J. Robb - Betrayal in Death

"Will you be satisfied?"

"No. I want the bastard. Giving Yost to Stowe was… It just was. But Naples and the rest of them would be mine. I also know that the job doesn't always give satisfaction. One way or the other, we proceed as outlined."

By midnight, she'd OD'd on coffee and had studied on monitor every inch of every public area in the hotel. With Feeney and Roarke's man she had reviewed, stage by minute stage, every variable in the security system.

When her commander came in, she rose and prepared to give him a full status report.

"A moment of your time, Lieutenant." He gestured her across the room, near the whispering waterfall. His eyes were dark and tired. "Yost self-terminated."

"Sir?"

"He was remanded to federal custody two hours ago. They were checking him into maximum holding in their facility. The clerk had a cup of coffee on his desk. The son of a bitch managed to grab it, smash it, and still cuffed, slit his own throat with a shard."

"So he got the easy way after all," she murmured. "And cost me my link to Naples."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for telling me."

"Agent Jacoby's condition is promising. His medical team believes his heart is responding to treatment. He's currently stable."

"That's good. And at least he won't be around to screw this up. If there's anything to screw up."

"I'd like to see this end with you. You remain in command." He glanced around the suite. "Looks like there's plenty of room for one more."

"Check out the dinner buffet," Eve said sourly. "We might still have egg rolls."

She stationed herself at the main bank of monitors in the living area. From there she could scan and search the target areas both interior and exterior. The night staff of the hotel went about its business, such as it was. Room service delivered or removed the occasional tray from guest rooms. A few guests returned from a night on the town while others strolled out to begin one.

Like the city, the building would never be completely quiet. Business and pleasure were twenty-four-hour activities.

She made an LC in short red satin crossing the lower lobby toward the exit. The woman looked smug and gave her little silver bag a pat. A nice fat tip, Eve assumed, then sharpened her focus as Liza passed the LC on her way in.

Liza glanced lazily around. A bit too lazily. A bit too thoroughly, Eve decided. "Feeney, take a look. I'd say our girl there has a recorder on. She's giving her pals an inside look."

"Enhance and magnify," Feeney ordered. "Sector eighteen through thirty-six." He made grunting noises as the image popped up, then ordered higher magnification on a smaller sector. Eve was treated to a very close view of Liza's cleavage.

"Now, that's beautiful."

"Jesus, Feeney."

He blinked, flushed. "I ain't talking about her, you know. The neck thing she's playing with. The dangle there's a microrecorder. State-of-the-fucking-art, too. She's probably transmitting a three-sixty right now. And full audio. The doorman breaks wind, that baby'll pick it up."

"Can you jam it?"

"Oh yeah. I could jam a transmission from the moon with the equipment Roarke brought in." He looked so delighted by the idea, Eve had to wave him off.

"Not now. Let her do the recon for them. Let them see everything nice and quiet and in order. Goddamn, Feeney, they're going for it after all." She checked her wrist unit. "Forty-five minutes to mark. Keep her monitored," she ordered, then rose to rally her troops.

At mark minus fifteen, Eve moved to the ready station, a meeting room one floor below ballroom level. Liza had already reconned the ballroom area, strolling past the target and giving her associates a shot of the secured doors and warning lights. Now she was tucked in her room, and Feeney would wait for the signal to jam. Two uniforms with a master were on hold to move into her room and take her into custody.

Eve was going to be sorry to miss it.

She fixed on her lapel recorder. "Feeney, you read."

"Gotcha."

She ran through her other team leaders, checking them on audio, and on the monitors. She checked her weapon, rolled her shoulder, and was pleased it had loosened up.

Then she scowled as Roarke slipped into the room.

"Off limits to civilians. Upstairs."

"As it's my hotel, nothing is off limits. I have clearance, from your commander. I'm in on this, Lieutenant."

She didn't doubt he could handle himself, though in his black sweater and trousers, he looked more like the type who'd do the breaking in than the type to frown on such activities.

"Are you armed?"

He glanced meaningfully at her recorder, letting her know he was fully aware everything he said was being transmitted. "Expert consultants, civilian, aren't authorized to carry weapons."

Which meant he was carrying. Since she preferred that to him going naked into a bust, she let it pass.

"When we move, we move fast," she said to the men and women gathered in the room. "We contain quickly and completely. You have your teams. Cover each other's backs. These people will have no place to go and are likely to resist. Our intelligence indicates they'll be armed with tranqs, but we can't be sure they won't carry something more lethal. Restrain and disarm. Be aware that jamming their transmissions will also jam ours from the target area until we have it contained. Let's keep that time frame to a minimum. Lenick, get the civilian some body armor and a recorder."

At mark minus five, she was glued to the monitor, glanced up only when Roarke came up beside her. "Where's your body armor?" she asked.

"Where's yours?"

"I have the option of wearing it."

"And you opt not to because it's bulky and hampers quick movements. Let's not waste time arguing. There's Monroe, moving into position at the delivery entrance. He'll find out shortly how much I disapprove of moonlighting."

"He goes down with the rest of them, but I'll make sure you're given a minute to fire him."

"Appreciate it."

"Here's the maxibus, right on schedule. Switching op to yellow light. Be ready."

She watched the bus swerve, clip the front fender of the oncoming car. It tipped on its six side wheels, shivered, then toppled like a turtle to slide, sparks showering, into the neighboring building.

There was an impressive smashing of glass, a nice little poof of smoke. On cue, cars stopped, and people began to run toward or away from the accident. The shrill scream of the jeweler's alarm system was a muffled buzz over her audio.

On the next monitor, she watched the delivery truck glide smoothly into place at the hotel's rear, and Monroe step out of the shadows.

Like Roarke, the six figures who leaped out of the truck were dressed in black, with the addition of caps that fit snugly over heads and thin gloves that protected the hands and kept the fingers nimble.

"Mick's with them," Roarke murmured. "He's seeing it through. I didn't give him credit for it."

That's for later, Eve thought. "Seven, repeat, seven subjects, entering building from the west, delivery level."

"Wait." Eve laid a hand on his arm, gaze steady on the monitor. "There's three in the lorry," Roarke continued.

"How do you – "

"Mick's telling me. It's an old code. Three in the lorry, all with eyes and ears. Hand lasers, cop-style. One mini-launcher, heat-seeking, fully loaded."

When Mick entered the building, Roarke shifted to the next monitor. He watched as his friend went to work on the first security panel, and listened with half an ear as Eve relayed the incoming data to her teams.

"The men inside are carrying, too. More than the tranqs previously reported. Two added basic police-issue lasers. There's a woman, third back. Hand-to-hand expert. She has a blade in her right boot." Roarke glanced to Eve. "You'll use this for him."