The Detachment - Barry Eisler [35]
He had to swap the keys back. If Shorrock made it back to his room with the wrong key, he’d know somebody had switched them. The security detail seemed relatively relaxed, but this would be a giant red flag. They wouldn’t leave Shorrock alone for a minute, not to mention all the attention that would be focused on the guy whose key Shorrock had wound up with.
He remembered why he was ostensibly in here, and walked over to the dumbbell rack. Alisa came up alongside him. “Left side or the right side?” she said.
Shit, this was getting more complicated. “Left side,” he said.
She knelt down. An idea came to him. He squatted down next to her and pulled the laces loose on one of his sneakers.
“There it is,” she said. “You’re in luck.” She reached back and retrieved it, then stood and handed it to Treven.
He smiled. “Nothing like a little luck in Vegas.”
They started heading back to the front, passing the elliptical machines. Alisa said, “So, are you going to try the—”
Treven tripped. He let the watch go flying and arrested his fall by placing his hand on the floor right next to Shorrock’s key. Alisa lunged for the watch. She missed it, but her attention had been drawn long enough for Treven to make the switch. He was betting Shorrock’s gaze had followed her lateral movement rather than his downward one, but even if not, he’d look down and see his card and water bottle exactly as he’d left them.
“Shit,” Treven said, straightening up. “That’s embarrassing.”
Alisa picked up the watch, glanced at it, and gave it back to him. “Looks like it’s okay.”
Treven looked at it and nodded. “These are good watches.”
She looked down at his feet and smiled. “You better tie that lace.”
He bent and took care of it and they headed back to the front. “Okay,” he said, “this time I’m trying the steam room. I’ll be safer in my bare feet.”
“Let me know how it goes,” she said, giving him another smile.
He headed back into the spa and called Rain. “We’re good. Cards are switched back. Our friend is still at it. He’ll probably be an hour or so. You should head down here to the spa in case he pops in to use a toilet. Other than that, though, I don’t think he’s coming.”
“It’s okay,” Rain said. “The camera’s in place. That’ll be a huge help. If we can’t get to him in the spa, we’ll get another chance.”
Treven hoped he was right. But two near things in a row—the magazine, then Shorrock moving the key—had him on edge. Both had been saved by luck. It was hard to imagine they’d be that lucky a third time.
Getting a camera into Shorrock’s room was a lucky break, but we still had to exploit it. Overall, though, the signs were good. We had him on audio, discussing his plans for the evening: dinner at the Michelin-starred French restaurant Alex at seven; drinks at the nightclub Tryst at ten; the casino floor for gambling, or “gaming,” as the industry marketeers insist on prettifying it, before and after. I thought there was a decent chance we could wrap the whole thing up that night.
Larison and I, each accompanied by an interchangeable platinum blonde Las Vegas escort, managed to get tables at Alex, and even better, Larison had line-of-sight to the private dining room where Shorrock was being entertained. Halfway through the long meal, I felt my mobile phone vibrate in my pocket—the signal from Larison that Shorrock was heading toward the restroom. I excused myself quickly and got there ahead of him, just as we’d planned. It was empty, even the stall doors all slightly ajar. My heart kicked up a notch. This was it.
I stood at the urinal on the far right as though taking a leisurely piss and waited. A moment later, I heard the door open behind me. I concentrated on listening and resisted