Page 121 of The List

Once past the short entrance way Victor Jacks pounced, wrapping an arm around the man’s neck and clamping a cloth soaked in anesthetic across the face. Wyler resisted, but the compound worked fast and the big man’s body went limp. Jacks allowed it to ease down to the carpet and released his hold.

No one spoke. No one had to.

Each knew exactly what to do.

JACKS WAS ALREADY WEARING A WHITE SHIRT WITH DARK PANTS ANDblack bow tie to look like a room steward. Skintight latex gloves were quickly camouflaged beneath a white-cloth pair that Jacks yanked from his pocket. A bottle of champagne was chilling in a silver bucket, two crystal glasses and a red rose beside on a tray. Jacks carefully balanced the tray on his fingertips. He held the gun in his right hand, finger on the trigger, concealed behind his back and headed for the door, stepping over Wyler’s body.

Barnard opened it.

He approached, looked both ways, then stepped out.

Room 478 was across the hall, a few feet down to the right. Quickly, he exited and was able to tap on the door with the sound suppressor at the end of the gun barrel without being seen. The first knock went unanswered. The room was a suite, Greene most likely in the outer bedroom.

He knocked again.

A door opened, then closed on the other side. A peephole provided only the appearance of a bow-tie-wearing steward balancing a tray of champagne.

“What do you want?” Greene asked from behind the door.

“Champagne, Mr. Greene. Compliments of the hotel. Our thanks for your patronage.”

He understood the plan. Greene’s vanity should allow a momentary drop in guard. After all, Greene had been staying at the Regency Arms for years, feeling right at home. A complimentary bottle of champagne would be expected, not suspected.

The door’s lock released, then opened.

Jacks moved forward, turning slightly to the right and shielding the gun. “Where would you like this, sir?”

“Over there on the table is fine.”

The lawyer was dressed in one of the hotel’s terry-cloth bathrobes, loosely tied at the waist, the distinctive gold crescent logo embroidered on the pocket. Thin hairy legs and bare feet stuck out the bottom. Jacks deftly set the tray down on the table. Greene closed the door and momentarily turned his back on what he thought was a room steward.

Jacks used the moment to level his gun.

“Mr. Greene, keep your mouth shut and do exactly what I tell you.”

To the right was the closed door leading to the bedroom. He knew Vikki Wyler was waiting for Greene to return and he didn’t want her to hear him, so he kept his voice low.

“Move away from the door.”

He waved the sound-suppressed barrel of the gun.

Fear filled Greene’s square face. The lawyer backed away.

Jacks approached the hallway door and cracked it open.

JON SAW THE DOOR MOVE.

Immediately, he and Barnard popped out of Room 479 and entered 478.

“Good evening, Mr. Greene.”

He closed the door and signaled Barnard, who whipped out a sound-suppressed pistol and leveled the barrel at Greene, taking over the watch. Jacks grabbed a pillow from the sofa, approached the bedroom, turned the knob, and swung the heavy door inward. The outside wall was lined with tall windows, their sheers and tapestry draperies drawn, casting the furniture in dim shadows.

Vikki Wyler lay naked on the covers.

She rolled over as the door opened. “Who was that, Lou?”

She stopped in mid-sentence, realizing the man in the doorway was not Greene and he had a gun. She was just about to scream when Jacks positioned the pillow over the gun and pumped two shots into her chest, then another in her head. All three came out as soft pops from both the pillow and the sound suppressor. The slug in her head never exited, but the two in the chest went right through, blood and sinew splattering the mahogany headboard and papered wall.