“Will that be all, sir?” the housekeeper asked, standing in the doorway.
Leopold grabbed a thick manila folder from one of the console tables. He looked up at her. “Mariel Reyes, right?”
She nodded.
“How’s the visa application going?”
Mariel shifted her weight uncomfortably. “You’ve done your research.”
“Relax. The hotel sent your file over, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I’ll need your phone, miss,” Jerome said, tossing their luggage onto the sofa in the living room. The cases of surveillance and monitoring equipment had arrived at the hotel as planned and were currently taking up most of the floor space.
Mariel took half a step back. “Why?”
“I’ll need to check it for bugs. You can have it back.” Jerome walked toward her, holding out a hand. “I won’t damage it.”
She made one last quick check for messages before turning her phone off and handing it over.
“You get the instructions about the supply closet?”
Mariel nodded. “This way. It’s just down the hall.”
Jerome checked the broom closet and cleaning supplies first, with Mariel by his side. All of them were labeled properly and none had been opened yet, in accordance with their specifications. Her supplies were new and unused. Checking the Material Safety and Data Sheets for each product, he nodded in approval.
Next, the linen closet. Jerome removed the stacks of bed sheets and towels, poking and prodding through layers of fabric, knocking on the closet interior walls.
“You have enough linen here to get through the weekend?” he asked her.
“Should have enough for bed changes in each room, each day. The same with towels and bathroom supplies.”
“You enjoy working here?” he asked, putting everything back.
Mariel shrugged. “It pays the bills. I like it okay.”
“They treat you well?”
“The pay is good. I get dental.”
The four suites came under scrutiny next. Jerome rummaged through drawers and closets, bathroom toiletries, finding nothing suspicious. He performed a few test touch strips to check for stray toxic or combustible chemicals. With a flashlight, he scrutinized cubbies and ventilation grates, finding nothing out of place.
“I made sure these rooms were swept this morning,” Mariel said. “Everything is ready.”
“We double-check everything,” said Jerome. “Gustafson said he’d had someone here inspecting the ducts. Show me.”
The housekeeper led them out into the corridor, stopping beneath a hatchway in the ceiling. She pointed up. “There’s a crawl space up here. Hooks up to the floors ventilation system.”
Jerome fetched a monitoring device with a flexible probe from the room, stopping by the storage closet for a stepladder. Carefully, he set the ladder underneath the hatch and pulled it open, extending the probe through into the ducts above. Satisfied, he logged the readings in a pocketbook for future reference, and climbed to the top rung. His head disappeared into the crawl space for a few moments, before he climbed back down to the carpet.
“Readings came back negative,” he said. “Visual checks out. All the rooms are hooked up to this duct, so it looks like we’re good to go.” He turned to Leopold. “You check the maintenance records?”
Leopold nodded. “Well, one piece of good news: all records and inspections are up to date. Looks like they had a team in this morning, checking the basement systems.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Wiring and firmware checks. Warranty, apparently.” He leafed through the manila folder. “A piece of bad news, though. Right now that plant operations manager is filling in for someone else. I got the impression he’s qualified to do basic building maintenance, but not to be in charge of a five-star enterprise.”
“All the more reason for us to check everything as thoroughly as we can in the hotel,” Jerome said, tucking his notebook into his suit jacket pocket. “Secret Service?”
“Nothing in the records, as you’d expect,” said Leopold. “But the convention center is state-owned. With the hotel just next door, you can be sure they’ve been sticking their noses in.”
“We’ll need to check in with whoever’s running the event,” said Jerome, turning to Mariel. “Can you give us some names?”
She nodded.
“Good. I think it’s time we paid the Secret Service a little visit.”
Chapter 13
A THIN VEIL of misty rain swept over the city as Jonny Yamada hurried inside the doors of Shibuya, a Japanese restaurant just off Belltown, and shook the water from his hair. A perky waitress found him a table, took his order, and brought him a cold bottle of Asahi beer.