Armstrong gasped. “You’ve bugged the captain’s clothes?” Struggling between laughter and incredulity, he spoke for the whole room.
Beeker winced. “You might say that, sir. I, myself, prefer to think of it as a necessary technique for providing the exceptional service which justifies my salary, which, as you might assume, is well above the scale normal for one in my profession.”
“Whatever!” Rembrandt said, pawing through the scattered floor plans. “The bottom line is that you’re sure he’s being held in the old dragon’s suite.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler said. “If I might add, there seems to be a rather muscular gentleman standing guard outside her door as well. That, at least, is easily confirmed by anyone who bothers to take the time.”
He sent a withering glance toward Sushi, who shrugged apologetically.
“One guard? That one’s mine!” Brandy declared. “Might as well get some use out of this Fifi the Maid outfit before I turn it in for good.”
“You want any help, Top?” Super Gnat offered.
“For one guard? From up close when he’s not expecting it?” The Amazonian top sergeant flexed her sizable right hand, then clenched it into a fist and smiled broadly. “I don’t think so.”
“All right, then, we have a target area!” Rembrandt declared, studying the sheet of paper which had finally come to hand. “Let’s see … we’ve got a large living room flanked by two bedrooms … one door that … Heck with this!”
She strode over to the nearest wall and paused for a moment, rummaging through her belt pouch. Producing a tube of lipstick, she began sketching a larger version of the floor plan directly on the wall in long, broad strokes.