The Marriott stood around thirty floors high, or so Jay guessed as he looked at it from across the street. He'd parked in a no-standing zone, beachside of the Gold Coast hotel. Figured it wouldn't matter if the government car got towed. He noticed that, no doubt due to the hotel's linear shape, it would offer ocean views from all rooms. Not a cheap night's accommodation. A safe assumption it wasn't the first time here for the Mossad agent calling herself Catherine Primrose.
Jay grabbed his bag and trotted across the road to the hotel. He had one stop to make before checking in. Avoiding the front entrance, he moseyed around the corner. After scaling a six-foot fence, he edged around a striking blue lagoon. The familiar smell of coconut oil reminded him of his younger years. He thought of times spent playing cricket on the beach with his dad while his mum tanned on a towel. God, he missed those days of innocence.
Every second deckchair on the man-made beach was occupied with tanning beauties while their significant others either lazed in the shallows drinking boutique beer or were propped up at the pool-side bar watching the horse races on the big screen. The sun bit down hard into Jay's leather jacket. He stopped next to a palm, removed his jacket and left it out of sight behind the tree. Out of place in jeans and a T-shirt, he continued to edge his way around to the rear of the hotel.
In two minutes he was at his destination: the loading dock. He looked around and found two large industrial bins in the open, under the hot sun. Perfect. The bins were placed beside a gutter for easy access. He followed the gutter until he came to the first drain. A quick inspection proved he had hit the jackpot. He sat on the gutter over the drain and lit a cigarette. Looked around to make sure nobody was watching and heaved off the grille. Smoke stung his eyes as he bent over so he tossed the cigarette on the grass behind him. He opened his backpack, quickly scanned the area, then took out Pat's pistol and placed it down the front of his pants. He left the backpack open, beside the drain. Another check and he was right to go. He cupped both hands together and put them into the drain, up to his wrists. He reached up to the underside of the concrete and pulled his hands out, dragging his fingers on the roof of the drain. He withdrew at least a hundred cockroaches. He scooped them into his bag and repeated the process another couple of times. After zipping the backpack closed, he stood and shook off a rogue creature aiming for the inside of his jeans. The cigarette was still good for a few more puffs and he picked it up, moved back a couple of feet and scanned the area again. He flicked the butt into the drain, replaced the cover and brushed a few stray cockroaches from his backpack. He was ready to save Sarah from the deranged Mossad agent.
He entered the lobby less than two minutes later by retracing his route around the lagoon, stopping only to retrieve his jacket. He had to pause in the lobby to admire its elegance, figuring everyone did. Marble floor with matching pillars blended well with the high ceiling. The large spiral staircase was covered in a chocolate-coloured carpet and fresh flowers were strategically placed throughout the large expanse. Lounges that probably cost more than Jay earned in a year invited him to curl up and sleep. He was reminded of how tired he felt. Shrugging off his fatigue, trying to get the adrenalin pumping, he thought of Sarah and the hurt he would inflict on Catherine. The hurt, he thought. He'd never hurt a woman in anger before. Hoped he never would.
His heavy boots echoed off the marble floor tiles as he made his way toward reception.
If he'd thought Shannon's smile could stop traffic, this woman's welcoming grin could stop the nation watching the Melbourne Cup.
'Good afternoon, sir. What may I do for you today?'
'Hello...' he checked the nametag, 'Zoe. I have a room key waiting in the name of Harpocrates.'
The smile didn't waver, although her eyes quickly averted to her computer screen. Jay placed his backpack on the floor. Somehow, a cockroach had found an escape route and made a dash for freedom. Jay quickly pounced, squishing it into the tiles with his boot. He looked up to see Zoe gazing at him, the smile gone. He shrugged and took the key from her outstretched hand.
'Can I leave my jacket in your cloakroom?' A strange request considering he just got a room key, but he figured hotel staff were used to strange requests.
'No problem.' Zoe held out her arm and he handed over the jacket. She raised her eyebrows. 'Bag as well, sir?'
'No thanks. I need to take this up with me.' He gave Zoe a wink and headed for the lifts.
The twenty-first floor was his destination. He took the lift and got off at the twenty-second floor. In his experience, the bad guys always expected the good guys to get off at their floor or the one below. He took the stairwell down a floor and removed his pistol. He kept Pat's pistol tucked into the front of his pants. With the backpack on his back, he hoped no more cockroaches had escaped.
He held the pistol to his front, in both hands, and checked the hall before exiting the stairwell. Not wanting to wave the pistol around at unsuspecting guests, he held it under his shirt. Still able to draw it quickly if Catherine sprung any surprises.
A door opened ahead and Jay paused. Two bikini-clad women ran out holding their backsides. An amorous male followed, making snapping movements with his hands, trying to pinch their rears. The man stopped in the hall when he saw Jay. He looked familiar in only shorts, no shirt. Jay tried to place the face. Dark-skinned with dreadlocks. Of course. He used to play rugby league for Jay's favourite team until he switched codes. Had a history of chasing the ladies too; it seemed the tabloids were right for once. Jay gave a nod as if to say, 'I'm not the paparazzi.'
'There a problem, mate?' the footballer said.
Jay could have ditched the pistol and still kicked this bloke's arse. Although the footballer stood over six foot, washboard stomach and biceps the size of newborns, Jay considered it less than a match. His unarmed combat training with the SASR, regular boxing sessions and a similar physique would have had him using practised skills to bring the ego-maniac to his knees. He looked at the girls and asked, 'You two all right? I've an appointment to keep for the next half-an-hour or so. When it's finished I could come back and kick this rock ape's arse if you like.'
The football player shook his head, ushered the women back to his room and took a couple of paces toward Jay. He turned his head from side to side like a boxer who'd just entered the ring. 'You want to make something of it?'
Jay looked into the bloodshot eyes. The footballer was obviously high on something. Probably ecstasy tablets. 'Like I said, I've got an appointment. When I've finished I'll come and see you. You really pissed me off changing teams a few years back. That in itself deserves a punch in the nose.'
The footballer shaped up ready to charge. But Jay didn't have time for playing games. And he certainly didn't want to use the pistol before he had a chance to get to Sarah. Last thing he needed was the boofhead calling the police to report a weapon in the hotel. Jay dropped his shoulders. 'Look, I'm sorry mate. My wife just left me and took my kids. I've had a prick of a day and I just want to go to my room. I apologise for the outburst.'
The footballer relaxed a little, a smug look on his face. 'That's better. You need to show a little respect. Now get out of my sight before they need to call an ambulance for you.'
Jay moved forward. The footballer gave him a shove in the back and chuckled as he passed. He heard a door close behind him and edged forward, found the room to match his swipe card and put it into the slot. He went down on both knees, held the pistol in his master hand and pushed the door open.