The Assassin's Daydream || Mitch Rapp

Chapter 50

Pointing toward the door, Mitch asked, "Can't one of your men stay the night?"

"I'm afraid that is not possible. Besides, you will be safe here."

Mitch acted even more worried, but truth he told, he didn't have a worry in the world. He could sleep in peace and then in the morning he could begin to ask around for information. The idea that the chief wouldn't tell the very people who had asked him to grab Hurley was ludicrous, but Mitch played dumb.

The elevator was out of order, so he took the stairs to the fourth floor. He closed and locked the door to the room and wedged the rubber doorstop into the small gap at the bottom. Next he opened the curtains to see what kind of exit the window might provide. It was a good twenty-five feet to the street. Ridley had sent him off with a grab bag of things, including a thirty-foot coil of rope. Mitch tied one end to the foot of the bed and left the rest of it coiled by the window. Then he took out his silenced Beretta and Motorola radio. He set the gun on the night stand and keyed the transmit button on the radio.

Ridley's voice came over the radio a few seconds later. Mitch told him he'd made it to the hotel and was in his room. The radios weren't secure, so they kept the conversation vague and short. Mitch confirmed that he would check in at eight and then every two hours after that. If he missed any of the check-ins, Ridley should assume Mitch had made contact. After that, it was anyone's guess how things would turn out. Mitchbrushed his teeth and lay down on the bed with his clothes on. He didn't expect to sleep, but if he did, all the better.

But he did fall asleep. He had no idea when he had dozed off, or for how long, but it was enough to recharge his battery. He checked in with Ridley at the appointed hour, and then, not wanting to lose his nerve, he left the hotel and proceeded directly to Maarad Street a few blocks away. The vendors were manning their tents, selling all kinds of produce and food. Mitch worked his way up and down both sides of the street, speaking English and playing down his French when he had to speak it. He continued to play the role of the dolt. Almost to a man, people shunned him as soon as he asked about Colonel Sayyed. There was one man, though, who had opened up. He was selling electronics, small radios, tape players, and two-way radios like Mitch's Motorola.

Mitch stepped into his small tent and said hello. There was a polite exchange and then Mitch asked him, "Do you know anything about the three Americans who were picked up a few days ago?"

The man pointed to two radios and loudly asked Mitch, "Which one do you like better?" And then in a much quieter voice he said, "Yes, I know of the Americans." He then stuck out his hand for cash.

Mitch peeled off seven one-hundred-dollar bills. The man pocketed the bills and picked up a small alarm clock radio. He began to explain its various features. In between lauding the various components he lowered his voice and said, "There is a rumor that the Americans are being held in the basement of an old building on the west side of Martyrs' Square."

Before Mitch could ask another question the man was stuffing the alarm clock in a bag and sending him off. That was when Mitch noticed the two guys with stern faces and distinctive bulges under their jackets. He went straight back to the hotel. He wanted to pass on this nugget of information before he was picked up. As he reached the street that the hotel was on, he turned left, which was the wrong way. He took two steps, and then, acting as if he'd just realized his mistake, he turned left again and saw the two men halfway down the block just standing there, staring at him. Mitch kept moving so as to not let them know that he was onto them. It was not lost on him that the two men following him had made no effort to conceal their interest.

Mitch hustled up the next block, and when he entered the hotel he noticed a new manager behind the desk, who gave him a very unpleasant look. Mitch supposed the man thought someone might blow up the hotel just because of his presence. As he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor he realized you could hardly blame the guy. He was like some saloonkeeper in one of those old western movies where the troublemakers were all gunning for the new sheriff.