Free Time to Hide by John Gilstrap Page A

he needed a walk in the fresh air. Ever since he’d stepped clear of those concrete walls, he couldn’t get enough fresh air. Even the palatial digs of the Governor’s Suite seemed too small and stuffy for him. And on top of all that, he had to do something to distract himself from the pressure in his crotch.
    The elevator took him to the ground floor. As the door opened on the lobby, he stepped out onto the polished floor. The place seemed busier than he would have expected for so late an hour. Not crowded by any stretch, there were still six or seven people clustered near the front desk, and a couple more milling about the main entrance at street level. Two of the men near the front doors were cops, dressed in gray and black polyester uniforms. They didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, yet they seemed to be a bit on edge.
    Something wasn’t right here. Of the people who weren’t in uniforms, all were fully dressed in a way that didn’t jibe with the hour. Three in the morning is the end of anybody’s work day, yet these guys all looked fresh. One wore a well-tailored suit, and he stood with his hands on his hips, talking with someone behind the front desk. When he turned at just the right angle, Brad caught of flash of steel on the man’s belt.
    He was a cop, too.
    Holy shit, they were all cops, and they were clearly waiting for something. Or some one.
    Okay, don’t panic, he told himself, but the panic didn’t listen. They couldn’t possibly have caught up with him this quickly. They couldn’t have traced the credit card—not yet, anyway—nor could they have traced the car. It was too soon. Vinnie Campanella was just learning to find his way around a foreign country, for heaven’s sake. He should be too busy to be worried about a robbery that happened the day before and an ocean away.
    Nicki swore she’d followed the instructions he’d given her. She said she’d paid only cash and kept a low profile.
    Yet, here they were, and what were the chances that there’d be more than one cop-magnet staying in the hotel tonight?
    The answer came a moment later, as activity beyond the glass doors drew everyone’s attention to the front of the building. Just from the way people snapped to, Brad got the impression that the person they’d been waiting for had arrived. Maybe this was just the protection detail for some visiting dignitary.
    One of the uniformed cops opened the door for a man who looked like he was probably a cop, but who walked like he needed rest. Two steps behind, he saw a face that looked vaguely familiar to him.
    It took only a few seconds for him to recognize the second man as Carter Janssen.
    * * *
    Carter was impressed by the level of deference shown to Warren Michaels as he passed his troops. He sensed in them a great desire to please, tinged with just a touch of fear about getting on his wrong side. They hadn’t taken five steps into the lobby when a well-dressed man stepped forward to greet them. Carter’s first instinct told him that the guy had to be the manager of the hotel, but then he saw the badge clipped to his belt.
    Warren took care of the brusque introductions. “Sergeant Jed Hackner, Counselor Carter Janssen.” The men shook hands even as Warren continued to speak. “What do we know?”
    Hackner said, “Not enough. The clerk says that he recognized the face on the news as a guest in the hotel, but that he doesn’t know the guy’s name.”
    â€œAre we talking about the eleven o’clock news?” Warren asked, incredulous. “Why are we just hearing about it now?”
    â€œThey rebroadcast the news at two-thirty. That’s when the guy caught it.”
    Warren led the way to the front desk, where a clerk in a gray vest looked scared to death standing next to an older woman who bore a striking resemblance to Queen Elizabeth. “This is Missy