GRAND HYATT HOTEL
MACAU
A tall black man moved swiftly through the sleek, well-lit lobby of the Grand Hyatt Hotel. He had short hair, and wore a striped polo shirt, jeans, and running shoes.
His name was Jayson Fields.
He climbed aboard an empty elevator and hit the button for the eighteenth floor. At eighteen, he got off the elevator and moved down the hallway. He went around the corner and came to room 1844. He looked both ways to make sure nobody was looking, then inserted a thick white plastic card which had a wire extending off the back. He inserted the other end of the wire into his cell phone and pressed the “Start” icon and waited as the screen became green lines of numbers, scrolling from top to bottom in dizzying fashion.
After more than ninety seconds, a light on the door handle suddenly turned green. He grabbed the handle and twisted the knob, removing the card and putting it in his pocket along with his cell.
He entered the suite, removing a thin stainless steel case from his back pocket. He came into the living room, but it was empty. He went through a door into the bedroom and turned on the lights. Dewey was on his side, tucked into a fetal position. His eyes were closed. His body appeared red. The man could see him shivering.
He stepped in front of Dewey and knelt down.
“Dewey,” said Fields, reaching over and lifting one of Dewey’s eyelids.
Dewey reached out and grabbed Fields by the wrist, but his grip was weak and Fields continued to examine Dewey’s eyes.
“My name is Jayson Fields. I work for British intelligence. Jenna sent me. How you feeling?”
“Not too good,” Dewey whispered.
Fields removed a syringe from the thin case.
“It’ll sting,” said Fields.
In one fluid motion, Fields jammed a needle into Dewey’s neck, then pressed the plunger.
“What is it?”
“Adrenaline. Enough to get you on a plane.”
Dewey cringed as the liquid hit his bloodstream. He closed his eyes as it took effect. When he opened them again, he was breathing rapidly.
“Where’s your clothing?”
Slowly, Dewey sat up, then climbed to his feet. He found his jeans and shirt in the bathroom, pulling them on. He found his leather weekend bag and reached inside and took out his knife, inside a leather ankle sheath, and put it around his left leg. He stuffed his gun and a few other belongings inside the bag.
“How long was I out?” said Dewey.
“I have no fucking clue, but we need to get going.”
Dewey stared blankly at Fields.
“Where?”
“The airport, that’s all I know.”