Full Black - Brad Thor [154]
Harvath kept a close eye on his watch and then reached down and shut off the gas.
He pulled the hose from under the door, wrapped it around the cylinder, and tucked the device back into his pack. He then removed his lock-pick gun and went to work opening the door. A few clicks of the gun and a slight turn of the tensioning wrench later and he was in. Shouldering his pack, he drew a suppressed Glock and crept inside.
The door swung noiselessly on its well-oiled hinges and Harvath made sure to close and quietly lock it behind him. The only illumination in the kitchen came from dim undercabinet lighting. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness.
Around the corner he could see the glow of television monitors spilling into a narrow corridor. Cautiously, Harvath made his way forward.
He found Standing’s agent slumped over a small desk in the tiny security room that had likely functioned as a maid’s quarters at some point. Reaching down with his latex-gloved hand, Harvath felt for a pulse. The security man was still alive. Glancing up, he checked the monitors and located Standing’s three other security men, all of whom were still downstairs.
Leaving the security room, Harvath passed through the kitchen, pausing only long enough to open a window, drop a piece of maroon foil from the top of an expensive Bordeaux in the trash, and locate a wineglass. Once he had taken care of those, he headed for the master bedroom.
Harvath estimated the apartment had to be at least ten thousand square feet. Once a safe distance from the kitchen, he removed his respirator.
At the end of a long hallway carpeted with Persian rugs, its walls lined with silk tapestries, was the door to James Standing’s bedroom. Harvath slid his fiber-optic camera underneath the door and took another long, slow look around.
Satisfied that Standing was in bed, alone, and still asleep, Harvath tucked the device into his pack and carefully opened the door.
His objective was approximately thirty feet away from Standing on the other side of the billionaire’s enormous bed. Harvath had no doubt that somewhere near the bed there was a panic button, so he crossed the room as quickly and as quietly as he could.
Slipping into the master bathroom, he set down his pack and organized his materials. When he was ready, he closed the drain and turned on the water in the tub.
James Standing awoke to the sound of running water. At first, he thought it had been a dream, but the longer the sound persisted, the more he became convinced that it was in fact real and that it was coming from his bathroom.
But why would his bath be running? Still half-asleep, he threw back his bedcovers and swung his feet out of bed.
Sliding his feet into his Stubbs & Woottons, he ignored his robe and padded across the bedroom to figure out what the hell was going on.
As he got closer to the bathroom, the sound of running water got louder and he picked up his pace.
Pushing open the door, he clicked on the lights and sure enough, his bath was running. How the hell was that possible?
Walking across the polished marble floor, he arrived at the tub and reached for the handle. As he did, he heard a voice from behind say, “Let it fill up.”
The voice so startled him that his heart nearly burst from his chest. Spinning around, he saw a man completely dressed in black holding a suppressed pistol, which was pointed right at him.
“Who are you?” the billionaire demanded. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Robert Ashford sent me,” said Harvath, as he watched the fear etched on Standing’s face deepen.
“All I have to do is shout and my security team will be in.”
“Who? The three men downstairs or the one near the kitchen I already took care of?