The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 3:37 a.m.
The hotel room has two beds. The TV sits on a dresser facing the beds, and one of the freelancers has turned it to cable news.
Louis sits at the desk, staring down at his phone.
Two of the freelancers lounge on the two separate beds, their feet up, chowing down on prepackaged sandwiches as they watch the news.
The other two freelancers—well, I don’t know where they are. Once we entered downtown, I lost sight of them. We parked in the basement garage and took the elevator up to the seventh floor. Louis made me wear a scarf to hide the collar in case we ran into anybody.
I’ve been sequestered to the chair in the corner, my wrists zip-tied together.
The only window in the room is off to my left; it’s a large window, about six feet across, and curtains conceal the outside. When we first entered the room, Louis parted the curtains enough for me to see the hotel five blocks away. The window has locks on both sides and can slide open a couple inches for fresh air. The space will be more than enough to shoot through.
Speaking of which, the Valkyrie sits in pieces in a backpack on the desk. No reason to get it out and put it together quite yet. It’ll probably wait until an hour or so before President Cortez is scheduled to arrive.
Louis glances up from his phone and notices me watching him.
“You should try to get some rest. We need you focused in the morning.”
I tilt my head toward the two freelancers.
“Tweedledum and Tweedledee are hogging the beds.”
The freelancers ignore me; one has his cell phone out, looking at who knows what, while the other hasn’t touched his phone. It’s remained in his left pocket since we got here. All the phones—even Louis’s—look to be disposables. These men are professionals and wouldn’t bring their own personal phones with them on a job like this, but that doesn’t matter as long as I can make a call with one of the phones.
Louis says, “I’m sure you can get some rest just fine in that chair.”
“You want me to get a crick in my neck? That might throw me off in the morning.”
The fob rests on the table. Louis absently touches it with his finger. Like that’s supposed to scare me.
I force a smile.
“I’m hungry.”
“We offered you a sandwich.”
“I’d rather have something else as my last meal. Something that doesn’t taste like shit.”
Louis’s finger doesn’t leave the fob.
“A sandwich is your only option.”
I release a heavy sigh.
“Fine. I’ll take a sandwich. What’s left?”
Tweedledee swings his feet off the bed and opens the small cooler on the floor. They brought along prepackaged sandwiches and bottles of water as they didn’t want to deal with room service or be seen outside the hotel picking up food.
He holds up two sandwiches.
“Ham and cheese or tuna salad.”
Gag me.
I ask, “Is the cheese low fat?”
He just stares back at me.
I release another heavy sigh.
“Fine, the ham and cheese.”
Tweedledee drops the other sandwich back in the cooler and brings me the ham and cheese with a bottle of water.
My eyes drift down from his face to what he probably thinks is the sandwich and water, but it’s really to the phone in his left pocket. His pants look to be a size too loose, probably for comfort, but it means the phone isn’t tight in his pocket. Which is good.
After Tweedledee hands off the sandwich and water, he climbs back onto the bed.
Louis says, “Anything else, your highness?”
Yeah, you can shove that fob down your throat and choke on it, I think, but decide not to say out loud.
I start unwrapping the sandwich.
“Chips would be nice.”
Louis’s face remains expressionless.
“There are no chips.”
“This place has vending machines, doesn’t it?”
Louis decides he’s bored with me and turns his attention back to his phone.
The two freelancers keep watching the news. Something about a recent scandal involving the president. On screen, four pundits keep talking over each other.
I take a bite of the sandwich, watching the freelancers and Louis.
Thinking about how I need to get that phone.
Even if it kills me.