The concierge watched the woman as she entered the hotel. She was dressed in a white pant suit with dark sunglasses covering her eyes. Hands in pockets, four-inch heels clicking on the tile floor. She approached the elevators and pushed the call button.
She stood and waited with a teenage boy who was pre-occupied with his blackberry. The woman stared straight ahead and walked into the elevator when it dinged.
The woman stepped off alone at the 17th floor of the Grande Trip. The floors were shiny and the walls were decorated with exquisite paintings. The doors were equipped with locks with key cards. The woman removed a card from her coat pocket and inserted it into the slot.
A small click and the door opened when she pulled the handle. The woman entered the room and looked around slowly. Everything appeared to be clean and untouched.
She proceeded to the bedroom on the left side of the room and opened the door. The bedroom was in chaos. Everything appeared to be covered in dried blood.
A man lay on the floor with his throat slit open. His dark suit was disheveled and he lay on his back. A purple tie lay a few feet away.
A woman was on the bed, probably naked under the sheet; a line of sputtered blood lined the headboard of the bed.
The woman slowly backed away from the sight and shut the door. She returned to the living room and looked around again.
Making a decision, she removed a pair of black gloves from her pockets and did a quick search of the room, turning over any and all possible hiding places. Nothing. The woman then removed a phone from her coat pocket and dialed.
'Yes?' the voice inquired.
'We have a problem.'
Silence.
'It's not here, and the couple is dead.'
More silence.
'I say we move to plan B'
'Do it' came the reply.
