The Death Relic

24

Jones spotted two cameras in the parking lot during his advance surveillance. One was on the far side of the complex; the other was facing the driver’s side of the H2 from roughly 20 feet away. Fearing detection, he purposely kept his back to the camera by working on the driver’s side door. Not only would it keep his face off the surveillance footage, it would also block the camera’s view of his lock-picking expertise.

‘Am I clear?’ Jones whispered into his headset, which was synched to his mobile phone via Bluetooth.

Maria answered from the edge of the parking lot. ‘Looks clear to me.’

Using the homemade lock picks he carried in his wallet, Jones went to work on the door. Fifteen seconds later, it popped open with a click. ‘I’m in.’

‘Already?’

‘Actually, that was slow. With a bump key, I can beat ten seconds.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘Wow! That’s awesome … Wait. What’s a bump key?’

He sighed. ‘Can we talk about it later?’

‘Sorry.’

Jones climbed into the Hummer and quietly closed the door. Once inside, he felt a lot less vulnerable. The heavily tinted windows and reflective sunshade that protected the H2’s interior from the heat of the Mexican sun also concealed his actions and identity from the outside world. As long as no one had spotted him breaking in, he knew he was reasonably safe.

‘Still clear?’

‘Yes,’ she assured him.

Jones leaned across the centre armrest and opened the glove compartment. Inside there was a pair of sunglasses, a spare set of keys and a rental agreement for the Hummer. He grabbed the paperwork and tucked it into his cargo pants, hoping it would give them a better understanding of Hamilton’s movements before his trip to Cancún. If they figured out where he’d come from, perhaps they could locate the other members of Hamilton’s research team and get to the bottom of his disappearance. Or, at the very least, find out why Maria had been invited to Mexico.

For Jones, that was the most important thing of all.

While DeJute pulled up the keycard data on his computer, Payne kept his eyes on the monitors. He tried not to fixate on the action in the parking lot, but his gaze naturally drifted towards his best friend as he approached the H2 on one of the smaller screens.

‘So,’ Payne said, trying to keep DeJute distracted from the video feed, ‘do you always work alone, or did I catch you at the worst possible moment?’

‘Normally, there’s someone working in the outer office, but he went to take a piss or something. Unfortunately, I can’t use that excuse since I piss in a bag.’

Payne grunted, unsure how to respond.

DeJute sensed his discomfort. ‘It’s got some advantages, though. I never miss any action when I go to a ball game. Same thing at the movies. For all you know, I’m pissing right now.’

‘Now you’re just showing off.’

‘Maybe a little.’

Payne laughed and glanced back at the monitor. Jones was no longer visible. He was safely inside the H2. ‘How’s that data coming?’

A printer chattered on the desk behind him.

DeJute pointed over his shoulder. ‘It’s printing right now.’

‘Can you make me a copy?’

‘That is your copy. I’ll just use my computer.’

Payne grabbed the two pages from the printer, then sat next to DeJute, who was studying the numbers on his screen. ‘OK, what am I looking at?’

DeJute explained. ‘The data’s divided into three columns. First column lists a portal. Second lists a card number. Third lists a time stamp.’

‘What’s a portal?’

‘That’s my nickname for the individual card readers. Not only is portal easier to say than individual card readers, it sounds a hell of a lot cooler.’

‘You’re right. It does.’

He pointed at the first column on his screen. ‘Most portals are simply room numbers, but some are coded for common areas, like the spa, or the gym. Anything that requires a card for entry has a unique portal number. Swipe your card, and we get a record.’

Following along on his printout, Payne shifted his focus to the second column. ‘How are the card numbers assigned?’

‘We erase the cards as soon as they’re turned in at checkout. After that, we recode the blank cards with new information, using a digital encoder at the front desk. Each card is given a new list of permissions, which grants access to different portals on the property. Not only individual rooms, but things like elevator access and so on.’

‘What about employees?’

‘Different employees have different permission codes installed on their cards. Managers can go anywhere they want. Same with certain members of the security staff. Maids have unlimited access in some parts of the hotel, but they can’t use their cards outside their assigned areas. If they try, we’ll know about it.’ DeJute smiled to himself. ‘Actually, if anyone tries, we know about it. Our system records all card swipes, whether successful or not.’

Payne took a moment to study the report. DeJute had filtered the data by portal number on the first sheet, listing every card to have accessed Maria’s suite, Room 1257, in the last twenty-four hours. According to the data, three cards had opened her room a total of four times.

As a former soldier, Payne was familiar with military time. He quickly recognized the significance of 17:32:11, because it corresponded with the time stamp on the video feed of the break-in, which had occurred at 5.32 p.m. (plus eleven seconds) on the twelve-hour clock. The image of Maria’s door was still paused on the centre monitor, allowing him to double-check the time.

Payne pointed at the video feed. ‘They opened her door at 5.32 p.m.’

DeJute nodded. ‘Yep.’

‘That means their card number is one-niner-six-niner-zero-niner-zero-two.’

‘You got it, chief.’

Payne glanced up the column and studied the numbers. Two other cards had been granted access to her suite earlier in the day. One of them — 19771004 — also accessed the suite after the break-in. Through a process of elimination, Payne knew it probably belonged to Maria. ‘The card ending in one-zero-zero-four must be my boss’s. She used her suite when she checked in, then used it again after her meeting at the bistro.’

Using his computer mouse, DeJute clicked on the card number and was whisked to a separate window, which displayed registration information. The keycard was assigned to Maria Pelati. As proof, her signature appeared at the bottom of the page. ‘You nailed it, chief.’

‘Can you go back to the other screen?’

‘Of course.’ DeJute clicked a button and returned to the master list. ‘Before you even ask, I can tell you the first keycard belongs to a maid. One-nine-four-two is a staff prefix, and 1.27 p.m. is in the gap between checkout and check-in. She was probably preparing the suite.’

Payne nodded. ‘I kind of figured as much. I was actually more concerned with the Hispanic gentlemen we saw on the screen. I want to know who their card belongs to.’

DeJute moved his cursor over 19690902 and clicked once. A new window appeared on the screen. Strangely, it listed the same registration information as a moment before — with one major exception. Instead of Maria Pelati’s signature, a different name was scrawled across the bottom of the page. Payne leaned closer, trying to decipher the handwriting. A few seconds passed before he figured it out, and when he did, he grunted with surprise.

The name was Terrence Hamilton.