Chapter 168

HASSAN HELD HIS BREATH as he side-stepped into the suite. He was sweating buckets, and there was nothing he could do about it. His contact had come through, all right, but the tech was old, janky, and volatile. His luck, the devices would blow too early.

"Watch it," he snapped at the American idiot.

"Over there," the man gestured at the table.

"I know where chairs go."

Hassan led the line of people with dining chairs toward the table. He slipped around to the designated spot for Mr. and Mrs. Smith, placing them exactly so.

It wasn't strictly necessary that the chairs be the Smiths'. Close proximity would do nicely, but he wasn't going to take a chance. He directed the other staffers, adjusting chairs, hustling about, keeping his head down.