“Mr. Narang,” Sam said respectfully. “Namasté.” Sam knew who Dhaval was and was appropriately scared of him.
“There is a young woman, supposedly attractive, at least according to the maître d’, who is registered here at the hotel. Her name is Jennifer Hernandez. Do you know this person?”
“I do,” Sam said, nervously glancing about. There were several other hotel employees who knew who Dhaval was.
“I need someone to point her out for me. Think you could do that?”
“Of course, sir. When she comes back.”
“She is out of the hotel?”
“Yes, I saw her leave a little before eight.”
Dhaval sighed. He’d hoped to meet up with her early enough so that when she went out he could follow her.
“Well, I’ll wait around for a few hours,” Dhaval said. “I’ll get a paper and sit over against the wall.” He pointed to several free club chairs. “If and when she comes in, let me know.”
The WaKe-Up Call at 8:15 a.m. woke Neil from a deep sleep, and he answered in a panic, not quite knowing where he was. But his mind cleared rapidly, and he thanked the operator before bounding out of bed. The first thing he did was open the draperies and look out at the hazy sunshine. Directly below was the pool, with a handful of people swimming laps. Neil looked forward to doing the same sometime during the day. It would be good treatment for his anxiousness and jet lag.
With his anticipation building, he rushed into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair into some semblance of order, and pulled on a fresh shirt and clean jeans. Thus prepared, he sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the operator button with a trembling finger. His idea was to pretend he was calling from L.A., and during the course of the conversation, try to find out her day’s plans. From that information, he’d figure out how to surprise her.
It seemed like it was taking forever for the operator to answer. “Come on!” he urged impatiently. When the operator finally answered, he gave Jennifer’s name. The next thing he heard was the phone ringing in her room, and expecting to hear her voice at any second, his excitement grew.
After almost a dozen rings, Neil was convinced she wasn’t going to pick up, so he replaced his receiver. Next he tried her cell, but got her voicemail after only one ring, suggesting she’d not turned it on. He hung up. With some disappointment, he contemplated his next step. He did think that there was a chance she was in the shower and he should call her room again in five to ten minutes, but as agitated as he’d become, he wasn’t about to just sit there. Neil got his key card, left his room, and descended down to the lobby level. His next thought was that she could be having breakfast.
The restaurant was nearly full, and as he waited in line to talk to the maître d’, his eyes scanned the entire multilevel room. To the left on the highest level against the back wall was a substantial buffet.
To the right, down several levels, were the picture windows facing the gardens and the pool. Again, Neil had to suffer disappointment. He didn’t see her.
“How many persons?” the maître d’ asked when it was Neil’s turn.
“Just one,” Neil said.
As the maître d’ got out a menu to give to one of the seating hosts, Neil asked, “Would you by any chance be familiar with a hotel guest by the name of Jennifer Hernandez? She is—”
“I am,” the maître d’ said. “And you are the second gentleman looking for her this morning. She has yet to come in for breakfast.”
“Thanks,” Neil said, encouraged. She must have been in the shower when he called earlier. Neil allowed the host to lead him to a table for two near the windows but didn’t sit down. “Where is the nearest house phone?”
“There are several in the hallway leading to the restrooms,” the young woman said. She pointed.
Neil thanked her and hurried over. His heart was again pounding in his chest, which surprised him. He hadn’t anticipated getting as excited as he was, and it made him wonder if he was more attached to Jennifer than he was willing to admit. When the operator came on the line, Neil again asked for Jennifer’s room. Feeling confident he was going to get her this time, he even began to ponder an opening line. But he didn’t need one. The same as earlier, the phone just rang and rang.
Finally, Neil disconnected. As sure as he’d been that she’d answer, he was even more disappointed than he’d been earlier. He even experienced a touch of paranoia by irrationally wondering if she’d been warned he was coming and was deliberately avoiding him. “That’s utterly ridiculous,” Neil murmured when his more sane self intervened.
Deciding that a good breakfast was in order, Neil headed back to his table. As he walked, he wondered if her absence had anything to do with the other gentleman who had been looking for her, and as he pondered the question, he realized something else. He felt jealous.
Positioning himself at his table so he could see the hostess stand, he picked up the menu and motioned for the waiter.
Inspector Naresh Prasad directed his government-issue vintage white Ambassador automobile into the Amal Palace Hotel driveway and accelerated up the ramp to the hotel’s entrance. As it was nearing nine a.m., there was a profusion of other cars arriving and discharging their businessmen occupants.
When it was Naresh’s turn, one of the resplendently attired and turbaned doormen waved him forward, then put up a hand for him to stop. He opened the Ambassador’s door, straightened up, and saluted as Naresh alighted from the car.
Having gone through this ritual before, Naresh had his billfold open, displaying his police identification. He held it up almost at arm’s length so the impressively tall doorman could read it and check the photo if he so chose. Naresh recognized there was an element of humor in the scene as he was on the short side. At five-foot-three, he made the nearly seven-foot Sikh look like an absolute giant.
“I want the car parked up here by the door and ready for a quick departure if it is needed,” Naresh said.
“Yes, Inspector Prasad,” the doorman said, indicating he had carefully checked Naresh’s ID. He snapped his fingers and directed one of the uniformed parking valets on where to put the car.
Naresh self-consciously tried to make himself as tall as possible as he walked up the few steps toward the hotel’s double doors and past a group of hotel guests waiting for transportation. Once inside, Naresh glanced around the expansive lobby, trying to settle on how to proceed. After a moment of deliberation, he decided enlisting the help of the concierge made the most sense. Wanting to avoid making any scene, he waited his turn as several guests kept the two concierges busy making dinner reservations.
“What can I do for you, sir?” one of the formally dressed concierges asked with a charming smile. Naresh was impressed. The man and his partner conveyed an alacrity that suggested they truly enjoyed their work, something Naresh rarely saw in the vast Indian civil service that he had to deal with on a daily basis.
Continuing to be careful not to make a scene, Naresh subtly flashed his identification. “I am interested in one of your hotel guests. There is nothing serious. It’s just a formality. We are only interested in her safety.”
“What can we do to help, inspector?” the concierge asked, lowering his voice. His name was Sumit.
The second concierge, finishing with a guest, leaned forward to be included in the conversation after having seen Naresh’s police identification. His name was Lakshay.
“Are either of you acquainted with a young American woman who is a guest of the hotel named Jennifer Hernandez?”