the area.
Next to the window stood a tripod with a camera attached. The
long-range lens was almost a foot long. The only pictures snapped thus
far had been of the LaFitte Guest House’s entryway and only to gauge
focus, distance and lighting. Sawyer walked over and looked down at the
series of photos on the table. The pictures did neither the face nor
the emerald eyes justice. Sidney Archer had been photographed by the
New Orleans FBI field office upon exiting the airport.
Despite her ignorance, she looked almost posed for the camera.
Her countenance was lovely, the hair full and luxuriant. Sawyer gently
traced the slender nose down to the full lips. With a start he jerked
his hand away from the photograph and looked around, embarrassed.
Fortunately, none of the other agents in the room had been paying
attention to what he was doing.
He surveyed the rest of the room. The long table was set up in the
middle of the large and practically empty space with bare brick walls,
dark-timbered ceilings and filthy floors. Twin PCs occupied the most
prominent space on the table. A tape-recording machine was next to
them. Several of the local bureau agents manned the machines.
One young agent caught Sawyer’s eye and removed his headphones.
“Our people are all in place. From the sounds of it, she’s probably
still asleep.”
Sawyer nodded slowly and turned to look back out the window once again.
His men had ascertained that five other guest rooms were occupied in the
small hotel. All couples. None of the males matched Jason Archer’s
description.
The next few hours passed slowly. Used to long stakeouts that netted
little except a sour stomach and an aching back, Sawyer was unfazed by
the tedium.
The young agent was listening intently to his headphones. “She’s
exiting her room right now.”
Sawyer stood up, stretched and again looked at his watch. “Eleven A.M.
Maybe she’s going for a late breakfast.”
“How do you want to handle the surveillance?”
Sawyer considered for a moment. “As we discussed. Two teams.
Use the woman from the room next door as one and a pair as the other.
They can alternate on the surveillance. Tell them to look sharp.
Archer’s gonna be on her guard. Keep in radio communication at all
times. Remember, she doesn’t have any luggage at the hotel. So tell
them to be ready for any mode of transportation, including Archer
jumping on another plane. Make sure you got vehicles nearby at all
times.”
“Right.”
Sawyer looked out the window again while his instructions were relayed
to the teams of agents. He had a feeling about all of this he couldn’t
quite pin down. Why New Orleans? Why, on the same day the FBI had
interrogated her, would she risk something like this?
He abruptly stopped his musings as Sidney Archer appeared on the front
steps of the LaFitte Guest House. She looked back over her shoulder,
her eyes filled with barely concealed fright; that look was instantly
familiar to the FBI agent. A quiver went up Sawyer’s spine as he
suddenly realized where he had seen Sidney Archer before: at the crash
site. He raced across the room and snatched up a phone.
Sidney was wearing her white coat, testament to how the temperature had
dropped. She had managed to check the guest registry without the clerk
observing her. There had been only one check-in after her. A couple
from Ames, Iowa, was in the room next to hers. The check-in time must
have been near midnight if not after. It didn’t strike her as likely
that a couple from the Midwest would be checking into a hotel at about
the hour they would normally be entering REM sleep patterns. That she
had not heard them move into the room raised her suspicions even more.
Weary travelers arriving at midnight were usually not so understanding
of their fellow lodgers. She had to assume that the FBI was next door
to her and probably watching the entire area. Despite her precautions,
they had found her. It was hardly surprising, she had to remind herself
as she walked along the mostly deserted streets. The FBI did this for a