Oath of Office

There was, he supposed, always the chance that she would do the same with him. She was certainly capable of it. But that was what made it interesting.

The elevator was incredibly slow, the canned music accompanied by the noise of banging cables and sliding counterweights. Lucile appeared to hold her breath during the ride, and gasped audibly when the door hissed open on the third floor. A thick Russian man was waiting outside the elevator. A metal railing behind the Russian came up to just below his belt. Lucile hummed under her breath, a tune da Rocha knew she always hummed when she was thinking of how best to kill someone. She gave the Russian a wicked smile, surely pondering how easy it would be to give a little shove and send him crashing to the floor below. He smiled back, surely with murderous thoughts of his own. The tattoo of a dagger rose above his collar indicated that he was bratva—Russian mafia. Da Rocha had no doubt a man like this would have an abundance of other ink under his shirt. The rose impaled by a dagger was a badge of honor, meant to intimidate and let others know this one had done time in prison before he’d turned eighteen.

The man grunted and tossed a glance over his shoulder before turning and walking down the hall without a word.

Da Rocha exchanged glances with Lucile, and the two followed dutifully. This meeting was, after all, what they’d been working toward for the past three months.

Rose Neck halted at the door to room 314, a suite, from the looks of the placard, and gave two sets of three sharp knocks in quick succession. Da Rocha was surprised the man hadn’t patted them down as soon as they got off the elevator, but when the door opened he understood why.

The Russian with the odd haircut waved them inside with a flick of his hand.

“Disrobe,” he said, while they stood in the cramped alcove next to a vanity and mini-fridge. A curtain made from what appeared to be the bedspread hung from the ceiling at the end of the entry, blocking da Rocha’s view of the room’s interior. He caught the odor of something he could not quite put his finger on, but the order to take off his clothes put his mind on other things.

“If we are going to strip,” he said, “perhaps it is time I learned your name.”

“You may call me Gregor,” the one with the bad haircut said. His thickly accented English made it sound as if he were talking around a mouthful of food.

Da Rocha’s eyes narrowed. “Is that your name?”

“No,” the Russian said. “But you may call me Gregor just the same. Now, please to undress. There will be robes.”

Da Rocha put a hand on his belt and then stopped, canting his head to one side.

“Why?”

“Guns, listening devices, all of those reasons,” Gregor said. “You have proven with devastating effect that a man in your line of employ has access to many weapons. Perhaps you have technology that could defeat our scanners.”

“I see,” da Rocha said, smiling at Lucile. “My dear, you take the bathroom first.”

The Russian stepped sideways to block the door. “You will undress here,” he said. “Is safer for all of us this way.”

Lucile pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “May I remove my pistol?”

The Russian produced a heavy foil envelope approximately a foot square and held it open. Da Rocha recognized it as a Faraday bag, designed to stop electrical signals from getting in or out. “Put in this.” Gregor’s eyes narrowed. “But very slowly.”

Lucile grabbed the diminutive Beretta Nano from a holster inside her waistband under the tail of her T-shirt, letting it dangle between her thumb and forefinger before dropping it in the bag.

“I do not need a pistol to kill you,” Lucile said through a serene smile.

“I am sure they know that, my dear,” da Rocha said.

“You make killing complicated,” Gregor said, leaning in to encroach on Lucile’s body space ever so slightly. “Silent pistols, specialized toxins… Why you go so much trouble?”

“Oh, mon petit nounours.” Lucile smiled, batting her lashes. “It is no trouble.”

The Russian glared down at her, clicking his front teeth as if chewing on his next words. If he understood that she’d called him her teddy bear, he didn’t mention it.

“Mobile phones,” he said at length, and then put the Faraday bag in the mini-fridge once they’d dropped their devices in. “Now your clothing, if you please. Shoes as well.”