“Two men followed,” he said. “One with blond hair wearing a navy-blue suit. The other dark hair with a dark-gray suit. Older guys. I’d say early fifties?”
“Copy. Give it another minute.”
“One minute,” said Devin.
With a little time to kill, Devin got up from his seat, drink in hand, and slid the bill toward the bartender before wading through the crowd behind him to reach the edge of the bar’s open terrace. The East Wing of the White House dominated his view, its illuminated face impossible to miss a few blocks away. Beyond it, a thin, dark-blue strip stretched across the horizon—the last vestiges of what had been a perfect early-summer day in DC minutes from slipping away entirely.
To the south, the Washington Monument rose above the National Mall like a blazing beacon. Devin leaned out to get a better look. The view was definitely worth the upcharge. He’d love to bring his sister here the next time she flew out from LA. Dad too. Hopefully at the same time. It had been a while since they’d spent some time together. Things hadn’t been the same since his mother’s breakdown. Her final break from reality, and the family, had taken an awful toll on all of them. He didn’t want to spoil the view thinking about it.
“Devin. Room four thirty-two. Take the western stairwell. Advise when in position.”
“On the way,” he said.
Now for the fun part. And by fun he meant risky. Possibly even dangerous.
CHAPTER 3
Devin waited for the green light to extract Chase. Barring any significant unseen complications, he’d have him back in the stairwell and on the way out of the hotel in under a minute. Keeping Chase safe until they reached the armored SUV standing by outside the hotel was his only objective. The firm’s direct-action （DA） team would handle the rest. Specifically, room four thirty-four.
A member of the surveillance team had walked the floor a few minutes ago with a concealed radio frequency （RF） detector, identifying rooms four thirty-two and four thirty-four as RF hot spots—encrypted signals in frequency ranges typically associated with high-end video-surveillance equipment.
With the honey trap going down in four thirty-two, that put the shakedown team in the adjacent room. They assumed it to comprise the suits from the bar and at least two other heavies. This type of blackmail operation relied on shock and embarrassment. The more the merrier when they busted into the room and caught their victim in the act.
But nothing in that room was his concern. Either room, really. He just hoped the two men hadn’t disappeared into a third room nearby, especially if it stood between four thirty-two and the stairwell. Nobody had actually seen them go into four thirty-four. Things could get ugly if the surveillance team’s assumption proved to be incorrect. Devin carried an expandable steel baton, clipped to the inside of his jacket, that he could put to good use under most circumstances. Two against one in a constricted hallway, while trying to protect a client, wasn’t one of those circumstances.
If that happened, he’d need help, which wouldn’t be far away—assuming the DA team could handle room four thirty-four. A big assumption, given they had no idea whom they were up against. A corporate espionage team hired by a competitive company? A hostile-state effort? All they really knew was they were well funded and professional. A dangerous combination.
Devin had been somewhat surprised that DEVTEK hadn’t gone to the FBI. The sophisticated cyberattack campaign waged against DEVTEK’s research and development division was precisely the kind of case the FBI’s Economic Espionage Section thrived on, especially given the company’s sizable contracting footprint within the Department of Defense.
On the other hand, if DEVTEK strongly suspected a rival company, hiring a private counterespionage firm could turn out to be the more strategic play, especially if they could catch the other company red-handed. A little corporate leverage went a long way in the defense contracting industry.
His earpiece crackled.
“Devin. You’re up. Proceed directly to the room,” said the surveillance team leader. “Chase is flailing.”
No surprise there. Brian Chase, a software engineer at DEVTEK, had very reluctantly agreed to serve as bait during a four-day business trip to the DC area. He was married with three young children, slightly overleveraged on his Bay Area mortgage, and active in his church. An ideal target for a honey trap, which was why MINERVA had picked him.
“I’m on the move,” said Devin.
He bolted down the hallway, instantly slowing to a less suspicious pace when the door to four thirty-two suddenly swung inward. Chase backed out of the room, an elegant hand with bright-red nail polish yanking him halfway back inside. Devin kept walking, ready to play dumb if she leaned her head out and spotted him.