he laid down on the horn, joining the unpleasant harmony of the other five or six drivers who were already expressing their displeasure with the delay in traffic.
Sabrina ran the final four blocks.
She slowed as she reached the grand entrance to the Omni Berkshire Hotel, took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Showtime.”
The doorman flashed a wide, pleasant smile and opened the door for her entrance. “Good evening, madam, welcome to the Omni Berkshire Hotel.”
She thanked him and entered the marble-floored lobby. Chandeliers glittered overhead, and a profusion of flowers provided a welcoming ambience. As she paused at the registration desk, the clerk welcomed her with the same enthusiasm as the doorman.
Sabrina returned the pleasant smile. “I have a reservation. Cynthia Freeman.”
A few clicks of the computer keys and he confirmed her reservation. “Yes, here we are.”
She passed him the credit card embossed with the name Cynthia Freeman and about ninety seconds later she had a keycard to Room 608.
The elevator car was waiting, another stroke of good luck. She boarded alone and was glad that it didn’t stop between the lobby and the floor she’d chosen. Outside Room 608 she slid the keycard through the lock, watched for the green light and went inside.
The room was already abuzz with activity.
“Agent Fox has arrived.”
Sabrina winked at Benjamin Trainer as she dropped her briefcase near the door. He was the communications specialist attached to IT&PA, International Temps and Personal Assistants. He could do just about anything with a satellite link. She imagined there were a number of other things he could do quite well, but being coworkers precluded her investigation into the interesting possibility.
“Trainer, you’re looking smart this evening.” She surveyed his lean athletic frame as she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat before shrugging out of the heavy outerwear.
Evidently the man had a date tonight. In seven years, she couldn’t recall seeing him dressed in snug jeans, a pullover sweater that looked exactly like one she’d seen in a Gap ad, and classy loafers. This man never wore anything to work that wasn’t a three-piece suit. His dark hair and green eyes were icing on the cake. But then, this was Friday evening. A handsome young guy like him would certainly have plans.
“Depends upon whether or not you wind this up in a timely manner,” he quipped, one eyebrow cocked in blatant skepticism.
“No pressure, right?” she teased.
Along with Trainer were two other support personnel on site. A control team would be close by, if not already in place.
“This is your uniform, Agent Fox.” Costumer and disguise technician Angie Russell waved her arm to indicate the maid’s uniform, shoes and other accessories displayed across the elegant comforter on the king-size bed.
“Thanks, Angie.” Sabrina was already stripping off her street clothes.
“Nice shoes.” This comment came from operation coordinator Hugo Clay, aka Big Hugh. He stood six-four and weighed about two-fifty. Not the sort of guy one wanted to run into in a dark alley. But Sabrina had figured him out long ago. He was just a big, cuddly teddy bear who could also drop a man in his tracks with nothing but his hands.
Sabrina toed off first one Nike sneaker, then the other. “I wore them just for you, Big Hugh.”
“Let’s move it, people,” Trainer reminded. “Time is of the essence.”
Sabrina’s suit jacket landed on the floor atop her coat. “Yes, sir, Specialist Trainer. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Fox is prepping now, sir,” Trainer said into the mouthpiece of his commo apparatus, ignoring Sabrina’s dig. The sir he reported to was Director Anderson Marx. Talking to the boss or not, Sabrina didn’t miss the way the corners of Trainer’s mouth quirked as he spoke. He liked it when she used that official tone with him, even if she were teasing.
As she wiggled out of her skirt, Big Hugh gently placed a listening device into her right ear. “This will provide you with a constant feed from Trainer and our esteemed Director Marx.”
Sabrina kicked aside her skirt and peeled off her black tights. “Give me the details,” she said to Hugh as she straightened and freed the buttons of her blouse.
“We have Namir Stavi on the 10th floor,” he began.
“Israeli?”
Big Hugh nodded. “He and his wife and two children are here for the Christmas holidays. The Agency picked up on reports that an attempt would be made on Stavi’s life while he was visiting our fair city. He and his family are to be executed, and the act is to be blamed on Muslim radicals who hold American visas.”
“Nice,” she mused. Some jerk was always trying to make someone else look bad on American soil. She could see how the press would be all over that kind of international incident, creating even more tension between the American and the Muslim communities, not to mention the Israelis. Recent events already had Israel a little sensitive where the U.S. was concerned.
“Our polite colleagues thought they had the situation under control,” Big Hugh explained, “but somehow the time line got moved up and the assassins hit twenty-four hours early. The agents doing preliminary surveillance couldn’t move into place swiftly enough to counter the attack, so here we are.”
By “polite colleagues,” Big Hugh meant the FBI. If he’d said our arrogant colleagues he would have meant the CIA. His reference to the Agency meant the National Security Agency, the branch of the government to which their organization was loosely attached.
Sabrina grabbed the maid’s uniform and plunged her arms into the appropriate holes before tugging the thing over her head.
“Pink must be your favorite color, Fox.” This remark came from Trainer. He glanced pointedly at her low-cut pink panties just as she poked her head through the neck of the uniform. “Every time I’ve seen you undress you’re wearing pink panties.”
“That constitutes sexual harassment,” Angie warned him with a glare as she thrust the uniform’s matching cap at Sabrina. From all appearances Angie was a stern woman, stoutly built, just shy of five feet, she had a menacing stare that could wither the staunchest male attitude. She was forty-five if she was a day and mothered the whole lot of them.
Trainer shrugged, his attention shamelessly riveted to Sabrina’s hips as she wiggled into the uniform that fit like a glove. “In my opinion, her taking off her clothes in front of me constitutes the same.”
Sabrina turned her back to Angie for her to take care of the zipping and suggested, “Next time, you strip, too, and we’ll be even.”
Big Hugh’s interest visibly heightened. “That sounds fair.”
Glee glittered in Trainer’s eyes. “Fine. Next time, we’ll all just get naked together.” He directed an amused look at Angie. “Fair is fair.”
“Like hell,” Angie muttered.
Sabrina smoothed a pair of nude hose over her legs, then slipped her feet into the white, rubber-soled shoes. “What kind of firepower do we have?”
Big Hugh pinned a button that declared her employee of the month on the crisply starched lapel of her uniform. “That’s so we can hear you.”
Angie slapped a thigh holster into Hugh’s broad hand and stated, “We’ve got a .32 here.” The weapon was dropped into Sabrina’s palm next.
Sabrina checked the .32, which was loaded.
“That good?” Hugh asked.
She glanced down at the thigh holster he’d just fastened into place. She sheathed the .32 there and let the skirt of her uniform slither back down