She turned to Warlock, who was laying the case on the sofa she had pinned him to.
“Okay, genius, so what’s our plan?”
“I take it we’re calling a truce?”
“If you can keep your so-called compliments to yourself, we’ll be just fine. What’s the plan?”
As if all were forgiven, he grinned at her and threw the metal case open to reveal a stockpile of miniature cameras and microphones and other surveillance goodies Alex wasn’t familiar with.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a very serious desire to invade Freddy boy’s privacy.”
CHAPTER 11
When Cooper and Deuce emerged from the stairwell on the main floor, they found that the elevator had come and gone and Favreau was nowhere to be found.
“He moved faster than I expected,” Cooper said and scanned the crowded lobby, seeing no sign of the guy. He touched the transmitter in his pocket and spoke into his mic. “Hey, Warlock, you still in the room?”
“Not for long.”
“Check the security cams for Target One. I don’t have a visual on him.”
“Give me a mo,” Warlock said. Then, a few seconds later: “Front entrance, left side of the tarmac. He’s queued up for a cab.”
“Thanks.”
Cooper and Deuce hustled to the hotel entrance, where a large stone fountain bubbled in the middle of a circular drive, and saw a roped-off area to their left, where several guests were lined up next to a sign that read TAXI.
Favreau was at the end of the line.
Cooper said to Deuce, “Get in behind him. I’ve got a car in the hotel garage, but if I’m not back before he’s gone, try to grab a cab and follow him.”
“Why don’t I just put a tracker on him? Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Cooper shook his head. “I don’t want to risk him finding it later. We’ll do this old school.”
Deuce grinned. “My stock in trade.”
Less than three minutes later, Cooper was behind the wheel of his rental, a perfectly maintained blue 1950 Buick Super that was as common here in St. Cajetan as a Lincoln Town Car in DC. Pulling around to the hotel’s front drive, he spotted Deuce near the fountain, waving him over.
“Take a right,” Deuce said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Yellow cab headed northwest.”
Cooper hit the gas and made the turn, only to discover a sea of yellow cabs on the street ahead, all American classics like the car he was driving. This city seemed to be living in a self-induced time warp.
Deuce pointed toward one of the cabs, an old Plymouth that looked very much like the two in front of it and one in the adjacent lane. “There. That’s the one.”
“You sure?”
Deuce frowned. “Do I look like an amateur? Bent license plate and rusty dent on the left side of the bumper.”
Fair enough, Cooper thought, taking visual note of the cab’s deformities as he nudged the accelerator and sped after it.
“He made a phone call while we were standing in line,” Deuce said. “Had the number on speed dial.”
“What’d he say?”
“Just confirming a time and that he was on his way.”
“So it’s a meet,” Cooper said. “This could be a problem.”
“You think it’s Valac?”
“I don’t know, but if it is, it’s out of character. According to his profile, Valac is extremely careful about who he does business with, and so is Favreau.”
“Maybe Favreau’s already been vetted.”
Cooper shook his head. “Other than the phone calls the NSA intercepted, there’s been no indication of any other contact between them, and Favreau’s only been here since this morning. McElroy thinks the reason he was summoned here at all is to give Valac a chance to check him out before they close the deal.”
“So why the concern?” Deuce asked.
“Because McElroy’s been wrong before.”
The cab made a left at the next intersection, taking them down a narrow, pockmarked street crowded on either side by tall, moldering tenement buildings. There was a different feel to this part of the city, as if they had crossed some invisible line and entered the real St. Cajetan, the one that wasn’t carefully controlled and maintained by the island’s corporate overlords. You’d never find this street on any of the brightly printed tourist maps the hotel provided.
“He’s stopping,” Deuce said.
Cooper eased off the accelerator and pulled to the curb as Favreau’s cab came to a halt in the middle of the street. After a moment, the rear passenger door opened and Favreau emerged, looking about as in sync with his environment as a ballet dancer in a hardware store.
“I guess we’re on foot,” Cooper said. He killed the engine and opened his door.
“Wait,” Deuce told him. “What if he’s just being careful? He may switch to another cab.”
Cooper nodded and tossed him the keys. “You stay with the car. I’ll follow him and give you the heads-up if he pulls anything. We should know soon enough.”
As Cooper climbed out and closed his door, he saw Favreau rounding a corner at the end of the block. Cooper looked around for any prying eyes, noticed nothing but a couple of locals sitting on a nearby stoop sharing a joke and a joint, and headed after his target.
He slowed as he reached the corner, cognizant that Favreau might suspect he was being followed, and made the turn as nonchalantly as possible.
The adjacent street was empty.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Deuce asked in his earpiece.
“He’s gone again.”
“What?”
“You may’ve been right. He may have had another cab waiting for him. I don’t see him any…”
Cooper heard the peal of laughter, and spotted a man and woman emerging from an alleyway about half a block down. The man, squinting against the sun, looked like a slumming tourist who hadn’t seen daylight in quite some time. The woman was dark-skinned and local, clad only in a sheer red camisole and panties, and a pair of high heels that were tall enough to cause a nose bleed. She had her hands all over the tourist, coaxing him to come back into the alley.
Cooper knew there were two possibilities at play here. The alley either led to a whorehouse or a strip joint.
Or a combination of both.
“Hold on,” he said to Deuce as he headed toward them. “I think I know where our target is.”
CHAPTER 12
Warlock may have been a rude punk, but once the clock started ticking, his ability to abandon all distractions and stay focused on his task impressed Alex.
After checking the CCTV cams on those strange, futuristic glasses, and telling Cooper where Frederic Favreau had gotten to, he returned his attention to the case on the sofa and continued picking through the gear. He inspected each piece, setting several micro video cameras and a handful of audio transmitters to the side.
“These should do the trick,” he said, then looked up at Alex. “Are you ready?”
“Just waiting on you.”
“You aren’t going to try to strangle me again, are you?”
“Stop making me want to,” she said.
A few seconds later they poked their head out the door, checked to make sure the hallway was clear, and headed for Favreau’s corner suite.
“Keep an eye on the elevator,” Warlock told her. “I’ve put a loop on the security cams up here, but we wouldn’t want anyone to catch us breaking into Freddy’s room.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
He smiled and held up a fat felt pen. “My secret weapon.”
“A permanent marker?”
“This isn’t just any marker.” He removed the cap to reveal what looked like the cylindrical connector for an AC adaptor in place of the usual felt tip. “My sonic screwdriver.”