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fitted it back together he wiped it down to be uniformly shiny. The key cards went inside the plastic cover of the hotel room service menu. It was a slide in folder so they could change inserts, but a very tight fit.
    He considered finding the cleaning cart room and using one to access the shooter's room. But he had nothing with which to disguise himself as a cleaning lady. Pushing a cart down the hall after check-in hours started would draw attention immediately. Anybody from the hotel he ran into would want to know what the hell he thought he was doing. In the morning all the carts would be in use and the only way he could get control of one would be to bribe or incapacitate a cleaning person. The only reasonable thing he could think of, after considering all sorts of ploys, seemed to be to brazen out his movements as soon as possible, before everyone was on alert status for the visit in the morning.
    Once his things were in his room, he took the luggage cart in the elevator, back down to the parking deck. He got in the minivan and pulled on dark pants over his khakis, rolled up his sleeves and put a crushable hat on that was part of his usual kit, to change his appearance. Then he ducked down, using the van to shield himself from the security camera and came out from behind a car further down the row wheeling the golf bag. The luggage cart was still in the elevator when he called it back.
    This trip in he had only the golf bag on the luggage cart, laying on top of the thin rifle case. Once someone saw the familiar golf bag, they'd assume the case, of a similar length, was just more golf gear. It likely shielded it from view of the high mounted security cameras completely. Otis kept his head down, so his face was hidden from the security camera by the floppy brim. As an added disguise he drew a gang tattoo on the back of his hand with his pen and made sure the camera saw it. It would come off easily enough with a disinfectant wipe. Going directly to the room he swiped himself in, without a guilty look either way in the hall. The suite had the look of one used as an apartment instead of for travelers. His conspirators probably knew the owner was on a trip or something.
    The desk, dragged into the middle of the room, made a fine shooting bench. It took less than five minutes to refit the barrel and position everything. Just for insurance, besides the plugged bore, he turned on the scope and changed the zero point up a meter and a half meter to the right, deleting the history. He positioned the window breaching charge clipped on the edge of the curtain, instead of on the glass where it might be visible with binoculars and wired it up to a brand new throw-away cell phone. The drapes were only open about an inch. Hopefully that wouldn't bring anybody from the coming security team to inspect the room. The golf bag was unimportant, assuming Keith sanitized it properly, so it was left in the corner of the room.
    Otis left, walking from the Sheraton along the street, until he found a place for lunch. The dark pants went in the trash can in the men's room; the hat rolled up was tucked under his waist band. It was a pleasant walk back to his room, where he cleaned up a little and flushed his gloves and wipes from removing his fake tattoo. He put his clothing out for the hotel to dry clean over night, in the little bag provided, dressed with a jacket and no tie instead of a suit, this was California after all and drove the minivan back to Keith.
    A stop at a print shop got him a memory card his computer could read. While Keith finished up business to get ready for their signing, Otis sat at the small conference table in his office. He opened a throwaway mail account and contacted Credit Suisse. A few minutes work had the account balance shifted to a new account he was sure had no cosigners. Something he'd have been unable to do without an initial account. A little more work sent half to a new account at First Caribbean on Grand Turk.