Sam let the smile fall from her face as the door closed behind her. Spending time with Kaden Lane was more tiresome than she'd expected. She closed both layers of curtains to block exterior visual surveillance. Then she walked through the room, inspecting it, methodically opening every drawer, searching every nook and cranny and corner, inspecting phones, terminal, viewscreen, electrical outlets. Implants scanned for the telltale transmissions of active surveillance devices, trace molecular signatures of explosives, giveaway echoes of false walls or panels that could hide a monitoring device or worse.
She pulled out her slate, and used it to view status from the infiltration daemon the CIA had planted in the hotel's net. The cameras in the hallways and elevators were hers now, as were the locks on the doors, the fire alarms and sprinklers, the motion sensors in the crawl spaces, the discreet metal and explosives detectors in the lobby, the local network access points, the registration and booking database, the cleaning schedule, the phones, and more.
There were no known hostile agents registered at the hotel. No signs of infiltrations of the hotel's network. Which might mean that she and Kade had attracted no special attention, or might only mean that any other infiltrators were armed with tools as good as hers.
She turned her attention to Kade's room. The countersurveillance device she'd attached to his bag showed no sign of any bugs aside from hers. A composite view from the handful of bugs sprinkled across his clothes, devices, and luggage showed Kade sprawled across the bed, clothes still on, curtains wide, bags unopened. Across the Nexus link she could feel him drifting into sleep. Good. The slate would wake her at any major change in his room. If his mental state changed too much, that would wake her as well.
She instructed the daemon to continue trawling the hotel's net, to alert her if Kade's door opened, if the power draw from his room changed abruptly, if he accessed the net or used the phone, or if anyone loitered in front of his door or hers. In the meantime it would capture the faces of every person seen by any of the surveillance cameras in the elevators or hotel lobby, and especially anyone on their floor, feeding them to another CIA database for pattern-matching against known foreign agents.
She sent a clone of the data feeds off to her support team. There would be an operative awake and monitoring the feed twenty-four hours a day, ready to wake her or initiate action if any threat was detected. There were ground forces assigned as backup should they be necessary. Local contractors vetted by the CIA for trustworthiness.
The perimeter was as secure as she could make it. Sam unpacked her bag, hung her clothes out for the next day, and spread her discreet, nearly undetectable weapons out where she could reach them. She set a wakeup call for 7am, and put herself to sleep.
Across Bangkok, in a shabby rented room off Khao San Road, a slate chimed. Watson Cole paused from checking and rechecking his weapons to see what information he'd received. It was a message from his man at the Prince Market Hotel. Kaden Lane had arrived and was checked into room 2738. He'd arrived with a woman named Robyn Rodriguez, in room 2731. Photos from a lapel camera showed both in the lobby, waiting to check in.
Wats zoomed in on Robyn Rodriguez's face as he pulled up information on her in another screen. Same build. Same nose. Same chin. Eyes, hair, lips, and cheekbones were different, but those could all be altered. In all likelihood, that was Samantha Cataranes. That, in turn, confirmed that this was either an ERD mission, or a trap for Wats.
It was no matter. He had a mission. Cataranes would be a complication, but he had expected as much. She wouldn't catch him by surprise this time. He would still achieve his goal, despite her and whatever other operatives she'd brought with her.
He sent a message to the maid at the Prince Market whose services he'd purchased.
2738. Tomorrow.
His hand went to the data fob on the chain around his neck. If he could just connect this and Kade…
But would Kade accept his help? Should he even ask? He had to. Kade wasn't just a tool. He was a friend. The boy had his own decisions to make, his own concerns to weigh. Wats didn't know what they'd offered his friend or what they'd threatened him with to get him here. He didn't know what task they wanted Kade to complete.
In the end, it was Kade's karma at stake. Wats could hold out his hand, but Kade had to take it. If he had any sense, he would.
Wats went back to inspecting his equipment. His life, and that of Kaden Lane, might very well depend on it.
13
INVITATIONS AND PROVOCATIONS
Morning came too soon for Kade. He and Sam ate in the hotel restaurant and then headed out for the conference. The heat hit them like a solid object as they exited the lobby to find transportation. The sky was a ceiling of cloud or smoke or both. The air was thick with humidity. A warm drizzle came down onto the street. No wonder they held conferences this time of year. No one would want to come to Bangkok on vacation when the weather was this oppressive.
Sam flagged down a tuk-tuk at random. The bright yellow three-wheeled vehicle veered over to them. "Queen Sirikit Convention Center," she told him.
"Convention center," the driver replied. "A hundred baht!"
"Fifty baht," Sam replied.
"Fifty baht! Cloudy day! No sun!" He gestured at the solar panels on his roof, the low-hanging clouds above them. "Have to use engine. Fifty baht no pay for gas! Ninety baht!"
Sam shook her head and turned to go, tugging on Kade's forearm to follow her.
"OK, OK, eighty baht!" the driver called.
Sam turned "Sixty baht, no more."
"Seventy baht, can't go no lower, lady!"
Sam nodded. "OK." She dragged Kade into the open air vehicle.
The driver took off almost before they were both in the tiny seat. The little three-wheeled vehicle darted into traffic, zipped around a taxi and between two private vehicles, dodged a motor scooter that cut obliquely across their path with three people on it, and then tucked in behind a bus and sucked its biofuel fumes. Kade scrambled for a seat belt. There were none. Nor were there any doors. They were basically on a high-speed rickshaw with an engine and a partial roof. Kade gripped the small side railing tightly. At least the roof kept the drizzle off. Small blessing when he was about to be spilled out into traffic to be run over by some other insane driver.
Sam put her hand on his forearm, and only then did Kade realize that he was gripping her leg for dear life.
"Relax," she said. "They do this all the time. Enjoy the ride."
Easy for her to say. She could probably get hit by one of those cars and bounce right back up.
Kade nodded to himself, and tried to enjoy it. He almost succeeded.
Registration was a zoo. There were fifteen thousand people expected in person at this event, and another fifty thousand virtually. The convention center covered a giant city block. The registration hall was larger than a football field, and even so it was packed. People queued up to pick up badges. Exhibition tables showed off research instruments, neuroinformatics packages, infrared neural scanners, next-gen MEG brain-scanning caps, psychiatric diagnosis AIs, brainwave-controlled robots and wheelchairs, nervous-system integrated prosthetics, and more. Jobs tables had recruiters for pharma firms, for biotechs, for neural device manufacturers, for software companies, for savvy advertising and marketing firms, for banks and hedge funds that wanted the quantitative skills of neuroscientists. A dozen nonprofit societies had booths lining one wall, from Neuroscientists for World Peace to the Thai Neuroscience Students Association. Interestingly, there were quite a few shaven-headed men walking around in the orange robes of Thai monks.