“No time for questions right now, Anneli. We’re taking you back to Tallinn and some friends who will keep you safe.”
“I need to stay and find Brokk!”
“You would only get arrested yourself. The best way for you to help Brokk is to come with me. We have to get out of here before whoever those guys were working for figures out what happened back at the castle. Narva is not where we want to be. Not a minute longer. Climb aboard.”
They rolled out without further conversation. When he looked in the rearview mirror, he could see the towering castle tower looming against the sky, as if it were watching them run for their lives.
9
The hotel lobby was floored with rich limestone and thick carpets, while the vaulted ceiling and huge windows and tapestries bespoke richness and elegance. The uniformed doorman gave a quizzical look to the approaching man wearing dirty jeans and carrying a backpack, accompanied by a much younger woman. The I belong here attitude and the hard-set face were silent warnings for the attendant to tip his hat and say “Welcome, sir.” The man offered no explanation for their rather shabby appearance.
Anneli was unsteady and shaken after the long ride, she was freezing and felt as though she might as well have just landed on the far side of the moon. Where Narva had been dank and threadbare, Tallinn was booming and vibrant and filled with colors that made her senses reel. She would have hidden behind Kyle had he not kept a firm hand on her elbow and gently marched her by his side straight across the carpet to the front desk.
He dropped his backpack at his feet with a loud clunk, unapologetic for his sudden appearance. “I am Kyle Swanson. Excalibur Enterprises,” he told the immaculate clerk in the starched white shirt and dark suit and tie. “I have a reservation for a suite.” He turned and winked at Anneli.
The clerk kept a straight face and pecked at his computer, stifling a gulp when the reservation came up. The new guest who looked like a pub crawler was actually an important visitor: executive vice president, Excalibur Enterprises, London. “Yes, sir, Mister Swanson. Welcome. We have been expecting you.” The clerk was now on familiar turf, dealing with a member of the high-powered clientele, many of whom were as eccentric as hell. He remembered the Saudi prince who carried a peregrine falcon on his wrist, an obese and cigar-smoking German industrialist who spat on the marble counter, and the countless older men escorted by younger females, beautiful ladies who were never introduced nor officially checked in. The hotel simply added an additional guest fee to the total, for the guest’s firm had posted a ten-thousand-dollar line of credit, with overage protection guaranteed.
“A representative of your company checked you in two days ago and took your luggage to the suite. It is waiting for you.”
Swanson nodded. “Very well. Are there any messages?”
“Your friend left this.” The clerk handed over a small envelope along with a pair of electronic keys. “You are engaged in the Republic Suite, sir. The top floor. It has a splendid view.”
Swanson gave him an envelope in return that contained the motorcycle key for the bike parked in the covered garage, plus a $500 bonus, and addressed to Andre Parl. “This gentleman will come by later today. Please give it to him.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
Anneli had written down her clothing sizes and needs during one of their brief stops on the trip, and Kyle gave that to the clerk. “Please have the concierge have someone purchase these items and deliver them to my room as soon as possible. Add it to my bill.”
The clerk did not flinch. It was a familiar instruction. To him, the list spelled: mistress. It called for a pair of jeans, a pair of slacks, two tops, heavy sweater and jacket, boots and trainers and socks, underwear, and a black pantsuit with matching low heels. There was no price range mentioned. “Of course, sir. A dinner reservation perhaps? Our own restaurant is excellent, or the concierge can recommend some specialty places.”
Swanson hoisted his backpack. “No thank you. We will just have room service tonight.” He walked to the elevator, steering Anneli alongside.
While waiting, she wrapped her hand around his bicep. Beneath the jacket and the calm exterior, he was also still shaking from the cold. In the garage, his teeth had been chattering. She asked quietly, “Who are you?”
When the door closed behind them in the suite, Swanson threw the dead bolt and slid a chair in front of it. “You take the big bedroom. I’ll sleep in this one over here,” he said. “Anneli, I understand that you are confused and frightened right now, but do not worry. You’re safe with me. I have to take a hot shower right away to knock off this cold — goddam, I’m freezing. You order up room service. Steak and potatoes and a salad with oil and vinegar, and a platter of fruit, cheese and cold cuts. A large pot of coffee. Then I’ll explain everything… and you do not have to be afraid, Anneli. We are out of danger.”
Swanson made a brief tour of the room and closed the curtains, pleased that the unknown CIA team that checked him in had been so careful with his clothing and luggage, and had stowed it away neatly after no doubt searching every thread. He picked out some fresh clothes, and stopped at the little desk. On a piece of notepaper, he wrote, “Cameras and listening device in the room. Act normal.” Leaving it in the open so she could read it, he disappeared into a large bathroom and she heard a shower begin running hard.
Anneli took a deep breath and lowered herself onto the king-size bed, feeling the silkiness of the linen duvet with her palms. Her emotions were a vortex of turmoiclass="underline" fear for herself, fear for Brokk, and fear of the man in the next room who wasn’t who she thought he was. Not at all. When she had found him in the coffee shop, he was supposed to be a harmless travel writer, then she watched him kill two men with his bare hands right in front of her in the castle tower, seemingly without effort. Now they end up in a top-floor suite in a five-star hotel, where he had changed identities and was receiving almost royal treatment from an obsequious staff. As comfortable as he had tried to make her, Anneli viewed him as some apex predator, like a friendly wild wolf. All that she really knew was that she was safe in his shadow. Except for the fact that the room was bugged and someone was watching. It was too much to process, so she rolled facedown into the soft pillows and wept.
Thirty minutes later, Swanson felt almost human again. The hot deluge and steam had boosted his body temperature back to normal after it had loitered south of iceberg range during the last leg of the motorcycle trip. He heard the shower going in the master bath, and assumed Anneli was also washing away the cold trip. Room service was on the way with food.
In comfortable gray sweatpants and a loose pullover, white socks and sneaks, he slowly roamed around the suite, disabling the eavesdropping and video devices as he went. It had to be the CIA, he thought, and he would be dealing with them tomorrow. They knew where he was, and that was all he was willing to allow for now. Meanwhile, all he wanted was a steak and a good night’s sleep.
The knock on the door was a polite rap. Swanson tucked the little Beretta 9mm under his sweatshirt and peered out. Two men in suits were standing there. He opened the door.
“You’re not room service, are you?” he said, curling his right palm around the pistol grip at his back. “If you don’t have steaks, then I don’t want to see you.”
“Mister Swanson, I am Chief Warrant Officer Mickey LeCroix and this is Mister Harrelson. We are both with the U.S. Army Civil Investigation Division. May we step inside for a moment?” LeCroix had a pleasant face, and looked in shape. His eyes were blue and busy. Harrelson stood off to the right, scowling and with his jacket open.