The window looked out over the back of the hotel and the double rows of cars.
The white van was still there.
Slocum and Yeager were in the hotel. But where? In which room? There were ways to find out. Pretexting, it was called. Pretending to be someone you’re not, or pretending that something had happened.
But maybe he didn’t need to go that far.
He unzipped his laptop bag and took out his PowerBook, and plugged it in, and he signed on to the free Wi-Fi service.
He took out the prepaid Samsung TracFone. Then he took out Galvin’s Beretta and a box of ammo and set it on the desk next to the laptop.
The Beretta smelled of gun oil. It didn’t smell like it had ever been fired, or at least not recently. It was new-looking and unscratched. He popped the magazine release and pulled out the magazine. It was still loaded with fifteen rounds. He picked it up and held it in a two-hand grip the way his father had taught him and sighted on the right bedside sconce. Then he turned and aimed it out the window at a blue Prius. A traditional dot-and-post system, a half-moon rear sight with a red dot, and a front post with a red dot.
The pistol felt substantial in his hands, heavy yet balanced. It was a serious gun-was there such a thing as an unserious gun?-and his aim had always been decent. Nothing great-he was no sniper-but not bad for a guy who fired a gun no more often than every couple of years. At most. And that was standing in the range at the Nauset gun club with his dad. In controlled, artificial, ideal circumstances.
In the real world, he was a rank amateur.
Facing off against someone who used weapons on a regular basis? Forget it. Danny would be dead. Facing off against a semiautomatic assault rifle? Don’t even think about it.
So what did he need the Beretta for? Could he in fact use it, under duress?
He put the thought out of his mind. It was simply better to have the thing than not.
He could call Jay Poskanzer now and have him give the FBI this address. The exact location of two former DEA employees who were pretending to still be on the payroll, impersonating law enforcement officers.
But as long as he was here, he could get a lot more.
Beginning, he realized, with the license plate number of the white van. He looked out the window.
Just in time to see Slocum and Yeager getting into it.
69
The elevator was too slow in coming, so he raced down the stairwell to the lobby. His footsteps clattered and echoed. He slowed to an unhurried pace as he entered the lobby.
He caught a glimpse of Matt, the rotund desk clerk, behind the counter. Danny went to the glass door at the rear of the building and, standing to the side, looked out.
The white van was gone.
He circled back to the front desk. He smelled French fries. “Those guys who just left in that van?”
“Excuse me?” Matt was still chewing. He tilted his head politely.
“Man, did I screw up,” Danny said. “I hit their van when I was parking earlier, and I wanted to leave them a note. You know who I’m talking about? The white van?”
Matt swallowed. “Um, I don’t know anything about a white van, sir. I don’t really notice what kind of cars guests drive.” A shred of lettuce nested among the hairs of his goatee.
“The two guys who just left-the skinny one with the black hair and the squat bald guy? Just walked out?”
He nodded. He knew who Danny was talking about. “Would you like me to leave a note for them?”
Danny shook his head, looking horrified by the idea. “I can’t take that chance. I mean, if they see the damage and file a claim against-well, I’m just screwed, because I’m driving this company car without going through all the paperwork, and I could lose my job. Will you be around later tonight?”
“Tonight? No, my shift is over at five, but Leslie will be here.”
He probably worked an eight-hour shift, nine to five. Of course he wouldn’t still be here at night. Danny was counting on that. “All right, let me write down their room number.” Not What room are they in? “I’m going to have to get an insurance form and a personal check, and-I’ll just slide it under their door when I get back here tonight.”
Matt hesitated. He inhaled. His expression looked like he was about to apologize. To say something officious and bureaucratic. I’m sorry, sir, we’re not allowed to give out room numbers of hotel guests. It’s hotel policy.
But then he noticed the twenty-dollar bill that Danny was sliding across the counter.
“That’s-that’s not necessary, sir,” he said with an embarrassed smile.
“I know it’s not much. My job’s worth a lot more than that. But…”
Once Matt snapped up the bill, the deal was sealed. It wasn’t the twenty bucks that did it, of course. It was Danny’s desperation. It would have been churlish to refuse to help.
Matt tap-tap-tapped away and said quickly, quietly, “They’re in rooms 303 and 304. I really can’t give you their names, though.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. All I need is the room number. Thank you so much. You have no idea what a huge help this is.”
70
Danny wandered the third-floor hallway in search of a housekeeper. He finally found one in room 307, where the door was propped open with a cart.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Like an idiot I locked myself out of my room. Three oh three-could you let me in, please?”
The housekeeper whirled around, eyes widening. “Oh! Sir? What happen?”
He held up a Lucite bucket. “I stepped out to get some ice.” He shook his head, scowled. But not apologetically, not really. More annoyed at the hotel. At the unexpected speed with which his room door had slammed shut. The hotel’s fault. Not his.
“What room you say?”
“Three oh three.” He shook his head, the disgruntled hotel guest.
She approached, pulled a clipboard on a string from a well in her cart. “Eh, what is name?”
“Yeager.”
She looked down the list of hotel guests. Shook her head. “I’m sorry?”
They’d probably checked in under different phony names. “I’m in three oh three. Could you hurry? I’ve got an important conference call in a couple of minutes.”
“Yes,” she said with a brisk nod. “Room 303.” She said it as if confirming it to herself.
He followed the woman out into the hallway. She smelled like a fabric softener sheet you’d toss into a load of laundry in the dryer. Or like a room deodorizer spray. It was mixed with the odor of her perspiration, the sweat of a hardworking woman. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, but it was the miasma in which she spent her workday.
She led him briskly down the hall. She had a slight limp.
When she got to room 303, she pulled out a master key card and inserted it into the electronic card reader in the lock set unit. It probably opened all the rooms on her floor.
“Thank you so much,” Danny said as she pushed open the door. He handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“Oh, gracias, gracias, señor. Eh-you want I get you ice?”
The room was a near-exact replica of Danny’s and looked like it had just been cleaned.
A metal Rimowa suitcase rested on a luggage stand, closed. He tried to open it, but it was locked. A suit and a blazer hung in the ample closet next to the bathroom. Nothing in the kitchenette had been left out. Just about the only indication that someone lived here, apart from the locked suitcase, was the desk.
A black Toshiba laptop was open on the desk, next to a neat sheaf of papers. He pulled Galvin’s gun from the small of his back and set it down next to the computer.