by Tom Clancy
Jack thought it was a bit hasty of Chavez to assume he was going to take this woman up to his hotel room. Hell, he didn’t even have the key, and he didn’t know how they could get it to him without her seeing the exchange.
Jack stood up and said, “Room thirty-nine-oh-eight.” Not denying her premise, but challenging her nonetheless.
For the first time, the woman smiled. “Okay, Jack Ryan, Jr. Let’s go to the Palazzo and see this room of yours.”
Jack hesitated. Oops.
Ding shouted into his ear, “Not yet. Shit! We are not ready!”
Jack asked a passing waitress for the check, and he hoped like hell she was extremely bad at her job and took a long time producing it.
46
The very second his cousin announced he was staying at the Palazzo hotel, Dom Caruso leapt to his feet in the suite at the Mandarin Oriental, ran into Ryan’s room, and began scooping up loose clothes, shoes, even his computer and peripherals, and he threw them haphazardly into an open rolling duffel on the floor. He then rifled through his cousin’s closet, took pressed shirts and a suit, wadded them into a ball and crammed them inside the duffel, threw in a dopp kit full of toiletries, zipped it up, and ran with it for the door. He slung a backpack go-bag of his own over his shoulder and left the suite.
The valet downstairs had the keys to the Mercedes E-Class the team was using in town. The Mandarin Oriental was about a mile and a half south of the Palazzo on the Strip, a significant distance in traffic, so Dom didn’t plan on waiting for the valet. As he rushed to the elevator he put the conference call with the rest of the team on hold on his phone, then dialed the saved mobile number to the head valet on duty tonight.
Clark had befriended the man, and a few of his coworkers, just after they had checked in.
The man answered and Dom spoke rapidly. “Andy, this is Bobby, Mr. Phillip’s nephew.” The team all had cover identities, and Clark had issued a standing order forbidding any of the team to say Clark was their dad; therefore he was always Uncle Joe, Uncle Pete, or Uncle “something” on their ops.
“Hey, bro. What’s up?”
“I’ll be there in three minutes. If my black E-Class is parked at your stand with the trunk open and the keys in it, I’ve got fifty bucks coming your way.”
“You got it, bro!” Andy said, and he hung up.
—
Clark was already in the Venetian, so he only had to head next door, which he did in a jog. It took him five minutes, and this got him there just five or six minutes ahead of Ryan and the Frenchwoman.
He went to the reception desk, skipped ahead of a couple of Japanese businessmen with several bows and professions of apologies, and picked up the two key cards to the junior suite on the thirty-ninth floor.
—
Ryan and Élise arrived at the front of the Palazzo at the same time a black Mercedes E-Class pulled up to the valet stand. Caruso climbed out just feet away from them, took his luggage out of the trunk, and followed them into the entrance.
Just inside the palatial lobby, Dom rolled by them and headed straight for the elevators like a businessman in some rush to get to his room.
—
In the main lobby, Ryan took Élise by the arm and stopped her. He nodded to a swanky lobby bar. “The bartender here makes an incredible margarita.”
The Frenchwoman just shook her head with a smile. “You’ve probably never set foot here in your life.”
Jack chuckled, still doing his best to give off the impression he was more fascinated by her mistrust than anything else. “No drink first?”
She shook her head again. “No, thank you. Are we going upstairs, or are you ready to give up on this charade?”
“Let’s go up. I can’t wait to see the look on your face.”
She shrugged. “After you.”
—
Just twenty-five yards ahead of Ryan and the Frenchwoman, Dom raced to a huge bank of eight elevators around a corner. Eight of the sixteen elevators reached floors thirty-seven through fifty. Clark had just entered a car twenty seconds earlier, but he’d left a key in a planter for Dom and told him where he’d dumped it. Dom snatched it from the planter, took the first elevator that arrived, and stepped inside. He noticed the car bypassed floors seven through thirty-six. He pushed the button for the thirty-ninth floor, and the car shot straight up, not stopping at all along the way.
John Clark took his elevator up to the second floor, and on the way up he took a small piece of tape, affixed it to Ryan’s card, and attached it to the buttons to the right of the door. As he did so he said, “Listen up, Ryan. When you get to the bank of elevators, the last one will come down to you. Take it. Your card will be taped to the keys to the left of the door.”
John pushed the button in the car to send it back down, then stepped out.
—
As soon as Ryan and Élise arrived in front of the elevators, the last one dinged and opened. It went against Jack’s sense of manners to enter before the woman, so he positioned himself on Élise’s left and entered just a half-step behind her. He swiveled his body to cover the buttons and saw that the room key card was lightly taped over the thirty-ninth-floor button. Jack easily popped it off and pressed his floor with the same movement, all while turning around to face her.
His hand went down to his side, and he reached into his pocket with the card in his hand, then pulled it out and held it up.
She stared at it in disbelief.
The elevator rose to the second floor and the door opened. Jack and Élise stood there quietly looking at an empty tile floor. Jack looked at the gorgeous tall blonde and smiled. “It’s a beautiful hotel.”
“Seeing it for the first time?”
“No. Just mentioning it.”
The doors closed and they started heading up again.
—
John Clark bolted out of the third-floor stairwell, sweat dripping from his face and his chest heaving from exertion, and he ran toward the elevator bank. He reached it at a sprint and pushed the call button to go up.
As soon as he did so he heard the bell announcing a car was stopping on the floor. He quickly moved out of the sightline of anyone in the car.
The door opened just feet away from him and Clark held his breath so as to stop his heavy breathing. In the moment of silence, both in his earpiece and from the car itself, he heard a female speak with a pronounced French accent.
“Damn children.”
Ryan replied, “Little bastards.” The door closed.
Clark let out a quick sigh of relief and said, “I stalled them as much as I can, Dom. They’ll be less than sixty seconds behind you.”
Caruso replied, his own voice affected by heavy breathing. “Understood.”
—
Two minutes later Jack slipped the key card into the lock of “his” hotel room on the thirty-ninth floor.
He held the door open, but Élise just stood there dumbfounded.
“I don’t believe it,” she said softly, and only after a delay did she enter the room.
Jack smiled and followed her in, then he caught a surprised look on her face. He glanced across the room. Dominic had left a pair of Jack’s red boxer shorts in the middle of the floor in the sitting area. Jack groaned inwardly, and told himself he’d kick his cousin’s ass the next time he saw him.
Some other clothing was scattered about; there was a suit laid out neatly on his bed, and his computer was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It was a little sloppy, but it looked legit.
“Sorry,” he said, scooping up his shorts. “I hadn’t planned on having company.”
Élise did not reply. Instead, she stepped over to the open bathroom door and peered inside. A couple of wet towels lay on the tile floor, the toothbrush was on the vanity next to an open tube of toothpaste, a mouthwash bottle open next
to it.
The walls and floor of the shower were damp.
She turned away and stepped back into the middle of the room.
There was an iced bottle of champagne on the coffee table next to the sofa, and Ryan was both surprised and impressed that the hotel had managed to have that ready not more than twenty minutes after the initial reservation had been made. Jack walked over to it and pulled the bottle out of the ice.
Élise noticed the wine bucket now and she cocked her head quickly. “Why the champagne?” she asked. “Isn’t that something that’s normally done when you check in?”
Jack scrambled for a second, then said, “It’s a little embarrassing.”
“More embarrassing than your underwear on the floor?”
Jack laughed. “The owner is a Republican. I don’t throw my dad’s name around, I’m not even using my own name on the reservation, but sometimes people recognize me. I guess he found out I’m here and he’s giving me the royal treatment. Champagne every night.” Jack added, “I didn’t ask for it.”
“I see,” she replied.
Jack popped the bottle and poured two glasses, then he started to lead Élise toward the couch, but a voice in his ear caused him to change his plans.
It was Dominic, and his whisper was barely audible. “Take her out on the balcony. Now.”
Christ, Ryan thought. Dom was somewhere in this room.
Jack said, “Oh, I forgot. You have to see this view.” Jack led her to the balcony, the entire time hoping like hell he actually did have a nice view.
—
Dom Caruso slipped out of the closet next to the bed, shut the door behind him, and dropped down onto the floor. He belly-crawled across the carpet, keeping an eye on the balcony, and the backs of his cousin and, much more important, his date, the knockout French spy.
When he was certain her focus was firmly on the neon lights of the Strip from the thirty-ninth floor, Dom rose to his feet and left the room quickly and silently.
As soon as he was in the hall he said, “I’m clear. Ding, vector me to her hotel room.”
Ding said, “There is no reservation under her name at the hotel. Either she’s using an alias, or a second alias, or she’s using her real name, or she’s not staying there.”
Dom stopped walking in the hallway. “Well, damn. Okay, Jack, get back to work. Get it out of her.”
—
On the balcony, Élise turned away from the view and looked to Ryan. Her face had softened. She didn’t seem as cynical or mistrusting.
She said, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” She took a sip of champagne.
Jack took a sip from his glass. “No big deal. So, now it’s time for you to come clean. Where are you staying?”
“I told you. I’m staying here.”
Ryan took his time reading her face. Finally he said, “I believe you.”
He heard Clark’s voice in his ear now. “Ryan is telling us she is staying there. Domingo, look for reservations under female names that came on the twenty-fifth of last month. That’s the day before she started work at Valley Floor. There can’t be more than a couple of women who have been here for two weeks.”
There was a pause for a moment. Élise and Jack stood out on the balcony and looked over the lights of Las Vegas.
Chavez called over the net now. “Got it! Only three females who came on the twenty-fifth are still there. One of them is under the name Sophie Brochard from Ontario, Canada. Room thirty-one-twelve. That’s gotta be our girl.”
Dom said, “I’m en route.”
On the balcony of his suite, Jack turned away from the view of the Strip to find Élise going inside to retrieve the champagne bottle. She came back outside, refilled her own glass, then took his glass and did the same.
After she put the bottle down on the table on the balcony, she moved back to the railing, extremely close to Ryan.
Things were moving curiously fast, and now, far from worrying he’d have to find an excuse to keep the beautiful woman away from her hotel room while his cousin searched for the missing mobile phone, Ryan was less concerned about her wanting to leave and more concerned about her wanting to stay.
And then, as if on cue, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
Jack was not caught totally off guard, he’d noted her attraction, but there was a difficult moment when she put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him close. The earpiece’s battery supply hung behind his ear. It was out of sight, but it was not designed to go undetected if someone was mussing up the hair of the person wearing it.
Jack pulled away, a show of hesitation.
Clark spoke into his ear, his own voice soft. “Jack, we are not receiving any transmissions from you. Everything okay in there?”
Élise said, “Oh . . . I see. You are married.”
Jack smiled. “If I were, I think you would have read about it on Google.”
“You’re gay?”
“I guarantee that would have made the Internet.”
“Then?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “No problem. I’ll wait.”
Élise went back into the suite and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Ryan stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and stood there. C’mon, Jack, what’s the fucking plan here?
Ding spoke through his earpiece. “Jack . . . Dom’s going to need fifteen mikes minimum.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Not a problem.”
Oh, boy.
—
Dom did not have a key to get into room 3112, but he didn’t let that slow him down. As he stepped up to the door he pulled out a device built by Gavin Biery and his whiz kids at The Campus. It was a microcontroller just larger than a deck of cards, with a small cable that fed from it to a barrel connector.
Dom took the connector and knelt down so he could see the bottom of the key-card door-locking mechanism. Here, hidden from view of hotel guests, was a tiny round port. He pushed his connector into the port and flipped a switch on his device.
Certain brands of key-card locks have these ports for the purpose of recharging the battery on the locking mechanism and uploading the hotel site code, a thirty-two-bit key that provides general access to all locks in the hotel. This is the master key that housekeeping and other hotel workers use so that they don’t need an individual and ever-changing card to get into each room.
When Gavin powered up his microcontroller by flipping the switch, the lock sent the thirty-two-bit key from the lock down to the device, and then the device read and decoded it, and sent it back up to the lock.
The green light illuminated next to the key-card access slot in under a second, even though there was no key in the slot.
Dominic opened the door, unplugged his device, and slipped it back into his backpack.
—
Ryan stood in the marble bathroom of his junior suite, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out what he was going to do about the woman on his bed.
He’d been surprised by how quickly Élise was escalating matters. They were both single, attractive people, and she had shown some interest, but it seemed more of a curiosity to her and less of a lustful nature.
Jack thought about kissing her. He’d not been able to properly enjoy it because of the earpiece and the chatter from his team, but otherwise it would have been a different story. Still, he was working, and this wasn’t real. The thought of screwing some woman for the purpose of stalling her so someone else could ransack her hotel room made him sick to his stomach.
Clark thought the French spook was herself running some kind of op on Jack, either to compromise him or to gain information or influence, but Jack didn’t see evidence of that himself. Clark was trained to think OPSEC and only OPSEC, while Jack had a lot of re
cent experience with members of the opposite sex showing interest in him.
He flushed the toilet, ran the water in the sink, and tried to tell himself this wasn’t a harmless TV reality show, this was life or death. The woman in the next room was an enemy operative who was working on behalf of the damn North Koreans, and he didn’t need to give a rat’s ass about anything other than his mission.
There was no way to disengage without blowing the objective and revealing that he’d played her, and there was no way to keep her in this room without having sex with her.
“What’s going on, Ryan?” Clark asked.
Ryan popped his earpiece out of his ear and slid it in his pocket, flipped off the water, and left the bathroom.
Time to go to work.
Élise was on the bed. She still had her clothes on, but her come-hither look told him he wasn’t out of the woods. He took a step toward her.
And then her mobile phone rang in her purse.
There was a momentary look of surprise on her face. Jack wondered if the distinctive chirping ring meant the call was coming from a particular number. She stood up from the bed and picked her purse up from the coffee table. While doing so she said, “Sorry. I’d better take this.”
“Sure,” Jack replied.
—
Hello?”
“It’s Riley. Where are you?”
Veronika Martel could tell by the Englishman’s voice that something was very wrong. “Hi, Rebecca. Nice of you to call, but I am in the U.S. at the moment. It’s very late at night over here.”
“Listen to me,” Riley continued, as if she hadn’t said a word. “There is a man in your hotel room right now.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Not relevant. The point is I do know. What I don’t know is just what the fuck he is doing, but I have men heading there now to find out. Wherever you are, you get your bloody ass back to your room right now!”
—
Ryan sat down on the bed and watched the Frenchwoman turn away as she held the phone to her ear. After a brief conversation she turned back around, facing Ryan, and her face went from a guise of slight annoyance about the call that Ryan thought might have been feigned to an obvious appearance of anger that was both very real and very dark. Her eyes narrowed, staring directly at Ryan.