Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(44)

Person by person, the line inched forward.

Wei turned his back toward the camera aimed at the concierge counter and stared at the email one last time.

This would only work once, if it worked at all.

He wasn’t as trusting of their American informant as the others. Wei wanted to know—why? Why sell out people that had sheltered the traitor for so long? What was there to gain? Money? Was loyalty and honor worth so little? And why wasn’t anyone telling him who this source was?

On the other end of this phone number was a person, or persons, who were going to wish they’d died when Wei was done with them.

He had a sneaking suspicion their informant knew more than he was sharing, only doling out the smallest crumbs while bleeding them for more money. But that was the way of their world.

He who held the secrets controlled the world.

And so far, the informant hadn’t shared the details behind how, exactly, the case could be opened.

This whole operation was about reducing the Americans’ control. Knocking out a leg from under their operation would go a long way in restoring the balance, the natural order of the world. If Wei had his way, America would never again meddle in what did not concern it. The self-righteous big brother to the nations was nothing but a coward, too scared to face China and her people. The day was coming when no one would look to the supposed great United States for leadership ever again. They were a toddler, playing at being a grown-up, pretending they were ready to be treated as such.

Two people peeled out of line, leaving only one person between Wei and the counter. The moments dragged on. People chatted.

The woman finally turned, her tittering laugh like sandpaper. “Oh, sorry about that, I just prattle on. Thank you!” She wiggled her fingers at the desk clerk.

Wei hit dial, then mute on his phone, waiting for the call to connect, before approaching the concierge.

“What can I help you with, sir?” The man had a pleasant disposition, friendly expression. A people-pleaser.

“I’m trying to reach Mr. Juan Martin.” Wei leaned on the counter.

Hotels might update the flooring and fancy fixtures, but the phone systems were still the same ones from decades back.

“Let me see here,” the clerk said slowly, plugging in the alias. “All right, one moment, please.”

Wei pretended to glance at his cell phone, while he was really watching the display on the concierge’s desk.

1036.

Next door to their suite.

“No one is answering, sir.” The clerk shrugged.

“Thanks.” Wei tapped his knuckles on the counter, turned, and ended the cell phone call.

The bastards were watching them.

He popped the back of the phone off on his way to the elevator, prying the battery out and effectively killing the device.

How much had they heard?

Wei took the elevator up to the tenth floor, took a left and followed the signs. 1038 was the corner suite. 1036 was a single occupancy room squeezed in next to it. They’d been watching the whole time.

Wei passed the door to 1036 and entered the suite. It was quiet.

Everyone was going out to dinner, which meant no one would be watching an empty room. That was likely the real reason no one answered the room registered to a nonexistent Juan Martin.

Wei went to his bag and pulled out a key card breaker. It appeared as nothing more than an average, plastic keycard with a magnetic strip, only this had a handle on it. It could engage the locking mechanism and cycle through until it found the code that allowed entry to the room.

The code was just ones and zeroes; the problem was finding the right combination.

He pulled out his pistol, a QSZ-92 that’d been handed down to him, and clipped the holster onto his hip, under his jacket. Chances were low whoever was surveilling the place was still present, and it wasn’t as though Wei needed a gun in the first place, just his hands.

The hall was clear of guests, not a sound to disturb the peace. He slowly approached the room, waiting, listening. Someone was watching TV down the hall. There was a faint aroma of pot smoke. Bed squeaking could be anything. They were distant noises, peripheral.

He slid the lock-breaking device into the slot on 1036. And waited.

The lights cycled.

The red light on the door flashed.

No one came to investigate his presence.

If they were lying in wait for him, he could use the door, force it back, then shut it. Engage the lock. Make them come at him one at a time in the hall where he’d have an advantage. In simple hand-to-hand combat, Wei had a serious advantage over even his bulkier opponents. A hotel room provided flat, hard surfaces and unexpected, improvised weapons.

The light flashed green.

Wei pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold, listening, waiting, watching the darkness.

No one was home.

“Who are you, little fly?” he whispered into the stillness.

Wei let the door close behind him and inhaled. Soap, masculine. Perfume. Two people.

A man and a woman.

Wei flipped on the lights and stepped farther into the room.

It was time to hunt the hunters.

…

Rand fought the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt or the cuffs. He’d spent so long slumming it he’d almost forgotten what real clothes felt like. How starched pants fit. But it was worth it.

“Sorry, there was a line in the ladies’ room.”