No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(67)

The radar scope was invented to give assault teams a little advantage when breaching a room, as it could see through walls and identify if anything living was beyond. It worked much better than thermals in that it would identify motion instead of just heat, letting us know if a human was inside, meaning we wouldn’t get amped up over a hot lightbulb. It didn’t matter if the person was sitting still. A heartbeat alone was enough movement.

She held it up against the door for a moment, then whispered, “Clear.”

I swiped the card. And got nothing.

Shit.

Jennifer tugged my arm and pointed at the room across the tiny hall. I nodded, and she repeated the procedure. She gave me the go-ahead, and I swiped again. The light went green.

We both stood there, surprised at the success. The light flicked out and I swiped again, then entered, my own Glock drawn. The room was empty and, after a quick search, gave us as little information as the room she’d entered from the street. I said, “On to the penthouse.”

We skulked back to the stairwell and went to the top floor. This one had cameras, I knew. I called Dunkin. “About to break the penthouse floor. Am I clear?”

I heard nothing.

I said, “Dunkin, Dunkin, you copy?”

I heard a snort, then, “Yeah, I’m here.”

I said, “Are you f*cking sleeping? You little shit, I’m going to break your neck when I get back.”

Jennifer, hearing the calls through her own earpiece, grabbed my arm and shook her head, giving me her disapproving-teacher stare. I gritted my teeth and said, “Dunkin, are you monitoring?”

He came back quickly. “I’m here. Floor is clear. The room to the right has a tray of food outside from a delivery service, but your suite is clear.”

I shook my head, not believing I was inside a target with my backup asleep at the wheel. I said, “We’re going to break the plane of the door. You fall asleep again, and I’ll rip you apart. You copy?”

I heard, “Yes, sir.”

We exited and went to the penthouse, a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on the door handle. Jennifer applied the radar scope and signaled we were good. I swiped the next keycard and the light went green again. We entered, feeling a large space in the darkness. The door closed, and I saw some sort of bulletin board in the center of the room, but I had no time to check it out just yet. I pointed to the room to the left, and Jennifer stalked toward it. I took the room to the right.

I swept the space, moving to the bathroom, and heard, “Left side clear.”

I finished clearing my room and met her in the den. I flicked on the lights and saw something out of a Taskforce operations briefing.

There was a sand table on the floor, with little buildings and roads, and a bulletin board full of pictures, with notes above them in Cyrillic writing. Definitely not from a family planning a fun vacation.

Jennifer said, “What the hell is all of this?”

I leaned in to the bulletin board, reading the few English words on it. I said, “Bulgari. That picture says Bulgari underneath it. That’s what that * asked about before we killed him.”

Jennifer said, “What in the world is going on? What does this have to do with Kylie?”

“I don’t know. Get out your camera. Take pictures of all of this. We’ll send it to the Taskforce for translation. I’m going to search the rooms and see if I can find a connection to Braden.”

I left her to do the work and entered the bedroom I’d already cleared, now looking for clues instead of threats. Larger than most hotel bedrooms, it was utilitarian, with a desk full of different international electrical outlets and a dresser sporting a forty-inch plasma screen. The bed was made, and there were no indications that anyone had used it.

Unlike the room outside, the desk and everything else were pristine, and I realized what we’d entered: the place was a TOC. A Tactical Operations Center for planning an operation. Nobody was sleeping in here. They’d rented the penthouse only because of the size. They could get the entire team in here for briefings to plan whatever they had going on. I had done the same thing more times than I could count, in more countries than The Amazing Race had stamps in its passport, which made me wonder who we were chasing.

I started to leave and heard Dunkin in my earpiece. “Man approaching. Man approaching. I don’t know where he came from, but he’s at your door.”






47




I felt the shock flood my body and said, “Weapon? Any weapon?”

“Not that I can see. He’s out of sight now but walking your way.”

“Koko, on me, now.”

She came flying through the door, not speaking a word but saying enough with her expression. A mixture of fear and violence. She held her Glock up and I shook my head. I grabbed her arm and flicked my eyes to the sliding closet.

We entered and I slid the door as quietly as I could. I heard the front lock snick open, and the man began moving around, making small noises. Then I heard the sound of paper ripping and understood what was happening. He was tearing the place down. He shuffled a bit, further scratches of sound reaching us, then called someone on a phone. I could clearly hear what he said, but it did no good, as he was speaking a language I didn’t understand.

His voice became loud, shouting, then grew obsequious. I heard him disconnect and thought he was done and we were safe. I was wrong.