The Scarab (13 page)

“The brunette is his high school
sweetheart. None of the others hold a candle to her in his book,” I explained.

“I’ve seen this blonde. She might
get Playboy exposure from this event.”

“Some technician lied to get laid.
The blonde never came near his room. I was there all night.”

“Does he have any hot deals going?
Any important visitors? Any juicy rivalries?”

I shrugged. “A lot depends on how
well he does this afternoon. Everybody loves a winner, but if he loses, even
you guys won’t care about him.”

The weasel was getting impatient. “You’ve
got to give me something on this guy,” he said as the elevator stopped at the
fifteenth floor.

“Okay,” I confided. “He’s packing
some sort of secret weapon, can wipe out anybody who gets close, but he can
only use it once. Said he was saving it to take out the car that kills him. I
can’t tell you any more. Ask some of those net guys.”

He hung back in the elevator as I
disembarked and glanced at my watch. It was about the same time that I had seen
the maid yesterday. I started looking for open doors or any sign of her little
cart laden with cleaning supplies, linens, and towels. My main problem since I
discovered the kidnapping was how to get access to the seventeenth floor
without exposing myself. Just then, I saw my little bird. “Carmelita!” I
exclaimed. I had forgotten just how short she was. She only came up to my
navel.

She seemed surprised that I’d
remembered her name.

“Can I help you, Senor?”

“Do you remember Wolfgang from
Pensatronics, the rude gentleman who left last night?”

“I remember. He leave?” She took
out a clipboard from the cart and smiled. “I will open the door to air it out
for a while before I clean. What do you need?”

“Well, Wolfgang left his briefcase
upstairs in the computer room. Do you know where it is?” I asked in my best
lost yokel voice. I figured anybody who worked the fifteenth floor regularly
had been to the seventeenth floor.

“Si. But we cannot go there since
the new manager closed it for the game. They even change the keys.” She sounded
piqued by this restriction.

“Did they have the employee break
area there?” I guessed.

“Si. Now we have to go to one of
the other two areas. All the people smoking in the eighth floor break area
makes the room stink like a chimney. I cannot eat there. Now I go up to the
helicopter airport on the roof. They have a nice waiting area with a coffee pot
and popcorn machine for the business men.” She bustled about replacing towels
as we spoke. Her hands and feet were so rehearsed at their duties that the rest
of her needed to pay little attention.

“Interesting. Well, I’ll just knock
on the door and tell them what happened. Which way do I turn when I get off the
elevator? I get lost easily.”

“The hall goes about two doors each
way. There are air-conditioning rooms on both sides. This is a very big
building. The computer room is down the right side, across the hall from the
break room. That is why we cannot go there. Too much security. Why can’t we use
the oven to heat up a simple meal?” She stripped the sheets from a bed with
ruthless efficiency.

“Why not put a new break room on
the left side of the elevator? A microwave can’t take much space.” I said,
egging her on.

“They have a phone closet, janitor
closet, and the air conditioning. There is no more room, unless we put it in
the manager’s office. Ha!” she said, launching into a flood of heated Spanish
and fluffing a new set of sheets into place. I vaguely understood a few of the
phrases from TV and my childhood exposure to Portuguese, but the emotional gist
was clear.

“The new manager sounds like he’s a
lot of trouble. Any other strange rules?”

She paused for a moment. “You know,
he hasn’t bothered. He comes in only two or three times a week. Senor Sarano
does all his work for him. We told him the people in the kitchen are stealing
him blind, and he does nothing. He only cares about this contest and his china.”

Somewhere, a shoe dropped. “China?”

“Si, gold rim, very pretty. He
insists to be served his food on this. Takes it with him every place.”

My poisoning may not have been such
an accident after all if Fontenelle had anything to do with it. But if he were
cheating, why did half of his team bite the dust in the massacre at Piccadilly?
What else could be motivating him? Questions were popping up faster than
answers.

I wasn’t expecting any more
information out of her, but I remembered to thank her graciously. Sam taught me
to be nice to everybody, because the best advertising is free. I handed her my
card. “Very interesting. Thank you, again, Carmelita. You’ve been so helpful, I’d
like to tell your supervisor what a jewel you are on my way out. Where did you
say his office was?”

“You are too nice. Senor Sarano’s
office is on the eighth floor, in the middle of the chimney,” she confided.

“I’ll be sure to complain about
that when I see him. Buenos Dias,” I said, murdering the Spanish phrase on my
way to the elevator.

She bade me farewell in Spanish as
I pushed button seventeen.

As the elevator doors slid slowly apart, my first glimpses
of the reception area on the seventeenth floor were of a few tasteful abstract
paintings and two potted palms in need of a good dusting. I noticed a large
mirror on the right wall that screamed security. It was probably a one-way
mirror for watching the hallway. I stepped out and did a quick scan. On the
wall to my left was a bank of light switches and the promised metal door to the
air conditioning area labeled “COOLING UNIT A.” All of the rooms on this floor
had key card entry units sticking out of the wall to the left of the doors,
just like the rest of the hotel.

Someone had blocked most of the
right hallway with a metal desk. Beyond the desk, the two goons guarding the
computer room caught my eye as they moved toward me. Across the hall, the break
room wall was made of clear Plexiglas, with nobody visible. Mare had to be here
somewhere. I searched frantically. Far to my right was a familiar looking door
labeled “COOLING UNIT B.” Strangely, door B was held shut with a metal brace of
the style inner-city crack houses have been known to use. Aside from being a
definite fire hazard, it meant that someone was being held inside.

The two coming at me looked like
teamsters from a loading dock. They were big. No way I could take them, and I
didn’t plan to bleed all over them to prove it, even though every male hormone
in my body was trying to go Tarzan on me. I met them at the makeshift barricade
shouting. Maybe she’d hear me, and give me a sign, or something.

“I need to speak with Sarano
immediately.”

They both wore hotel security
uniforms that were just a little too tight across the chest. Their utility
belts contained mace, night sticks, and about everything short of a gun. That
was a relief. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll have to ask you to leave,” said the blond
one politely, while his slick-haired friend played wall-of-angry.

“Do you see this?” I said pointing
to my cheek. Under my sunglasses, my eyes were still roving. The stairwell door
opened between the elevator and the barricade, with the fire alarm beside it. “One
of your bellboys did it to me. I want to have him fired!”

They flanked me, and herded me back
into the elevator with practiced ease. “I’m sure you have a valid complaint,
but Mr. Sarano is on floor eight. We would be glad to radio for an escort if
you like.”

When I noticed that the blond was
limping slightly, I had to hold back a smile. Looked like a smashed instep to
me. Mare was here, and she was still fighting! “No, no. Quite all right,” I said,
pushing eight.

On the way down, I rang Waters to
let him know I was still alive. Then I dialed up the game to make sure
everything was going fine. My reporting functions told me that Ghedra was just
leaving Austria and cruising into Germany. So far nobody was bothering LAS or
me. From the overhead time-lapse images, I could see that the LAS vehicle was
gaining on an injured Korean tank. From what I recalled from the nightly damage
reading, the Korean main gun couldn’t fire, and LAS was hot on his tail. I
backed off my pursuit distance a little to give the autopilot more time to
react.

I ignored the results from the
vehicle vibration test and logged off in order to continue my quest. Next I had
to find a way to distract those goons and get into that air conditioning area.
I was also curious about what was in the computer room, but that could wait
till I had Mare back.

I decided to pay Mr. Sarano a visit
after all, especially if the Black Hats were watching on all these cameras. He
was wearing spotless green coveralls, and haggling with a man about a floor
waxing machine. “It works fine, you’re just not using it right,” he told the
employee.

I took off my hat and dropped it in
my nylon bag because it was getting to warm, and my brow was sweating. The
jacket wasn’t so annoying now that I had been wearing it for a while. I took
off the sunglasses to get a better look at things. The building superintendent
had a set of master key-cards strapped to left his side.

“Twenty-three years, I use these
things. It’s not working!” the smaller man insisted.

“Mr. Sarano?” I asked.

“I am a busy man. Talk to the man
at the desk, and he will arrange everything. No more wiring in the auditorium
today.” He was swarthy, and had sideburns like Elvis. I almost could hear his
ulcer churning.

“Maybe I could have a look at that,”
I said, taking out my screwdriver. “I’m good with machines.”

“Please. You’ll void the warranty,”
he fretted.

The smaller man, glad that someone
was taking his claim seriously, smacked him on the shoulder. “Who are you
kidding? These things are so old, they should get retirement pay. Open it up,
Mister. We didn’t see anything.”

“Who are you? The traveling repair
guy?” asked Sarano.

I popped the lid as I chatted. “I
just stopped by to put in a good word for Carmelita on fifteen. She does a
great job, she’s friendly, and she puts up with so many things.”

“So she tells me.”

Convincing him to talk about
everybody’s favorite subject, himself, I said, “She mentioned that the manager
is rarely in, and how you end up doing double duty. That must be a heart-attack
waiting to happen with all these convention details.”

“I watch my diet, and exercise. But
I can’t take all the credit. The racing committee has a liaison who handles
most of the activities. He just tells me what hotel resources he needs, and
coordinates all the outside people for me. Everybody has a little colored tag
to get into any area they need.”

I lifted the metal shell off,
noting a dent in the side. “Ah,” I said. “The damage.”

“See, I said you weren’t using it
right!” said Sarano.

“It’s been like that for a year,”
replied the little man.

I pointed to some unhealthy, black
lint patches inside the machine, and said “This is what smoking does to you.”

While everyone was gawking at the
truly grotesque collection of dirt around the wiring I was cleaning, I slipped
in another question. “Do I also talk to you to complain about the security
guards on seventeen?”

“Not my department. I only get
involved when a drunk and disorderly harasses my men, somebody accuses the maids
of stealing, or some teenager sets off the fire alarm.” I cleaned out some dirt
from the interior, found a loose part and tighten it. The thing was ancient,
but still in good shape. I’d have to remember the brand name when buying
equipment for my own building.

“The first two make sense, but why
the fire alarm?” I put the cover back on again.

“The security guards phone the fire
department, and one of them brings all the elevator cars down to the first
floor for safety. They need me to get the whole works going again.” He held up
a small cylindrical key clipped to his right hip. It looked like something you’d
use to tighten a roller skate.

“Is that all this piece of junk
needed?” asked the little man.

“Sometimes you just need to see the
problem the right way, and everything is easy. Let me plug it in, and Mr.
Sarano can show you the right way to use it.” They both got a chuckle out of
that. On my way to plug the machine in, I bumped Mr. Sarano’s right hip. Once
he had turned on the noisy machine, we waved good-bye, and I made a bee-line
for the roof.

As promised, I could see the
well-kept reservations desk staffed by a single eager clerk. There were no
customers at present, but I could see a local news helicopter and a hospital
life-flight both sitting empty out on the pad. I briefly considered leaving the
evidence here for the television journalists, but I couldn’t risk Mary Ann’s
life on it.

The sky outside was fading to gray.
It would probably rain later in the day. I was remembering how it felt to live
somewhere that didn’t have snow in the winter. For a moment, I drifted back to Brazil. I stared out at the microwave dishes and gathered my resolve to do what was needed.
The clerk couldn’t stick around or he might get hurt. I couldn’t chance that,
but I’d have to bend the law a little to get rid of him.

“Good afternoon, sir. Airport taxi?”
said the youth with the name tag Kevin.

“No, thank you, Kevin. I’m here on
different business. I’m working with the Federal Government, and we’ve received
a tip about a bomb in this building. It hasn’t been made public yet, and the
suspected terrorist is still in the building.” The suit was working for me. He
almost believed half of it already. I could see how this would be useful in a
business situation, but nobody takes a mechanic seriously if his nails are too
neat. “The FBI has been called in already and they’re about to deploy
downstairs. I was sent ahead to secure this route of escape and begin
searching.”

“Mr. Sarano...” he began.

I held up the elevator key I had
snatched moments before. “Is cooperating fully with the search. He gave me this
key in case I need emergency access to the elevators for the search teams. But
don’t call anybody over hotel lines. Our suspect has a hotel security
walkie-talkie. That’s how I got this black eye.”

Kevin had a real gee-whiz look on
his face. He was swallowing the fast-talk, but I had to get him moving before
he started questioning me on anything. I pulled a brochure out of its display
on the counter and wrote my cell phone number on the back. “I need you to go
downstairs and wait for them to check in at the desk. When you see them, tell
the agent in charge this is how to reach me. They’ll be looking for me under
the name of Ethan Hayes.”

He hesitated for a moment,
recognizing the name. “The Scarab!” I thought I was busted. “So it’s true what
they say about you. You are just a front man.”

“No, there really is a team here
from DeClerk enterprises, but they have been cooperating with us in the
investigation from the beginning. Look, my partner has already been killed over
this. The bomb is on a timer and I have to ask you to lock up and leave
immediately.”

Kevin nodded, grabbed a clipboard,
locked the doors out to the helipad and left obediently. After the floor
indicator showed that he was well on his way, I started searching. I unplugged
all of the courtesy phones there for the use of customers, and put them in the
stairwell. To this pile, I added the radio base station and reservations
computer terminal which could be used to send messages, and a coat tree and
floor lamp which could be used as battering rams. I pulled off all the cords I
could, tied their ends together, and stuck them in my bag. Making one last
pass, I discovered a cordless phone behind the counter that had sufficient range
to help me in my plan. I place the hand-set in my bag, and left the receiver
plugged in.

I stepped out the door to the fire
stairs and methodically wedged every penny I had between the door and the
frame. Just to be sure, I gave the knob a two fisted tug without it budging.
This door would never open from the other side. Now the only way in would be
through the elevator, and if I did my job right, there would be no way out. I
walked down the stairs until I saw the security cameras again, and came out on
the twenty-fourth floor by the ice machine. Acting more on instinct than
thought at this point, I grabbed the fire extinguisher there and hefted it like
a weapon. It would do nicely. Riding an elevator to the sixteen floor, the one
with no camera in the stair well, I looked at my watch, I decided it was time
to check in again.

I stood in the stairwell threshold
so that I could see the elevator floor indicator and hear any activity on the
stairs above me. I turned on the phone I had borrowed from the roof, and dialed
my suite. After four rings, Mark picked up.

“Hello,” he said, raising the pitch
of his voice to sound more like me.

“Hey, Mark. It’s Ethan.” I said,
exposing the disguise.

“This isn’t...” he began, trying to
maintain my cover for me.

I could almost hear the black hats
tracing where the call was originating from. “It’s all right. I’ve got a
meeting in five minutes with the local media. I have the evidence disc with me,
and I’m going to blow the whistle on everything. Then whoever grabbed Mary can’t
touch me.”

He didn’t approve of my strategy,
knowing the bad guys were listening. “Are you with the reporters right now?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’m waiting by
their copter with the satellite uplink. We’re going to do a live feed as soon
as they schedule it with the network and get up here.”

Mark started to object, but I cut
him off when I saw the elevator moving to seventeen. They were taking the bait.
“No, I’ve said too much already. This isn’t going to take long. You might want
to order some Chinese so I can get FED soon. If they don’t deliver, I’d
consider it a personal favor if you picked up the order yourself. Bye!” I hope
he got the hint and sent himself or the FBI to the seventeenth floor. I shut
off the roof phone and stuffed it in my bag. For good measure, I switched my
portable to vibrate mode instead of ringing. No point in advertising.

I crept up to the seventeenth floor
fire door and listened. Very muffled voices were arguing, so I risked a peek.
Nobody was in the hallway. The guards had left to chase me, and Mare was still
safe. I crawled across the hall to hide behind the metal desk barricade while I
watched the floor indicator climb. I cradled the fire extinguisher, listening
for voices or movement in the computer room. I guess they thought they had me,
so they quietly went back to whatever they had been doing. Once the elevator
stopped on the roof, I had to wait for them to get out, but not wait so long
that they knew it was a trap.

At what I hoped was the right
moment, I hit the fire alarm, then most of the light switches, and went back
behind the barricade. Cursing came from inside the computer room, and as he
opened the door, an older man said, “I’ll see what it is. You finish the clean
up.” He had to shout over the constant annoyance of the alarm ringing. I could
see dimly by the light from the other end of the corridor.