Robin Cook - Seizure

As Gaetano came abreast of suite 108, affording a view into its interior, a shiver of excitement raised the hairs on the back of his neck and sent a chill up his spine. Not only were the lights blazing and the curtains wide open, but the professor and his girlfriend were there in plain sight! He couldn’t believe his luck that his mission was to climax so easily and so quickly, and for a moment, he merely watched while his pulse quickened in anticipation of the imminent violence. But then his arousal plateaued as he questioned what he was seeing. He blinked a few times to make sure nothing was wrong with his eyes. Something weird was going on with the professor and Tony’s sister, scurrying around like a couple of chickens and then flapping a blanket in the air. In the background, the door from the room to the hall was wide open, and a TV was turned on.

Irresistibly drawn toward the confusing spectacle, Gaetano advanced across the dark lawn. His hand had instinctively slipped into his left pocket to grip the handgun. Suddenly, he stopped, with a disappointing realization. The people he was watching were not his quarry but rather maids doing a turndown service. “Crap!” He groaned. Then he sighed and shook his head dejectedly.

For a few minutes, Gaetano stood in the darkness and rationalized that it was better this way. If he’d been able to walk up to the lanai, pull off a quick shot to nail the professor, and then skedaddle, it would have been less than satisfying. It would have been too easy and too quick. Far better was a more protracted stalking, involving a bit of danger that called upon his experience and expertise. That was when the process was truly satisfying.

Gaetano let go of the gun, wiggled his leg so the silencer dangled properly within his pant leg, and straightened his jacket. Then he turned around and headed for the hotel’s common areas: If the professor and the girl had not left the hotel for dinner, that’s where they would be.

The first restaurant was sited considerably closer to the beach than the buildings housing the hotel’s rooms, requiring Gaetano to walk along the edge of the sea grapes with the beach now to his left. The dining room’s French doors opened directly toward the ocean, and Gaetano was close enough to hear conversation. He picked up his pace to move quickly beyond the diners’ line of sight. His worry was the possibility that the professor would recognize him. That was where the danger lay, because if the professor saw him, security would be alerted, and probably the police.

Once beyond the French doors, Gaetano entered the restaurant by its front entrance, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for the professor. He walked past the hostess’s desk, where several couples were waiting to be seated, and paused at the entrance to the dining room, quickly and methodically scanning the room. When he was certain the professor wasn’t there, he left as quickly as he had arrived.

Next was the more casual restaurant with a bar at its center that Gaetano had strolled through on his first visit. It was built right at the edge of the beach, with a thatched roof like an enormous tiki hut. It was packed with guests, particularly the bar. Once again, being extremely careful, Gaetano made a loop around, walking between the center bar and the periphery tables. The professor was not there.

Resigning himself that his mark had probably left the hotel for dinner, Gaetano followed the walkway that traversed the lawn to the main building. His intent was to reoccupy the same couch he’d used on his previous visit, which afforded a view of the hotel’s entrance. He hoped the bowls of fruit would still be there. After walking through the two restaurants and smelling the savory aromas, Gaetano’s stomach was grumbling.

There were a few people in the main lounge. Unfortunately, Gaetano’s sofa was occupied by a couple carrying on a conversation with two others in facing chairs. Gaetano wandered over to the small bar and its bowl of peanuts. By coincidence, it was manned by the same gentleman Gaetano had chatted with on his previous visit. Gaetano could still see the hotel’s entrance, although not quite as well as from the couch, yet it was good enough.

“Hey!” the bartender said. He extended a hand. “Long time no see!”

Gaetano was mildly disturbed that the man recognized him, with as many people as the man undoubtedly saw on a daily basis. Gaetano smiled weakly, shook the man’s hand, and took a handful of peanuts. The bartender was a transplanted New Yorker, which had been the topic of conversation a week and a half earlier.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.

Gaetano saw one of the hotel’s beefy security men appear at the archway into the reception area. With his arms akimbo, he casually scanned the room. He was dressed in a nondescript dark suit. It was obvious he was security, because he wore an earpiece in his left ear, with the wire snaking under his jacket.

“A Coke would be nice,” Gaetano said. It was best to look relaxed and engaged so as not to appear as if he didn’t belong. He half sat on one of the barstools with his left leg straight, so as not to disturb the hidden gun with its silencer. “Ice with a twist of lemon would make it perfect.”

“You got it, pal,” the bartender said. He set to work opening the Coke and filling a glass with ice. He twisted the lemon peel, ran it around the glass’s rim, and put the drink in front of Gaetano. “Are your friends still staying here at the hotel?”

Gaetano nodded. “I was supposed to run into them here at the hotel tonight, but they’re not in their room or at either of the restaurants.”

“Did you try the Courtyard?”

“What’s that?” Gaetano asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the security person disappear back into the reception area.

“That’s actually our best restaurant,” the bartender explained. “It’s only open for dinner.”

“Where is it?”

“Just go up into reception and turn left. Go through the doors, and you’re there. It’s literally in the courtyard of the oldest part of the hotel.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Gaetano said. He tossed back the Coke and grimaced at its effervescence. He put a sawbuck on the bar and patted it. “Thanks, buddy!”

“No problem,” the bartender said, pocketing the bill.

Gaetano walked up the two steps into reception, keeping an eye out for the security man. He saw him immediately engrossed in a conversation with the head doorman. Following the bartender’s directions, Gaetano turned left, went through a door separating the air-conditioned space from the non-, and found himself in a courtyard-cum-restaurant. It was a long, rectangular space filled with palm trees, exotic flowers, and even a central fountain beside the tables and chairs. Encircling the area was a two-story hotel building. A balcony ran around the second story with a wrought-iron railing. Live music floated out over the scene from an ensemble above and out of Gaetano’s sight.

“Can I help you?” a dark-haired woman asked from behind the hostess podium. She was dressed in a tight, tropical-print, ankle-length spaghetti-strap dress that made Gaetano wonder if she could walk without pulling it up to her waist.

“I’m just looking,” Gaetano said. He smiled. “It’s a beautiful setting.” Although there was some dim light coming from the hotel’s open hallways, most of the illumination in the dining area came from a combination of tall candles on each table and the moon overhead.

“You’ll need a reservation if you want to join us one evening,” the hostess said. “We’re completely booked this evening.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Is it all right if I just look around a bit?”

“Certainly,” the hostess said, gesturing for Gaetano to proceed.