Illusion

by C. L. Roman

  Taking the elevator, he hummed along to the music being pumped through the speakers, feeling his heart rate slow and the dull throb at the base of his skull ease. Outside the hotel lobby, he was greeted with cold sunshine and crowded streets. Turning North, he walked up to the corner and examined the traffic lights. A small device rested under the green circle, its black eye aimed at oncoming traffic. On other poles — street lamps, power supports and the like, as well as on a number of windows, he noticed more black eyes, small and singular, staring at the street below. He counted three on the first corner and two on the next. So, Surt had not lied...at least, not about the cameras.

  Within ten minutes, moving at a leisurely pace, he arrived at the hotel where the summit would begin in two days. He assumed the attendees would arrive the next day, so today was a good day to become familiar with the layout. He ducked inside. The tall, blond Nordic who entered the revolving glass cage bore no resemblance to the short, Hispanic male who came out, with the exception of his frost blue eyes.

  A quick glance showed him an eclectically appointed lobby with a black lacquer registration desk left of the entrance. A tiled mariner's compass graced the floor between the desk and a gift shop. Above it hung an impressive chandelier in the shape of a fully rigged sailing ship. Strategically placed mirrors made the lobby look twice as big as it was and soft music accompanied the myriad conversations taking place around the room. Paneled doors screened a bank of elevators from view as one entered the hotel.

  Jotun started for the elevator, only to be stopped by an unobtrusive woman in a trim suit of midnight blue wool. "May I help you?" she asked.

  Forcing his hands to relax, he said, "I have a meeting with Mr. Conroy. He said to meet him in his room."

  She nodded, eyeing his tailored suit. "Of course Sir. If you'll just step over here, I can check to make sure Mr. Conroy is in his room. Which is it, if you don't mind?"

  "1312." The number popped into his brain from nowhere and he instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing.

  "We have no thirteenth floor Sir. Are you sure you have the correct establishment?"

  "No thirteenth..." He knew the hotel was well over fifty stories high. It had to have a thirteenth floor.

  "No Sir. Like most hotels in the city, our floors are numbered without a thirteenth. It goes from twelve to fourteen."

  He stared at her blankly.

  "Are you sure that's the right number?"

  He blinked and pulled the phone, which Surt had insisted on purchasing, out of his pocket. Pushing the button as Surt had shown him, he watched the little screen spring to colorful life and pressed additional buttons at random, careful to keep the screen from her direct line of sight. "Oh, yes, here it is, 1213." He smiled at her.

  "Just so." She tapped a few keys on the computer and looked up. "I'm sorry Sir, but Mr. Conroy has not checked in. Did he perhaps mean to meet him in the bar at..." she hesitated and then rushed on, "12:13? Many people use our facilities as meeting places even though they aren't staying here. Perhaps you misunderstood him?"

  He glanced back at the screen and forced another grin. "That must be it. I am from out of town and my English is not the best. Perhaps you would direct me to this bar?"

  "Top floor," she said, and pointed to the elevators. He nodded his thanks and followed her direction. As he walked, a movement in the mirror drew his attention. Reflected there he saw the woman pick up the desk phone and enter into an intense conversation, punctuated with several glances in his direction.

  So much for being unobtrusive.

  He stepped off the elevator and was greeted with a gold-on-black sign that proclaimed, Esperanta's Skyline. The hall was empty, but within moments two black suited men stepped out of the neighboring elevator. A stone arch stood left of the sign. He scowled and entered the bar.

  Standing in the doorway, he took in the surroundings. A long, mahogany table, just under chest height for most humans and backed by and equally long mirror, curved in an L from entryway to a rear exit nearly hidden by foliage. Round topped booths dotted the floor space, and a huge picture window ran the length of the south wall, giving an excellent view of the city. From some hidden alcove a musician wailed about, "Strange magic," and Jotun grimaced.

  At this time of day only a few of the tables were occupied. None of them held single visitors. He pulled out his phone again and tapped the screen, frowning.

  A host hurried up. "May I help you Sir?"

  "I am supposed to meet a business associate here, a Mr. Conroy? Has he arrived?"

  The man checked his book. "No Sir, he hasn't. Perhaps the reservation is under your name?"

  "Highly unlikely," Jotun muttered.

  "I'm sorry Sir?"

  "Nothing. He may not have made a reservation. Would it be acceptable for me to wait for him?"

  "Of course Sir, nothing easier." He picked up a menu. "Follow me please?" He led the way to a table near the window and Jotun took a seat facing the door.

  "A cup of coffee would be welcome," Jotun said.

  "Right away Sir."

  Jotun stared at the window, noting in its pallid reflection that the black suits had taken up residence behind him, also facing the door. It looked odd, both of them sitting on the same side of the table.

  His phone pinged and he tapped the text box.

  Where are you?

  At hotel Voyager, in the bar.

  The phone rang and Surt's picture grimaced at him from the little screen. Jotun tapped ignore and returned to the text screen.

  It is better to text for now. Conroy has not checked in, but the front desk woman knew the name. He is expected.

  You spoke to the hotel staff?

  Jotun could almost feel the impotent rage radiating off the little screen. He held the phone up and took a picture of himself and then texted it to Surt.

  Do not worry. I am not myself.

  What a clever thing for such a stupid person. You will leave the hotel. You will talk to no one. You will —

  Jotun pushed the sleep button and slipped the phone into his suit pocket. For the next fifteen minutes he sipped his coffee and stared out over the city. For once his head was quiet, and he found the sensation pleasurable. The black suits continued to watch.

  When the waiter came around the second time to refill his cup, he asked for a menu. "I believe Mr. Conroy has forgotten me," he said, smiling. "But that is no reason to starve."

  An hour later, he dropped cash on the bill and walked out of Esperanta's Skyline, stepping into the elevator with the black suits in tow. One of them slid a key card through the elevator's slot and pressed S on the panel. When the elevator opened, they were not in the lobby, but Black Suit One gestured toward the door. "After you Sir," he said.

  "This is not my floor," Jotun replied and Black Suit Two gripped his arm.

  "I'm sure it is, Sir," the other man said. "We have some questions for you."

  Jotun looked them over. "I see. Very well. I have a few moments." He stepped off the elevator with one man on either side. As they turned down the hall, he stopped short, planting his feet so that his captor was jerked half way around. Grabbing the other man's arm, Jotun swung the pair into each other. Their heads collided with a solid, wet thud. The man slid to the floor and lay still. Jotun slugged the second operative in the jaw and he collapsed next to his partner.

  "Never underestimate a smaller man, my friends," Jotun said, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he walked up the hall. A door opened to his left and a man stepped into the hall. Jotun smiled and extended his hand. "I seem to be a bit lost. Can you help me?"

  The man reached inside his jacket and Jotun blurred into motion, grasping the man's wrist with one hand while knocking the man's head against the wall with the other. Another casualty slumped to the floor. Jotun caught the door before it could swing closed and rifled through the man's pockets. The contents of the man's wallet identified him as chief of security, Roger Blake. A second pocket yielded a set of keys.

/>   Inside the office, a desk with a computer monitor sat to his right and another, of similar configuration, directly ahead. The second desk was empty, but the wall above it was populated with a bank of smaller screens upon which images moved in black and white silence. The lobby, several hallways, two restaurants, a pool, and Esperanta's Skyline played pantomime for his entertainment.

  The rest of the room was dominated by a large table surrounded with rolling chairs. On his left a closed door opened into another office with its own desk and monitor. There was a locked cabinet mounted to the wall, but no bank of moving pictures. It held a communications console and several large filing cabinets as well.

  Jotun shook his head.

  How do I know what all of this is, yet Surt had to teach me how to use a cell phone?

  The throbbing began again and he shoved the thought aside. A swift but thorough search of the files left him far better informed than when he had arrived. The communications console was bleating impatiently, letting him know that time was short. It took only a minor effort to align the tumblers, unlocking the cabinet, and he smiled at what he found inside. Pocketing two of the items, he closed the cabinet and locked it tight.

  After replacing the keys, Jotun exited the security office, stepped over the unconscious guards and into the elevator. Vaguely soothing music played and his shoulders relaxed as the throbbing retreated. Jotun looked around. A black panel gazed down at him from high on the side wall and he reached up and covered it with his palm. After a moment an acrid smell filled the elevator car and the panel went from black to greyish white. Satisfied, Jotun withdrew his hand and changed his appearance to that of a nondescript, white haired gentleman of medium height and build.

  He walked off the elevator at the third floor and took the stairs down to the lobby, more crowded now than when he had left it, but still sedate. Humming, he strolled out the hotel doors into the cold sunshine. He wished he had thought to include a hat in the disguise.

  A fedora, perhaps, he mused. A bowler would have been a bit too much.

  "You speak like an old woman Surt. 'What could have happened,' and 'what might have been'. I told you before, I do not follow your orders. I pursue the mission."

  "You are a fool who took a great risk. For what? To relieve your boredom?"

  "To gather information without killing anyone. Murder is messy, Surt. It draws attention."

  "And you didn't?" Surt was livid, his voice raw, his hands clenched. "You are on every video camera in the place now."

  Jotun sipped his drink. "No, I am not. A short, Hispanic gentleman entered the hotel. A medium height, elderly white man walked out. Jotun never made an appearance."

  "At least you showed some sense," Surt admitted. "And what information did you gather?" he asked, his tone making his low expectations plain.

  "The hotel is, in fact, the location of the arms summit. It has been booked in its entirety and a media blackout has already been put in place. They have begun on-site security amplification already, but attendees are not due to arrive until Wednesday. Admiral Conroy is slated for a room on the fiftieth floor with the other members of the Naval delegation, however, I feel that they may move him now."

  Surt rolled his eyes. "You think so?"

  "Yes. But finding him will not be difficult. We have his picture and we need only wait and watch."

  "And what will we do when we find him? You asked for him by name. Then you attacked three of their security force. They are not going to think you just wanted to chat."

  "They were in the way. And I was careful. All of them will recover."

  "Which is not exactly a recommendation. More witnesses means more problems."

  "You are making my head ache, Surt. Let it go. The fact remains that we know far more now than we did before my visit."

  "They'll move the summit, or postpone it."

  "They won't. Logistically, it would be a nightmare. They'll intensify their security, all the while hoping that I was an aberration, just some guy running a con. And these," he said, producing two, red key cards with the air of a magician pulling multicolored scarves from his sleeve, "will get us into any room in the hotel. All we need do is acquire a pair of black suits and we will not be noticed, let alone questioned."

  Surt's frown vanished and a spark lit behind his eyes as he took one of the cards. "Security pass keys. These will be very helpful."

  "So you admit my methods have some merit."

  "IF they don't move the summit, then yes, I will agree," Surt said grudgingly. "But this is not smart. You got lucky. Still, sometimes it is better to be lucky than smart, so I forgive you this time. But go off on your own again, and..."

  Jotun stood, skin glowing with battle light, his hand resting on Hamar's hilt. "And what?"

  Surt grimaced. "So quick, always, to fight your allies."

  "Are you an ally, Surt? Sometimes I wonder."

  Something indefinable skated over the demon's expression before he turned away, saying, "Never mind. Just keep me in the loop, that's all."

  Jotun relaxed. "As you wish."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The evening meal sent out a fragrant invitation as Gwyneth sat down. Amal and Faiza were already seated and their young sons tumbled into their places laughing, cheeks pink from the brisk weather outside. Roast lamb spiced with cardamom, bay and black lime, laid over a bed of rice. Vegetables and other side dishes rounded out the meal. Amal spoke the evening prayer and the family began to eat.

  "This kabsa is wonderful Faiza. The lamb is so tender," Gwyneth said.

  "Thank you. My mother preferred to use goat, but here, lamb is a bit easier to get and Amal prefers it anyway." Faiza cast a fond glance at her husband and he smiled at her.

  "Your English is improving, Gwyneth," Amal said. "You have been working hard on it."

  Gwyneth blushed. "I have, but it is mostly due to your sons. They have been school me."

  Yusef, the youngest boy, giggled. "Teaching, Miss. We have been teaching you."

  His brother, Ben, socked him in the shoulder. "Don't correct an adult, Yusef. It is rude. Besides, "tutoring" is a better word for what she means."

  "But she wants us to. She said if she spoke incorrectly to tell her." Yusef gave his sibling an injured look.

  "Boys. You will behave like gentlemen. We will not strike each other." Faiza looked at them sternly, but her gaze softened as it rested on Yusef. "You are right Yusef; we must tell her when she makes a mistake, but perhaps not at the dinner table."

  "Yes, Mama," Yusef said, and stuffed a bite of lamb into his mouth.

  Gwyneth stifled a grin. "They have been tutoring me," she said, and Ben smiled.

  "But you are the one putting in the effort," Amal said. "You have done well. So well, perhaps, that you might wish to find work more suited to your talents?"

  She sent him a startled look and then paled. Slipping into broken Arabic, she said, "Of course, I am sorry to have stayed so long. Your hospitality has been —"

  Faiza's mouth dropped open. "No, no, that is not what he meant. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. It has been a pleasure to have another woman in the house."

  "Calm yourselves," Amal said. He looked at Gwyneth. "Faiza speaks the truth. In these last weeks, we have come to see you as part of our family and it is our honor to have you in our home. But, an opportunity has been shown to me that I would like to share with you." Gwyneth nodded her interest and he continued. "As you know I have been discussing a business merger with my friends, Cole and Xavier Delaney. They own space in the district and one of their clients is leaving for larger quarters. Cole is a designer. His work is gaining notice and he is seeking to expand." He waved his hand. "All of that is of little interest to you. My point is this. He is offering a partnership to expand his business into custom woven goods."

  Something about the name struck Gwyneth as familiar, but Amal's news put the feeling out of mind. "Oh that is wonderful Amal! Will you be creating fabrics for his line, or
will he add your scarves to it?"

  "Both. But there is something you should know. When we spoke about this, I told him how our business has improved due to your help. He is very interested to meet you. He says he has been looking for a model matching your description and, if all goes well, he would like to offer you a position as the face of his company."

  Faiza clapped her hands. "Oh Gwyneth, this is a very great opportunity. Cole is going to be the next Cavalli, I have no doubt. For you to be the face of his company is an honor! Oh, and you would be perfect for it."

  With every word Faiza spoke, Gwyneth became more confused. "He wants my face?"

  "Yes. You have seen the women in the magazines who model the clothing?" Amal asked, and Gwyneth nodded, still doubtful. "Well, Cole's is a small company and so he wants to focus on a single model, one who will then have her face associated with his designs. You would be his lead runway model as well."

  "Oh, but...I am flattered, but I cannot be a model." She glanced at the boys "The pictures I have seen — they are not always..." she blushed.

  Faiza's gaze sharpened with understanding. "Your modesty does you credit Gwyneth, but you need not be concerned. Amal will act as your manager and he will make sure that you are properly attired."

  "I will ensure that you do not have to model clothing which you feel is inappropriate," Amal amended. He turned to his wife. "Though we see her as a sister, Gwyneth is not of our culture or faith. She must make such decisions for herself, according to her own conscience. I will make certain she is not pressured."

  "As you say, husband. I am sure Gwyneth will make the right choices."

  "And so, Gwyneth, what do you say to this? Is it of interest to you?" Amal asked.

  "I...may I have the night to think about it?"

  "Of course. If you are agreeable, I have a meeting tomorrow with Cole. You can come with me, and meet him."

  "That would be...yes, that would be good." Gwyneth addressed herself to the meal and conversation flowed around her for a time. By the time she and Faiza were clearing the table and setting the kitchen in order, she had come to a decision.