Omar made no move to take his outstretched hand. His eyes ran over Teddy’s face, as if memorizing every detail. “Is that so?” he said, coldly. Then he turned and walked away.
Teddy snapped a picture of Omar with his cell phone. He would have texted it to Jacques, to run through face recognition, but he was out of burner phones, and he couldn’t risk using his own.
Teddy went back to the lobby computer. He uploaded the photo from his phone, and sent Kevin an encrypted e-mail. Kevin. Run the attached photo through face recognition. Yes, I know you don’t have access to the CIA database, but do it anyway. He’s going by the name of Omar, but it may be an alias. Get back to me as fast as you can. Your answer will tell me what I have to do.
The last part wasn’t entirely true. Teddy knew what he had to do, regardless of Kevin’s answer. He had to get some more burner phones and pick up a half million euros.
Up to now Teddy had trusted Maitland’s room safe for a few choice possessions. Omar’s malevolent presence made that no longer tenable. Teddy opened the safe and took out his handgun, his cash supply, and his travel equipment bag, with a few special items he’d held out from the larger equipment bag locked in the hotel safe at the Pierre.
Teddy spent a few minutes booby-trapping the room so that he would know if Omar had been there. Then he took off his Floyd Maitland outfit, and dressed up as Devon Billingham. He touched up his face to make sure it matched the passport photo, and took a cab to the Hôtel St. Pierre.
He walked up to the front desk and said, “Hi, Devon Billingham. Are there any messages for me?”
The desk clerk checked. “Ah, Monsieur Billingham. There are no messages, but your room has not been used for several days.”
“Yes, I said that might happen. That’s why I paid for the week in advance. I had to make some side trips. But I’m here now and would like to retrieve a trunk that was stored for me in the hotel safe.” Teddy slipped the desk clerk a bill. “Could you expedite that for me, please?”
“Would you like the trunk brought to your room?”
“Yes. How soon will that be done?”
“Right away.”
Teddy went up to his room. It didn’t look lived in. The only sign of occupancy were the toiletries in the bathroom.
He called the bank. “This is Devon Billingham. I’m awaiting a transfer of funds. Can you tell me if it’s been processed yet? I want to come down to the bank and complete the transaction. Yes, I’ll hold.”
There was a knock on the door. It was the bellboy with the trunk. He tipped the bellboy and said into the phone, “Really? Good. I’ll be right down.”
Teddy unlocked the trunk, took out three more burner phones, and locked it up again. When he left he would leave it at the front desk to be returned to the safe. He would have loved to have transferred it to l’Arrington, but he didn’t want to deal with having two packages in their safe. Plus, the less overlap of identities the better, even in something so trivial. In Teddy’s experience, one never knew who might be taking an interest.
Teddy messed up the bedsheets—so the chambermaid would stop worrying about it—and went down to the bank.
* * *
• • •
ONCE THE BANKERS realized who Teddy was, he was treated like a king. A sudden infusion of a half million euros into his bank account had earned him instant respect. Assistant managers were falling all over each other, asking how they might assist him.
His answer did not please them. They disappeared into the inner office with the news. Moments later, the bank manager himself came out. He surveilled Teddy critically, and frowned.
“You want a cashier’s check for five hundred thousand euros?”
“I do.”
“You are taking your money out of the bank?”
“Not all of my money. Just the most recent deposit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to transfer funds. I need a cashier’s check to do it. I want your bank to provide it.”
“You do not intend to keep the half million euros in our bank?”
“Not that half million.”
“You intend to deposit another half million?”
“I might,” Teddy said. “It depends on the service I receive here.”
Five minutes later the head teller delivered a cashier’s check for five hundred thousand euros. The bank manager presented it with a bit of a flourish.
Teddy inspected it, smiled, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
The bank manager looked horrified. “You need to sign it.”
“I signed for the check.”
“You need to sign the check. If you don’t sign the check, anyone can. It’s as good as cash. Anyone can make it out to anyone they want, and sign their name. And then you would have no right to it.”
“But I have the check.”
“What if the check is stolen?”
“Do you expect the check to be stolen?”
“It’s not what I expect. But it could happen.”
“But no one knows I have it. Unless your bank told someone. Is your bank in the habit of advertising the business of its depositors?”
While the bank manager struggled to think of a response, Teddy shook his hand, turned, and walked out.
* * *
• • •
TEDDY WENT BACK to the Pierre. He logged onto a computer in the lobby and sent an encrypted e-mail to Kevin. The answer came back almost immediately. Kevin had obviously composed it already, and was just waiting for a prompt. Omar’s full name was Omar Khalidi. He was rumored to have taken part in death squads, often as leader. His ruthlessness was legendary.
Teddy had never encountered him under that name or any other. But the man clearly had acted as if he knew him. It might have been merely his style of intimidation; still, Teddy wondered why he bothered. Perhaps Floyd Maitland’s ugly-American act had just rubbed him the wrong way.
Whatever the reason, Teddy would have to be on his guard.
67.
TEDDY TOOK A cab back to l’Arrington Hotel. He was still dressed as Devon Billingham, but that didn’t matter. In the crowd of the convention, no one would notice him at all, at least not in the common areas. He just couldn’t let anyone see Devon Billingham entering Maitland’s room with a hotel key card.
He was in luck. Two people got on the elevator, but neither pushed his floor. He got out of the elevator alone, walked down to Maitland’s room, and went in.