his contact’s chosen setting, nor did he notice him lift his microphone and say, “He’s all yours, Cajun,” with a heavy British accent.
“An’ he be mine for shore, I guar-on-tee, Brit,” Marco replied, emphasizing his natural accent in response to the MI6 agent’s subtle barb, but he grinned, and said sincerely, “Without you guys, this job would be a lot worse. We do appreciate it.”
“You’re most welcome,” said the cab driver.
SEVEN
Marco had changed clothes again. This time, he’d selected a tourist-style shirt and no hat, blending in easily as he followed his quarry’s path toward the bistro, hanging back enough to avoid notice, but staying close enough to keep track of him.
The day was warm, and there were a lot of people on the street to blend in with. Marco usually tried to avoid crowds, but this time, he was glad to see the area packed and busy. A lot of the people were dressed just like him. Not once did Dawson even glance in his direction.
Nearly thirty minutes later, just after one, Dawson started a gradual stroll back down the walk to the river. Marco followed carefully, knowing he’d be easier to spot on the less crowded trail. He didn’t want to tip his hand, but he wanted to stay close enough to ensure Renée had backup if she needed it.
He saw her before Dawson did, wearing her pink carnation with a dazzlingly smart looking dress. As much as Marco knew Renée wouldn’t appreciate it, he couldn’t help feeling protective when he saw her; their relationship was pretty solid, and they were seriously considering marriage. Easing hims
elf down on a nearby park bench, just up the hill from where she stood, he prepared to keep careful watch for the slightest hint of danger.
Dawson spotted her, eyes lingering on the carnation and Renée’s sleek form. He walked slowly down the steps leading to the river, keeping his eyes pinned on hers, ignoring the boats bobbing in the river just yards away. “That’s a lovely flower,” he said.
“Thank you,” she answered. “I’m wearing it for a friend.” Marco innately evaluated her voice as he watched, deciding that her impersonation of the woman on the phone was pretty close.
“A friend named Jonathan?” Dawson asked, still sounding bored.
“Yes, actually,” Renée said in the same casual manner. She handed him the envelope, eyeing him appraisingly. “So you’re the famous man,” she said.
Dawson’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t seem interested in pursuing her praise. “And you’re Spear’s messenger,” he replied.
Renée smiled, tilting her head brazenly. “For the moment,” she said.
Dawson looked her up and down. “Well, I can say you’re the prettiest one I’ve seen so far.” A couple strolling along blocked Marco’s view when they stopped. He stood, shifting casually to another bench just a few yards down the walk. Dawson didn’t seem to notice the movement and Marco decided his view of the two had actually improved with the switch, but he’d missed part of the conversation in doing so.
Dawson now held the envelope Renée had brought. It was already open and he was looking down at Neil’s picture with a slightly confused look on his face.
For a moment, Marco thought they must have messed up somehow, but quickly, he realized Dawson wasn’t thinking about the clipping at all. Dawson pinned Renée with a stern look and said, “You called me the famous man. Why is that?”
“Your last job attracted a lot of attention,” she said. “And I do mean a lot.”
Dawson frowned.
“That doesn’t please you?” Renée asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “Remember, I work in one of the few businesses where fame is not something one hopes for.”
Renée nodded, blatantly unsympathetic.
“Now, the hotel where this guy’s staying, how far is it from here?” Dawson moved back to business.
“Just under a mile,” she answered and even Marco could hear her fake British accent slip.
“And when I’m done, who pays?” asked Dawson, cocking an eyebrow in her direction.
“Call me. I’ll be there.” The accent was back in place. Marco wondered if Dawson had even noticed. “You know, if you think about it, being famous could have its advantages.” Renée held out a slip of paper with a phone number.
Dawson caught it out of her hand, crinkling it as he said, “You’re not the girl I talked to on the phone. You’re an American, right?” He leaned in toward her.
Damn, thought Marco, he had noticed. He tensed, ready to take action if Dawson pushed, ready to do whatever was necessary to keep Reneé safe.
He shouldn’t have worried. Renée smiled slyly, unfazed by the assassin’s discovery, and dropped the accent entirely. “Should I take that as a compliment? I’m sorry, I’ve been pretending to be a local for so long it’s become a habit. I’m actually from Florida.”
Dawson watched her face closely and smiled back as the tension left his shoulders. Marco felt his own shoulders ease as well. For the moment, the serious and calm Caleb Dawson looked embarrassed by his suspicious mind.
“Take it any way you like,” he answered her. “I was planning to leave tonight, but maybe I’ll stay.”
Hook, line, and sinker! Good girl, Marco cheered silently.
Dawson lifted his briefcase and left, walking past Marco without so much as a hint of recognition. Marco stood to follow, throwing Renée a brief, impressed smile.
* * *
Noah picked up the phone and dialed. “Catherine? It’s Noah. We need control of the Teagarden Hotel within the next two hours.”
Catherine Potts, E & E’s liaison with MI6, was silent for only a couple of seconds. “Well, and you don’t want much, do you? Stay on the line for a few minutes, and I’ll do what I can.” Hold music began to play and Noah looked over at Gary and Neil.
“I’m on hold,” he said. “Gary, you’ll need to be on the desk. Do something about your appearance, because we can’t risk Dawson recognizing you.”
“Yes, sir,” Gary said. He sat down at a table at the back of the hidden room and opened his makeup case. A quickly applied wig of gray hair was followed by a realistic looking mask that made his nose look longer and added several lines to his face. He might have looked like his own father, but he didn’t look like himself.
The line came to life again and Noah turned his attention back to it. “All right, it’s done. I have four of my agents headed there right now, to secure everything until you arrive. What’s going on, Noah?”
“We are setting up the bait for Dawson,” Noah replied. “That’s where he’s supposed to make his next hit, and we need to get control of the environment as quickly as we can. Tell your people that we will be there within the next thirty minutes.”
“Will do, love,” Catherine said. “Be sure to stop in and say hello before you leave, will you?”
“If we have time,” Noah said. “Your people have the messenger who brought the instructions. Be sure to let me know if you manage to get any usable intelligence out of her.”
“We certainly shall,” Catherine said. “Good luck, Noah.”
“Thanks,” Noah said, and then he ended the call. He stepped out into the lobby and motioned for Albert Corey to come closer.
“Yes, sir?” Albert said.
“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Noah said. “You’re going to have to take care of this place by yourself until we get back.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Albert said. “I shall simply say that you had to step out for a bit, and left me to man the lobby.”
“That’s perfect,” Noah said.
Ten minutes later, Noah, Gary, Neil and Jenny were in a rental car and heading toward the Teagarden. It was only a fifteen minute drive, so they made it in the allotted time Noah had given to Catherine. The MI6 agents were in place, and quickly made it clear that their orders were to support Noah and his team in any way he needed. He assigned each of them a position, cautioning them not to make any move without a direct order from himself or Jenny.
Jenny was sent up to room two twenty-one, to explain to the real Leonard Hapgood what was about to take place. The rest of them then got busy checking out the hotel, to make sure they knew exactly where they would need to be to carry out the plan and keep Neil completely safe.
“Noah?”
Noah blinked and looked away from the drawer he was checking as he realized Gary was speaking to him again. He walked over to see what Gary was looking at. The young actor’s eyes met his as he pulled back a panel in the wall. “There’s a crawl space back there, but I think it only leads next door.”
“Is it shown in the hotel’s building plans?”
“Not directly. They turned the large suites on this floor into split rooms a few years ago, I think. The crawlspace developed from the construction of a new wall that had to be built around the plumbing.”
“I’d assume that if we didn’t know about it, neither will Dawson, but just to be safe, let’s find something to block any hidden access before we have Neil sitting in his room alone.”
“The hotel safe,” Gary said after looking around for a second.
Noah nodded in agreement. He walked over to the large metal safe under the desk. It took both of them to shift it in front of the access panel. Gary fiddled with it a bit while Noah went back to sweeping the desk. His mind was going over the plan, trying to look for any place where he could go wrong.
“I think we’re secure,” Gary commented, breaking into Noah’s thoughts again. “Dawson’s not going to have very many choices on how he gets up there.”
“Let�
�s hope we’ve thought of all of them,” said Noah.
Jenny walked into the hotel office with a grim smile just as Gary went to check the vantage points from the window. Noah fought the urge to watch Gary in motion, fighting the urge to look for traces of Donald. Donald had been the one to recruit him, and the two of them had spent a lot of time together. The young actor had picked up an awful lot of Donald Jefferson’s mannerisms, and occasionally they shone through.
“How’s Hapgood?” Noah asked Jenny, peeling his eyes away from Gary while setting a picture frame back onto the desk, now certain that it was free of bugs.
“He’s upset,” she answered easily, lifting her eyebrows. “It’s not every day you find out a professional assassin is out to kill you.”
“Will he cooperate?” asked Gary from the window.
“He’s not happy about it.” She shrugged in his direction. “But he’s agreed to stay out of it till this is all over. I stashed him in an empty room on the sixth floor, with a couple of Catherine’s people to keep him company.”
“All right,” Noah accepted. “Now the question is, how will Dawson try to kill him?”
“There’s a few rooftops out here,” Gary said. “They’d be high enough to give him a clear shot.”
“If that’s how he’s going to make his move, I’ll make it easy for him,” answered Neil, turning to point at Geraldo, who had become a surprisingly realistic facsimile of himself. “The joints are motorized, and I’ve programmed the controller to make random movements. This guy can scratch his ear, look around and even sneeze, so unless Dawson is right on top of him, he’s going to look alive.”
“That may be too easy,” Noah commented, staring down at the animatronic mannequin. “We have to remember, this man is unpredictable. There’s no telling where he may come from.” He had a feeling that Gary and Neil could hear his concerns in his voice; despite his lack of emotion, Neil was important to him. He did not want the young man to be killed, not even as part of the mission.