The less nice single wasn’t a room the hotel chain would feature in an ad, but it would do. Drex opened his briefcase on the desk and booted up his laptop. He texted Mike the room number, then went over to the window. It afforded a fourth floor view of a freeway interchange and not much else.
He returned to the desk and checked his email in box. Nothing of importance. He went into the compact bathroom and used the toilet. As he came out, the hotel telephone was ringing. He picked up the extension on the desk. “Yes?”
“Mr. Easton?”
“Ms. Li.”
“Your associates are here.”
“Good.” Sooner than he’d expected.
“Would you like for me to send something from the kitchen up to your room? Perhaps a fruit platter? A selection of pastries?”
“Thank you, but no.”
“If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to call down.”
“I’ll do that, Ms. Li. Thanks again for accommodating me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Although the open drapes let in plenty of daylight, he switched on the desk lamp. He adjusted the thermostat down a few degrees. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser and thought he looked presentable, but hardly spiffy. He’d showered and dressed in a rush.
At the soft knock, he went to the door and looked through the peephole before opening it. He stood aside and motioned the two men to come in.
As they filed past him, Gifford Lewis said, “The girl at the desk stopped us to ask if we were Mr. Easton’s associates. She’s moony for you.”
“Anything Mr. Easton wants,” Mike Mallory grumbled. “As long as she was offering, I could have done with the fruit platter and pastry selection. You could still call down.”
Out of habit, Drex checked the hallway—which was empty—then shut the door and flipped the bolt. “You wake me up at dawn, say, ‘Find a place where the walls don’t have ears.’ And don’t waste any time doing it, you said. I don’t waste any time, I find a place, and here we are. Never mind the fruit platter and pastries. What’s up?”
The other two looked at each other, but neither replied.
With impatience, Drex asked, “What’s so top secret we couldn’t communicate through ordinary channels?”
Gif stationed himself against the wall, a shoulder propping him there. Mike rolled the chair from beneath the desk and wedged his three hundred forty pounds between the protesting armrests.
Drex placed his hands on his hips, his expression demanding. “For crissake, will one of you speak?”
Mike glanced over at Gif, who made a gesture that yielded the floor to Mike. He looked up at Drex and said, “I’ve found him.”
Mike’s tone conveyed all the gaiety of a death knell. The him didn’t need specification.
For years Drex had been waiting to hear those words. He’d imagined this moment ten thousand times. He’d envisioned himself experiencing one or more physical reactions. His ears would ring, his mouth go dry, his knees buckle, his breath catch, his heart burst.
Instead, after his hands dropped from his hips, he went numb to a supernatural extent.
Gif and Mike must have expected an eruption of some sort, too, because they looked mystified over his sudden and absolute immobility and silence, which were downright eerie, even to himself.
A full minute later, when the paralyzing shock began to wear off, he walked over to the window again. Since last he’d looked out, nothing cataclysmic had occurred. Traffic hadn’t stilled on the crisscrossing freeways. No jagged cracks had opened up in the earth’s surface. The sky hadn’t fallen. The sun hadn’t burned out.
He pressed his forehead against the window and was surprised by how cold the glass felt. “You’re sure?”
“Sure? As in positive? No,” Mike replied. “But this guy looks real good on paper.”
“Age?”
“Sixty-two. So says his current driver’s license.”