Killing Yamout in the lobby had seemed a possible option before, but it was too big, too open, and as Victor didn’t know how Yamout would enter, it would be impossible to set up properly. Yamout and his people were likely to use the elevators, but it wasn’t guaranteed. Besides, there was another problem.
There were several blips on his threat radar caused by patrolling security. They had the competent look of well-trained rent-a-cops who wouldn’t necessarily go out of their way to enter a gun battle, but probably wouldn’t flee from one either.
In addition to the security, Victor noticed a single man sitting on an armchair near the elevators, holding a folded newspaper but not reading it. He seemed uncommonly interested in who walked in and out of the elevators. He wore a brown suede jacket and dark trousers. His complexion and hair were both too dark for a Belarusian. A tourist then, except a tourist wouldn’t have been pretending to read a Belarusian newspaper. Interesting. One of Yamout’s men, Victor presumed. Maybe he was here to scout the hotel before Yamout arrived.
The watcher paid Victor no attention as he walked past but Victor would have to be careful. Even though the watcher probably had orders to observe only what Petrenko’s people were doing, if he saw Victor enough times he might realise he was someone to watch.
In his pocket Victor carried the hotel master keycard, which gave him easy access throughout the hotel. Though watchful of security cameras, he had been in enough hotels throughout the world to know their most likely positions, and therefore kept his face angled away from them as best he could. It didn’t always work perfectly, but better they recorded him now if it meant he could avoid them when it mattered most.
There were no guest rooms on the ground level. Instead, the floor was occupied by the hotel’s many facilities. The sixty-seven-room Europe offered all the normal services of a high-end hotel, plus a hairdresser’s, beauty parlour, five bars, a night club and Turkish bath. The amenities were of little interest to Victor, and he planned to kill Yamout in the Presidential Suite, but he had been in the assassination business long enough to know that even the most thoroughly planned job could go awry. The ability to improvise was an important attribute in the contract killer’s skill set. And if he did have to improvise, he wanted to have a good understanding of his surroundings. Victor took his time here, checking where all the exits were and how usable they would be in a range of circumstances pertaining to his escape. He didn’t see the job going down any other way except one that would require him to leave in an extreme hurry. Even with suppressed weapons he couldn’t kill twelve men silently.
Eventually things were going to get noisy and once that happened he would have only minutes before the police arrived. The nearest metro station was a ten-minute stroll, a five-minute hustle or a two-minute run. The closest bus stop was far nearer but he would need to get off the streets as quickly as possible and waiting for a bus wouldn’t help him do that. His best bet was to grab a taxi and get out of the city centre before the police presence escalated and blocked him in. But he had to rely on a taxi passing by, and he hated leaving something so necessary to his escape to chance.
He could steal a car, but if the police were on the lookout for it he could inadvertently bring them to him even sooner. Until he had a clean identity sorted, he didn’t want to create the paper trail by using a rental. Plus, he didn’t know Minsk’s streets well enough to escape easily by car and there was no time to learn them before tonight. Better to start on foot and have the option to use either metro, bus or taxi as required.
Victor took the elevator to the seventh floor. He strolled around the corridor, pausing to peer over the railing to his right and down to the lobby below. He looked up at the glass cupola ceiling. The sky beyond it was a deep blue. Enough natural light spilled down that few other light fixtures were needed. He pictured the cupola’s effect at night and then counted the steps to the Presidential door and from the door to the stairwell.
It was a little after ten-thirty a.m. There was a maid’s cart near the Presidential. He could hear a vacuum cleaner. Victor didn’t know how long the maid would have left to clean the room, but he planned to wait nearby until she had finished. It took ten minutes before she left the suite and pushed her cart away. He waited until she had gone before using the internet option on his phone to log into the hotel’s network with a password provided by his employer. He checked the booking register. He didn’t want to take a tour of the Presidential only to be joined by Petrenko and his men two minutes later. Unlikely, given that official check-in wasn’t for another hour and a half, but he didn’t know if Petrenko had preferential treatment being a frequent guest and local crime lord. The register showed nothing, but Victor didn’t move.
An elevator reached the seventh floor and its doors opened. A man stepped out. He was around six feet tall, mid twenties, with closely cropped red hair, dressed in jeans, sneakers and sports jacket. He had a lean but hard fighter’s physique and gave Victor the universal tough guy stare as he sauntered in the direction of the Presidential. He definitely wasn’t a hotel employee and though Victor had nothing to tell him what Petrenko looked like, this guy was unlikely to be him. Too young and too obviously stupid.
Victor didn’t wait to confirm the tough guy was going to enter the suite; he took the stairs down to the floor below and moved along the balcony corridor until he was in a position to turn around and look upwards. The second glass-fronted elevator was ascending. The glare on the glass stopped him from initially making out any details but he could see two or three figures. As the elevator rose past him, the glare disappeared to reveal three men — two more tough guys in jeans and sportswear and one older, better dressed man who held himself with the unmistakable air of a natural leader. They exited the elevator and headed to the Presidential.
So Petrenko was allowed to check-in early, whether by having an arrangement with the hotel or from just slipping the receptionist some cash for the privilege. Victor used the stairs to reach the lobby and took a seat in the bar while he waited.
The man in the brown suede jacket was still in his chair, still pretending to read his newspaper.
An hour went by before Victor was given the opportunity he was waiting for. The man he took to be Petrenko exited an elevator along with the young tough guy and the two in sports coats. They walked through the lobby and left the hotel via the main entrance. At which point the watcher in the brown jacket stood up from his chair, dropped his newspaper down where he’d been sitting, and followed.
If the three men Victor had seen were the sum total of Petrenko’s entourage then the suite would now be empty. There was always the chance another man had joined Petrenko while Victor had been in the bar, but there was only one way to find out.
He waited for a few minutes before taking the elevator up to the fifth floor and used the stairs for the last two. He gave a polite knock on the Presidential’s door and waited with an equally polite smile. Whether or not someone answered would also tell him more about the accuracy of the intelligence he’d been supplied with. The dossier had stated Petrenko’s party would be at least five strong.
It took a second knock and a minute wait but the door was opened. One point to the CIA and any chance of Victor getting time by himself in the suite vanished. Another thug stood before Victor, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt was emblazoned with the fiery logo of a German rock band.