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A slim Hispanic guy in jeans and a T-shirt was at the Air.
“Ryan hacked into the hotel’s system,” he said, handing a paper to Ranger. “I have the room numbers you wanted.”
Ranger took the paper, selected a file from the stack, and went to the couch. “Has Viktor Volkov registered yet?”
“No, but he has a room reserved.”
“With the help of the FBI we’ve designated seven men as being possible targets,” Ranger said to me. “All but General Semov have checked in.”
“Is he the guy getting the white glove treatment from the consulate?”
“Yes. He has the entire tenth floor. High security.”
“Why is he so special?”
“He went to soccer camp with the Russian president. He’s powerful. He’s rich. He’s ruthless. Some say he’s too ambitious.”
“Who would want him dead?”
“The list is long, and it includes his best friend, the president. It’s whispered that the president is worried about job security.”
“So is Semov at the top of our list?”
“He’s at the top for motivation but near the bottom for being realistic. He’s constantly surrounded by his military aides. It’s like Fort Knox on the tenth floor.”
“What about the ventilation system?”
“Every floor has a mechanical room with air handlers, and the polonium would have to get placed in the air handler for that floor. It’s not difficult to do. You can accomplish it with a screwdriver. Ordinarily it wouldn’t be a problem, but as of a couple days ago, the tenth floor has been sealed. An HVAC tech would have to be thoroughly vetted and then have a guard with him. I don’t think Vlatko’s cover would stand up to that kind of scrutiny.”
“Why is Semov here?”
“He’s been invited to give the keynote speech at lunch tomorrow. He owns a distillery in Moscow.”
“So who’s number one if it’s not Semov?”
“I don’t have a number one.”
“They have cameras all over the place in these casinos. Do you have someone watching the monitors for a guy with one eye?”
“The feeds are being watched at Rangeman.”
“And nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe we should go downstairs and circulate,” I said to Ranger. “We could mingle. Keep our eyes open.” Have a gelato.
Ranger stood and stretched, his black T-shirt rode up, and I caught a glimpse of two inches of brown skin and hard abs and almost had an orgasm.
“Babe,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Why?”
“You sort of moaned.”
“Gas.”
“Understandable.”
