could hear the faint tune of Tom’s “Smooth Latin” ringtone. Tom had changed it during their flight down. Tom didn’t pick up, and eventually the call went to voicemail. Cain tried to turn the door handle, but it was locked.
He looked at the upset woman and the security guard. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but nobody answered.”
The prostitute became more enraged. “Voy a llamar la policía. La policía! Police!” she threatened. “I want to file a police report. Now!”
The guard was sympathetic to the señorita’s threats to involve the police—he was muttering something about how the American officials invaded the hotel like locusts and acted as if they owned the place. They were speaking Spanish faster than Cain could follow, but he picked up key words and understood their body language. The guard unclipped his radio from his belt and keyed the mic. “Necesito el gerente. Ahora por favor.” The security guard had urgently requested the hotel manager.
It wasn’t the first time this manager had been called because of an agent’s actions. How’s he gonna respond this time? Cain wondered.
Chapter 2
The hotel manager, with every strand of his jet-black hair perfectly in place, rounded the corner and approached in his charcoal suit. Two additional security guards flanked him. Tomcat ain’t skating out of this one. Cain returned to Tom’s door. He knocked much louder this time. No response from inside the room. He redialed his colleague, but still no answer. I’ve gotta do something before this blows up and the police are called. This situation is escalating quickly and is about to get way out of hand.
Cain knew he would have to deal with Tom later. It wasn’t the first time he had covered for his partner during an overseas trip. Tomcat’s antics were an annoyance and distraction from the real reason they were here: to provide maximum protection for the American president.
The manager extended his hand, which Cain shook. “This lady is very distraught. She claims your friend owes her six hundred dollars.”
“Sir, I have no idea what happened between her and my colleague.”
“She would like to file a police report,” he added.
Cain grimaced. Prostitution was legal and regulated here, but this was still poor PR. “I know this much: it won’t look good for the hotel or the Secret Service if we involve the police.”
The manager signaled his agreement with a slow nod.
“I don’t have six hundred dollars,” Cain said, “but I will pay the lady what I have.” He looked past the manager and directly at her. “No es un problema. Yo te pago.”
He walked into his room and toward a pair of slacks strewn over the chair in the corner. He picked them up and caught the sweet scent of a Rocky Patel cigar—a reminder of his time the previous night at a chill jazz club near the hotel. Rummaging through the front pocket, he retrieved his leather money clip—a wedding gift from his father. It was engraved with the initials CML, and below that was the inscription Micah 6:8. In his money clip were a Virginia driver’s license, a government-issue travel card, a personal Visa card, and roughly three hundred bucks in a mixture of American dollars and pesos.
He walked back into the hallway, where they were eagerly waiting. He stripped the money from his clip and showed her his limited funds.
She pointed to his wrist. “El reloj,” she requested.
“Absolutely not,” he replied.
“Give me your watch,” she demanded. “Or all six hundred dollars.”
“This watch was a gift from my wife. De mi esposa!” he said in forceful Spanish, now losing his patience with the prostitute. There’s no way in hell she’s getting the Omega Seamaster Claire gave me!
“Este o nada.” He raised the cash again in a nonverbal take-it-or-leave-it. “A little bit of something is better than a whole lot of nothing. Algo es mejor que nada.”
She snatched the money out of his hand.
The manager had witnessed him pay the woman, and then instructed the guards to escort her from the hotel in a discreet manner. He turned to Cain. “Mr. Lemaire, this is a five-star hotel—”
“Yes, it is,” Cain interjected before the manager could finish his sentence. “You run a beautiful hotel.”
The manager smiled at the compliment. “And we have many VIPs staying here. Everyone’s safety and comfort are my primary concerns.”
“Mine as well. Second to the president, of course.”
“No more problems, please.” The manager’s words were more like a demand than a request.
“You have my word,” Cain replied. “But tell your security