Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“What news, Tom?” Bill Wright asked.

Tom looked at his watch. “Our suspect vehicles were delayed at the New Jersey end of the Lincoln Tunnel, where a number of cars were stopped and inspected. It cost them twenty minutes of travel time, so they should be arriving at the Lowell just about now.”

Bess was impressed that they were met at curbside by not just a bellman but the hotel manager, who greeted Sykes by name and rank. “We have a very nice suite for you,” he said, “and the young lady is nearby. We need ten minutes for the maids to finish. May I get you some refreshment?”

Bess asked for iced tea, and the colonel, bourbon, and they were steered to a seating area.

“I don’t like the delay,” Sykes said.

“Who does? This happens to me at least half the time when I’m traveling.”

“Well, it doesn’t happen to me,” Sykes said, sourly.

After five minutes the manager returned and walked them to the elevator and all the way to their accommodations.

Bess was put into a small double room next door to Sykes’s suite, with instructions to go there for a drink at seven. They would go out to dinner after that.

As soon as the bellman and the manager left, she began unpacking. There was a light rap on the door. She opened it to find an empty hallway, then she heard the rap again. She closed the door and went to another door, from whence the rapping was coming. She unlocked it, and the door was opened by a tall man in a dark suit.

“Ah, Special Agent Potter,” he said, pulling her into his room and closing the door behind her. “I’m Fisk.”

“Bess Potts, from here on,” she said, shaking his hand. “What preparations have you made?”

“His suite is wired to the gills, and shortly, so will you be.”

“You expect me to wear a wire?”

“No, I expect you to wear a string of pearls,” he said, opening a jewelry box and removing it. “They were your grandmother’s, except one is a microphone and quite undetectable. The antenna is what the pearls are strung on, and the receiver and transmitter are in the clasp.”

“How do I turn it on?” she asked.

He opened another box. “By squeezing an earring,” he said, showing her a pair, “in your right earlobe. Your grandmother’s, too.” He showed her the clasp of the necklace, and she put it on, then the earrings, each a pearl. “Try it.”

She squeezed the right earring and was surprised that it gave to her touch.

“Up and running,” another agent said, consulting his computer.

“How long are they good for?”

“Three to four hours,” he said, turning the gear off for her. “If he leaves you for a few minutes, turn it off and save the juice, but don’t forget to turn it back on.”

“Got it. I’ve got to get dressed.” She went back to her room and locked the door behind her. She heard it lock again from the other room.

She got into the only dress she had, changed her shoes, brushed her hair, and applied makeup lightly, then she put on the pearls and earrings. She turned them on and then presented herself at the door next to hers, using the knocker at seven sharp.

Sykes was wearing a suit when he admitted her. “How lovely you look,” he said. “And pearls!”

“They were my grandmother’s,” she said. “I wear them occasionally.”

One of Sykes’s men, Jimmy, stepped in from another room.

“Okay, Bess,” Sykes said. “Strip off.”

She returned a level gaze. “What did you say to me?”

“I said, take your clothes off. Jimmy’s got to check you for a wire.”

“You first,” she said, firmly. “Jimmy, too.”

Sykes glared at her. “Do as I say.”

“No,” she replied. “I don’t strip on any man’s command.”

“I can use the wand,” Jimmy said.

“All right,” Sykes replied, “use the wand.”

Bess pretended to scratch her ear and squeezed the right earring, turning off the receiver/transmitter. She spread her arms wide and allowed Jimmy to pass the wand over her entire body, including her crotch, then she put her hands down. “You’re done,” she said.

“Just your shoes to go,” he replied.

She held up each shoe for him to check. “Now,” she said, “who do I have to kill to get a drink?” Sykes turned toward the bar tray, and she squeezed the earring again, turning the wire back on. Her blood pressure was up, and she was panting slightly. She sat down and took a few slow, deep breaths, then resumed breathing normally. “So,” she said, “what does the evening hold for us?”

“Not much,” Sykes said. “Just changing American history.”

“Oh, I want to hear all about that,” she said cheerfully.

Tom Blake excused himself to answer his phone. “Yes?”

“It’s Fisk, sir. Sykes had her checked for a wire, but she turned off the system before the wand could pick it up. He’s talking to her,” the man said, “but they’re leaving now.”

“Tell the man downstairs to wait until they’re in a cab. Then get into his suite and go over it with a fine-tooth comb, but very carefully. Don’t leave a hair out of place.” He hung up and returned to the table. “Our agent’s wire is working. They’re leaving the hotel now to go to dinner somewhere. They’ll be followed.”

“Are FBI agents sneaky enough for this kind of work?” Stone asked. “I always think of them in double-breasted suits and fedoras.”

“That’s only in the noir movies of the forties and fifties,” Tom replied. “We run more to blue blazers, tweed jackets, and khakis now. Beards, too.”

Tom’s phone rang again, and he made to get up, but Stone gestured him to sit. “You might as well sit and put it on speakerphone,” he said.

Tom set the phone down and pressed the speaker button. “Yes? We’re all listening.”

“They didn’t take a cab,” the agent said. “Sykes was heard telling the manager that they were going to Rotisserie Georgette, which is within walking distance.”

“I know the place,” Stone said. “Where would you like them to sit?”

“At the back of the room,” the agent replied. “We already have a man and a woman at the end of the bar.”

“You want them near Sykes?”

“Yes, sir, if possible.”

Stone called the restaurant. “Georgette?”

“Stone? What time should we expect you?”

“Not tonight, but there are some people on the way I’d like you to seat at the rear of the room, but away from the kitchen. His name is Sykes. And there’s a couple at that end of the bar that I’d like near them before they arrive.”

“Certainly.”

“And, please, keep it to yourself.”

“Of course. We look forward to seeing you soon.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he said, “if the stars align.”

“See you then.”

Stone hung up. “They’ll be placed as you wished,” he said to Tom.

“I don’t know why it isn’t always this easy,” Tom said.

“I’d love to dine there tomorrow evening,” Holly said. “And that would give Tom the opportunity to case the joint ahead of our arrival.”

Sykes and Bess arrived at Rotisserie Georgette in due course, and they were seated at the rear of the restaurant at a corner table. They ordered drinks, then Sykes swept the room with his eyes while Bess looked at the menu.

“See anybody suspicious?” she asked.

“Not yet. Order for the two of us.”

“That’s easy. Looks like the specialty of the house is roast chicken.” She ordered the food and wine.

Sykes continued to look at every table anywhere near them.

“I think the couple behind you must be going through a divorce,” he said.

“How can you tell?”

“They’re talking to each other.”