Countdown

Chapter One Aberdeen, Scotland Find the key. The hotel room was dark but he didn't dare turn on a light. Leonard had told him that Trevor and Bartlett were usually in the restaurant for an hour, but he couldn't count on it. Grozak had experience with that son of a bitch over the years and he knew Trevor's instincts were still as keen as they had been when he was a mercenary in Colombia. So he'd give himself ten minutes tops and get out of here. His penlight flashed around the room. As sterile and impersonal as most hotel rooms. Take the bureau drawers first. He moved quickly across to the bureau and started going through them. Nothing. He went to the closet and dragged out the duffel and searched through it hurriedly. Nothing. Five minutes to go. He went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. A notepad and pen. Find the key, the Achilles' heel. Everyone had one. Try the bathroom. Nothing in the drawers. The grooming kit. Pay dirt! Maybe. Yes. At the bottom of the kit was a small, worn leather folder. Photos of a woman. Notes. Newspaper clippings with photos of the same woman. Disappointment surged through him. Nothing about MacDuff's Run. Nothing about the gold. Nothing here to really help him. Hell, he'd hoped it was Wait. The woman's face was damn familiar. . . . No time to read them. He pulled out his digital camera and began to take the pictures. Send the prints to Reilly and show him that he might have the ammunition that he needed to control Trevor. But this might not be enough for him. One more search of the bedroom and that duffel . . . The worn, dog-eared sketchbook was under the protective board at the bottom of the duffel. Probably nothing of value. He quickly flipped through the pages. Faces. Nothing but faces. He shouldn't have taken the extra time. Trevor would be here any minute. Nothing but a bunch of sketches of kids and old people and that bastard My God. Jackpot! He tucked the sketchbook under his arm and headed for the door, filled with heady exultation. He almost wished that he'd run into Trevor in the hall so that he'd have the chance to kill the son of a bitch. No, that would spoil everything. I've got you, Trevor. * * * The alarm in Trevor's pocket was vibrating. Trevor tensed. "Son of a bitch." "What's wrong?" Bartlett asked. "Maybe nothing. There's someone in my hotel room." He threw some money down on the table and stood up. "It could be the maid turning down my bed." "But you don't think so." Bartlett followed him from the room to the elevator. "Grozak?" "We'll see." "A trap?" "Not likely. He wants me dead but he wants the gold more. He's probably trying to find a map or any other info he can get his hands on." "But you'd never leave anything of value there." "He can't be sure of that." He stopped outside the door and drew his gun. "Stay here." "No problem. If you get killed, someone has to yell for the police, and I'll accept that duty. But if it is the maid, we may be asked to leave this domicile." "It's not the maid. The room's dark." "Then perhaps I should" Trevor kicked the door open, darted to one side, and hit the floor. [read more]