“We need to know the room number of one of your guests, Bruce Condor.”

Up went the chin, his shoulders squared. “You will need a warrant for that, Agent. We value our guests’ privacy.”

Kelly told him this man was the prime suspect in the attempted bombing of St. Pat’s. Mr. Gibson was not moved. He thrummed with attitude.

“As I already said, you will need a warrant,” he said, and Sherlock would swear he smirked.

Kelly stepped around his desk and right into his face. “Mr. Gibson, this is a matter of national security. If you do not allow us immediate access, I’ll call my brothers at the Baltimore FBI Field Office back and tell them to arrive in full SWAT gear, ready to search the hotel. I can’t imagine that would make your guests very happy. Has it occurred to you that your company might find fault with you for trying to harbor a known terrorist?” She leaned in close. “I hope he was happy with your room service, by the way, otherwise, given who and what he is, he might come back and pay you a personal visit.” She held out her hand. “Give me the card key. Now.”

Mr. Gibson dropped the snark and called up the data on his laptop. He buzzed the front desk, and when another clerk arrived, he handed Sherlock the card key. “Suite 613,” Gibson said, attitude back in full force. “Mr. Condor is not here. And before you ask, he did not register a car in our parking garage, nor do we have any record of his destination today.”

Kelly asked, “How long ago did he check out?”

Gibson looked at the registration clerk. “Less than an hour ago.”

“Has the room been cleaned yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Probably not, Mr. Gibson,” the clerk said.

They left Mr. Gibson and headed across the lobby. Kelly saw all the agents were in place. Cal joined them as they headed toward the bank of elevators. He waved the photo. “Day shift, no luck.”

They rode to the top floor and walked to the end of the long corridor to a set of locked double doors, suite 613. They drew their Glocks, stuck in the key card without knocking, and pushed both doors open. A young woman who had folded clean towels draped over her arm let out a scream.

Luckily, she’d just arrived. They hustled her and her cart out of the suite and started searching.

“Even on the run, our guy likes his pleasures,” Kelly said, looking around at the luxury suite with a view of the Inner Harbor.

The three of them split up the big suite and went to work. They were about ready to hang it up when there was a knock on the door. It was Jeb from the registration desk. “Mr. Condor ordered room service after midnight last night. A bottle of Golden Slope chardonnay and some food. I checked with the kitchen, and the employee who delivered the order is still here.”

Sherlock wanted to kick herself. She hadn’t thought to ask about room service. She wondered if Mr. Gibson knew Jeb had brought them this information.

Elena Wisk was tall, thin, and pretty, and looked both tired and excited. She nearly bounced into the suite, then suddenly yawned right in front of them. She flushed with embarrassment, told them she was just going off duty from the night shift. Evidently, Jeb hadn’t told her Mr. Condor was a terrorist—yet, at least.

Yes, she’d brought Mr. Condor a tuna salad sandwich with potato chips and a bottle of chardonnay. He was good-looking, she said, but he looked tired. He told her the chardonnay would help him sleep, and he had a big day tomorrow—today, now—and he wanted to be ready. “I uncorked the chardonnay for him and told him I was from northern California. I said something about Golden Slope being a good choice. It’s from a Napa winery I’d visited some years ago. He said it was better than anything he’d ever tasted from his family’s vineyard. I asked him where that was, and he frowned and got me out of the suite real fast. I guess he didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t know why. He gave me a big tip.”

Slipped up there, didn’t you, Hercule? Cal showed Elena his picture of Samir Basara. She nodded. “Yes, that’s him.”

They asked her more questions, but the well was dry. Then, on her way out of the suite, Elena turned in the doorway, “I guess I’m really tired. I forgot, Mr. Condor was talking on his cell phone when I arrived.”

All three of them went on red alert. Kelly asked, “Did you hear anything he said, Elena?”

Elena pursed her lips. “I wasn’t really listening, you know? But it was something about the person he was talking to doing a good job and he knew he could always count on him, something like that. That’s all I got. What’d he do? Something really bad?” She shivered.