There was no door through the partition wall between rooms 725 and 727, but neither was there anyone in the hall to watch the four men and the woman – forming almost as many subgroups as there were individuals – traipse from one room to the other. The gray fiberglass cases holding the debugging equipment were not standard luggage, but neither did they hint that they contained more than expensive cameras.
George tapped on the door of 727. As Peter opened it, Elaine said to Doug, “Give him his own room key now.”
“Eh?”
Peter was black haired and heavily moustached, a very solid-looking man and younger than the sweep team. Kelly gave him a cautious once-over. There was no obvious reason why, but Kelly’s gut wouldn’t have let him keep Peter in a unit he commanded. Now he gave the man a friendly smile as they passed in the doorway.
“Give Tom the key to seven-two-five, I said,” Elaine snapped.
Doug reached into the side pocket of his suitcoat, which sagged, Kelly had guessed, with the weight of a spare magazine. That guess had been wrong: the key which Doug handed him was attached to a brass bar rather than a tag or thin plate. Guests were intended to leave their room keys at the desk when they went out, and the management did what it could to make that easy to remember.
The sweep team was already unpacking its equipment, though Christophe paused to light another cigarette first. George got out what was indeed a spectrum analyzer and began walking around the room with it, staring at the peaks and valleys on its cathode ray tube display. His partner waited to rezero his own equipment because the oscillators in Christophe’s wide-band receiver would themselves affect the electromagnetic spectrum within the room.
The view from Elaine’s window was practically the same as that of Kelly’s, something the veteran had counted on without being able to influence. So far, so good. Both rooms were of luxury hotel standards common across the portions of the world which served tourists. The spread of the double bed was a brocade of rich blue which clashed badly with the dress Elaine was wearing but matched the upholstery of the love seat facing the window.
Kelly sat down on the love seat and spread his arms across the back, his big scarred hands dangling to either side. Peter watched him with a flat expression that Kelly recognized: the look that said the mind behind it was considering endgame in the most final and physical sense of the term, just to be ready when the time came.
“We have a car for you,” Elaine said. The light through the window behind her silhouetted her body against a sky that otherwise held from Kelly’s perspective only the upper stories of the ETAP Marmar.
“I don’t need a car,” the veteran said. “What I need is a cup of coffee, black; and I think it’d be real nice if you sent Peter down to get it” – he nodded toward the younger man, so nearly a physical double for Kelly himself – “instead of waiting for room service to bring it up.”
The woman looked sharply at Kelly. Then she turned her head slightly in Peter’s direction and said, “Yes, all right, get it. Get two. Anyone else?”
“Yeah, for god’s sake, bring up six coffees and be done with it,” said Doug to his subordinate. Then, proving that he had better judgment than Kelly would have credited him before, Doug added, “And don’t argue about it, just do like you’re paid to, take orders.”
Peter frowned, but he left the room without the objection that would have really lit Elaine’s fuse.
When the door closed she went on, “This is a Ford Anadol, like a million others in Turkey, Tom. You’ll need transportation.”
“I’ll take taxis,” he replied. He gestured to the door. “You know,” he went on, “that one, your Peter, he could really get on my nerves in a hurry. I’m not gonna shout and scream about this, but if I see him again after he brings up the coffee, I go home. This time it’s no shit.”