Middle Of Nowhere

   Samway parted the blanket and pointed to the logo sewn into the waistband. She couldn't resist showing her tiny waist and perfect legs one last time. As she did so, the key dangled in her left hand, the room number facing Bobbie. 312.

   Bobbie felt her heart skip a beat.

   "Nike," Samway said. "Got it over in the mall. A sports shop."

   The elevator stopped.

   "Thanks," Bobbie said. "And sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She said privately, "You're very beautiful. Your body too." She felt herself blush again, and figured that was okay. She stepped off the elevator, her knees like water.

   "No problem," Samway called after her. "Have a good one." The elevator doors slid shut.

   Bobbie pulled the cellular phone out of her rolledup towel and made the call. "Room three twelve." She felt ready to faint. What if Samway had accepted her proposition?

* * *

When the sniper on the back side of the motel confirmed the presence of two adults in room 312, he erroneously mistook Samway and her own reflection in a mirror as the movement of two adults. It was this officer's confirmation that Patrick Mulwright used to make a raid, and therefore, ultimately, the chaos that ensued.

   Moving Special Ops or ERT officers through any public area presented great risk to civilians and enhanced the possibility of operational compromise. People tended to either panic or follow when they spotted black-clad figures bearing assault rifles.

   Boldt could have assigned any of the detectives to talk to reception, but reserved the job for himself, his weapon double-checked beforehand. He approached the registration desk and asked to see the manager, revealing his identity only by passing a business card, never showing his shield or speaking his rank. He wore a radio earpiece in his left ear, familiar with the floor plan supplied by Gaynes. The existence of that earpiece bothered him, no matter how subtle its look, but he saw no way around being connected to Mulwright's communication network. He simply had to monitor radio traffic in case of developments. Because of this, he kept one hand up to his ear, scratching, shielding the earpiece from view as best as possible.

   The woman behind the desk looked up. Boldt repeated softly, "The manager. You're coming with me." There was no telling who Flek might have bribed.

   The receptionist nodded nervously and indicated a door to the right. Boldt stepped through a moment later. The manager, a woman in her mid-forties, had reddish hair and carried a slightly frightened and disapproving look once Boldt was introduced. He waited for the receptionist sit down.

   "We have a situation," he said to the manager. "Room three twelve may be harboring a fugitive. We'd like to empty several surrounding rooms as quickly as possible before conducting our raid."

   "I'll have to contact the owners."

   Boldt said, "I'm not here to win your approval. I don't need your approval, only your cooperation. My counterpart simply wanted to kick the room, and we already would have if I had not intervened. But since we believe the individual in question may be in possession of tactical weapons, I prevailed. I want to empty those neighboring rooms, now. Right now!"

   "How?"

   "Telephone," Boldt answered. "You call up to each of the rooms and tell them that the smoke alarm system is malfunctioning and that the city safety code requires you to empty everyone from the room. They're to come down the stairs, not the elevator, quietly and orderly. You say you don't expect it will take more than ten minutes or so to clear up."

   "All of the rooms on the third floor?"

   Boldt spotted a diagram on the wall and approached it. "These four rooms on the third," he said, drawing the area surrounding 312. "These above and below." He added, "First, I need to confirm the registration on three twelve."

   The manager typed furiously, her troubled eyes more on Boldt than the screen. "Robert Grek."

   Boldt nodded as if this made sense. "And Mr. Grek has no other rooms in the motel?"

   The manager checked the computer. "Only the one. King bed. Smoking."

   "Very well." Boldt picked up the phone receiver from the cradle and handed it to the manager. "Sound as natural as possible. Calm. Confident. The problem's going to be resolved shortly. You're not at all concerned by this."

   She nodded.

   The receptionist stood.

   "Sit down," Boldt said, distrusting her, not wanting her out of his sight.

   "We have a customer." She pointed through a rectangle of one-way glass that looked out on the desk.

   "The customer will wait," Boldt announced. To the manager he said, "Can you put anyone else on the front desk?"

She nodded, her fear more apparent.

"Do it."

   The manager summoned an employee named Doug to the front desk using the public address system. A moment later, the man stepped in behind the reception desk.

   "Call," Boldt said sternly, indicating the phone. "Please," he added, somewhat sarcastically. Mulwright was out there preparing his team. He didn't trust him to wait. "We need to do this quickly."

* * *