Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler) by J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn, Ann Voss Peterson Page A
Tags: General Fiction
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card portfolios in his hand. “This way,” he said, and we followed him to an elevator, the bellboy trailing behind with the two small carryon bags belonging to Bratton and Heath.
We left the lobby and walked through the Venetian’s Grand Colonnade with marble floors and a ceiling reminiscent of the Sistine Chapel, and then we were in the casino, every bit as much of a work of art as the rest of the resort. Like the lobby, recessed ceiling panels bore frescos straight out of the renaissance. Marble floors danced with beautiful patterns, and restaurants of every delicious variety encircled the enormous gaming floor.
In fiction, secret agents, gambling, and subterfuge seemed to go together and spies often seemed to find themselves in casinos participating in high stakes games. But unlike my fictional counterparts, I was not a fan of casinos. Not because I didn’t like a little gambling now and then, but because there were too many cameras.
They were everywhere, above each gaming table, in between each row of slot machines, at every choke point in every hall way or escalator. They were meant to keep an eye out for cheats, but they served to record every action and every face on the floor.
I was useful to the government not just for my training, but because I didn’t officially exist. I could take care of a target, then fade into the landscape, safe, free, anonymous. Having my image recorded by the dozens of cameras at any one time made me uneasy.
Bypassing the neon and bells, we went straight for the guest elevators.
When we reached our floor, I focused on the double door at the end, assuming that was Bratton’s suite. Heath stopped half way down the hall and handed me a portfolio containing a key card.
“And this is for?”
“Your suite.” He motioned to the door.
“I assumed…” I glanced at Bratton.
The man didn’t even look my way. “I’ll let Rodriguez know when I want you.”
Not my preference. Also not much I could say about it. “Are you sure?”
Without answering, he continued down the hall with the bellboy.
“I am sorry you are so far down the hall, bonita ,” Heath said. “But you really didn’t want to spend all your time with that man, did you?”
I gave a shrug. Of course I didn’t. I just wanted to search him and kill him, not necessarily in that order.
“He’s paying. Whatever he wants is fine by me,” I said out loud.
“Good girl.” He pulled a stack of bills from his wallet and shoved them into my hand. “There are shops on the second floor. Treat yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“You can return that after you have a new outfit. Something less Japanese cosplay, more sin city.”
“Sequins and a feather boa? Or what do you prefer? You won our bet.”
Couldn’t hurt to keep his mind on me and off bodyguarding his boss.
“I prefer a woman to wear nothing but her own perspiration, which I have coaxed from every pore in her body.”
Who was distracting whom here?
Heath smiled. “And now I must check the room for Mr. Bratton. I will see you later, no?”
“Of course.”
Standing at the door, I watched Heath continue down the hall. My assignment had just gotten a lot tougher. Judging from the CEO’s waning interest, he wasn’t going to send for me, that much was clear.
I was going to have to find another way to get to him.
After closing the suite’s door, I did a quick bug and camera check to satisfy my inner paranoia—a nifty app on my new phone—then called Jacob and engaged in our little security dance.
“The job’s done?”
“No.”
“It’s been hours. What went wrong?”
“Nothing. I convinced him to take me back to his hotel room, but his hotel ended up being in Vegas.”
“The Venetian.”
“How did… ah. The phone. It has a tracker?”
“No. I don’t allow them to be tracked. There’s a reason for it. But I turned on the camera when you were in the lobby. Did you use it to sweep for bugs?”
“Don’t you know that as
We left the lobby and walked through the Venetian’s Grand Colonnade with marble floors and a ceiling reminiscent of the Sistine Chapel, and then we were in the casino, every bit as much of a work of art as the rest of the resort. Like the lobby, recessed ceiling panels bore frescos straight out of the renaissance. Marble floors danced with beautiful patterns, and restaurants of every delicious variety encircled the enormous gaming floor.
In fiction, secret agents, gambling, and subterfuge seemed to go together and spies often seemed to find themselves in casinos participating in high stakes games. But unlike my fictional counterparts, I was not a fan of casinos. Not because I didn’t like a little gambling now and then, but because there were too many cameras.
They were everywhere, above each gaming table, in between each row of slot machines, at every choke point in every hall way or escalator. They were meant to keep an eye out for cheats, but they served to record every action and every face on the floor.
I was useful to the government not just for my training, but because I didn’t officially exist. I could take care of a target, then fade into the landscape, safe, free, anonymous. Having my image recorded by the dozens of cameras at any one time made me uneasy.
Bypassing the neon and bells, we went straight for the guest elevators.
When we reached our floor, I focused on the double door at the end, assuming that was Bratton’s suite. Heath stopped half way down the hall and handed me a portfolio containing a key card.
“And this is for?”
“Your suite.” He motioned to the door.
“I assumed…” I glanced at Bratton.
The man didn’t even look my way. “I’ll let Rodriguez know when I want you.”
Not my preference. Also not much I could say about it. “Are you sure?”
Without answering, he continued down the hall with the bellboy.
“I am sorry you are so far down the hall, bonita ,” Heath said. “But you really didn’t want to spend all your time with that man, did you?”
I gave a shrug. Of course I didn’t. I just wanted to search him and kill him, not necessarily in that order.
“He’s paying. Whatever he wants is fine by me,” I said out loud.
“Good girl.” He pulled a stack of bills from his wallet and shoved them into my hand. “There are shops on the second floor. Treat yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“You can return that after you have a new outfit. Something less Japanese cosplay, more sin city.”
“Sequins and a feather boa? Or what do you prefer? You won our bet.”
Couldn’t hurt to keep his mind on me and off bodyguarding his boss.
“I prefer a woman to wear nothing but her own perspiration, which I have coaxed from every pore in her body.”
Who was distracting whom here?
Heath smiled. “And now I must check the room for Mr. Bratton. I will see you later, no?”
“Of course.”
Standing at the door, I watched Heath continue down the hall. My assignment had just gotten a lot tougher. Judging from the CEO’s waning interest, he wasn’t going to send for me, that much was clear.
I was going to have to find another way to get to him.
After closing the suite’s door, I did a quick bug and camera check to satisfy my inner paranoia—a nifty app on my new phone—then called Jacob and engaged in our little security dance.
“The job’s done?”
“No.”
“It’s been hours. What went wrong?”
“Nothing. I convinced him to take me back to his hotel room, but his hotel ended up being in Vegas.”
“The Venetian.”
“How did… ah. The phone. It has a tracker?”
“No. I don’t allow them to be tracked. There’s a reason for it. But I turned on the camera when you were in the lobby. Did you use it to sweep for bugs?”
“Don’t you know that as
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