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Twenty-One
Abby glancedat the plans and straightened. “You don’t need these — not to get surveillance equipment in thereanyway.”
Farrell looked at her. “Dotell.”
She’d met Farrell once before and was still taken aback by the tony British accent coming from the mouth of a man who struck her as very, very dangerous. It wasn’t just the scar that ran down one side of his face, it was something about the emptiness in his eyes, the coldness of the energy that surroundedhim.
Max had told her Farrell was married with children. Abby couldn’t imagine the kind of woman who could get close enough to lovehim.
“You just need a few good cleaning people,” shesaid.
Farrell raised his eyebrows. “Cleaningpeople?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult to get ahold of a few hotel uniforms,” she said. “The laundry isn’t exactly wellguarded.”
“How do we keep from sending in duplicates?” Maxasked.
Abby thought about it, seeing the Tangier’s cleaning operations in her mind’s eye. Up until the spring, she wouldn’t have known much of anything about how the hotel worked beyond its financials, but she’d done a lot of digging before things went south between Jason and Fredo DeLuca, looking for the money Max and the Syndicate had been sure was being laundered through the casino. During the weeks she’d been doing recon for them — over Max’s many objections — she’d had occasion to see it all up close and personal: the room service and restaurant kitchens, the bars, the gift shops, the cages where the chips and money were kept before the money was taken to the counting rooms, the laundry and the department that staged the cleaning staff, and finally, the loading dock and warehouse where she’d finally figured out how Jason was moving DeLuca’smoney.
“The cleaning staff starts at six a.m. with the rooms of people who check out early, but that doesn’t really matter when it comes to the suites. They have their own cleaning schedule according to the wishes of the suite’s current guests,” shesaid.
“Do the guests register their preferences with the hotel when they check in?” Lockeasked.
“They do,” she said. “And that information is stored in the computer system and sent to the head of maintenance. I can’t imagine that kind of data is verysecure.”
“Are you suggesting we hack into the maintenance system to see when Jason has his room cleaned?” Maxasked.
“Why not? It’s the easiest way to get theinformation.”
He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t disagree. I’m just a little surprised by how easily you’re taking to the life of acriminal.”
She smiled a little. It felt strange after the last few days of shock and sorrow, but it also felt good to be doing something, or at least talking about doing something, to be out of the loop of her father’s accident that had been playing in herhead.
“Talking about it isn’t a crime,” shesaid.
“A woman after my own heart,” Lockesaid.
“Can’t you do it?” sheasked.
“We can do it,” Nico saidfirmly.
“Yeah, I’m guessing the firewalls surrounding the maintenance system are minimal,” Locke said. “If your guys can’t do it, minecan.”
“They can do it,” Nicorepeated.
“So we find out when Jason’s room is cleaned. How do we sideline the cleaning staff that will be deployed from the hotel?” Farrell was looking at her with more interest now, like there was something new he’d missed the first timearound.
“They’re scheduled through the system,” Abbysaid.
“How far in advance?” Farrellasked.
“That I don’t know,” Abby admitted. “But the executive offices always had the same people, so I’m guessing they’re assigned to floors more or less permanently, probably just to make schedulingeasy.”
“But the suite would be different, right?” Max asked. “They wouldn’t need more than, what? A couplepeople?”
Abby nodded. “Probably, but they’d still be regulars, especially in this case, long-standing employees who can be trusted to clean the boss’sroom.”
“What happens if one of them calls in sick?” Lockeasked.
