John gave the desk clerk $100 and instructions to enjoy the football game on TV and forget that they were ever there. While he took care of that task, Shane checked the camera and handed it to Steve.
"You know how to use that?" Shane asked.
Steve rolled his eye. "Yeah, like I've forgotten how to take pictures between the set-up we did for Daniels and now?"
"Sorry," Shane said sheepishly. He had forgotten all about that "Of course you do." He looked away and adjusted the sleeves on his black sweater. After this encounter with Benson and Rachel Knight, they would be heading straight to the ISA field office.
"You sure you're okay, dude?"
Shane just nodded, but he did not have to answer because John reappeared.
"We ready?" he asked.
Shane held up his lockpicks. "Everyone knows what they're supposed to do?" When both Steve and John nodded, Shane said, "Okay. No sound until we're inside."
"You got it," Steve said. He looked the camera over and then readied it. "At the rate I'm going, the ISA should get me press credentials."
Together, they snuck silently to the door of room 109. Taking care not to jar the lock and make any noise, Shane slipped the locks into place and felt for the pins. He need not have worried about making noise. The sounds from inside the room were so loud that they could be heard through the door. There was no way the occupants could hear what was happening outside.
"Not exactly sound-proof-" Steve muttered, cutting off abruptly when Shane and John both glared at him. He noiselessly mouthed, "Okay, okay," in response.
The picks now in place, Shane looked at Steve then John and mouthed, "on three." He bobbed his head once, then twice, and, finally, a third time, just as he pulled the top pick, freed the pins, and swung the door open.
Steve rushed by, clicking away furiously with the camera. John followed close behind. Shane put his lockpicks into the small, black bag he was carrying and then entered, closing the door behind him. Despite moving more slowly than the others, he was still inside by the time the couple in bed realized they were no longer alone. Rachel pulled at the sheets to cover herself and began to shriek.
"Uh, huh, little lady," John said. He grabbed her and cupped her mouth, stifling her screams. As she struggled under John's grip, the sheets fell out of her hands, once again exposing herself to the camera.
"What's going-" shouted the field director, but he stopped when Steve shoved him back onto the bed and he recognized Shane. "Donovan, I should have known."
Shane could not stop himself from smirking. "You should have been more careful, actually." He turned to Steve. "Got what we need?"
"Absolutely," Steve said. "I'll either win a Pulitzer or make a mint from Playboy."
The field director's eyes went wide. "You can't. . . . Do you know what this will do to the ISA?"
"Actually, it won't do a thing for the ISA," Shane said. "Your career on the other hand. . . ."
Shane knew that would hit Benson where it hurt. The man cared about little other than advancing his career.
"Please," the man begged. "I-" He was cut off by a yelp from John.
"She bit me," he snapped, pulling his hand from Rachel's mouth.
She glared at him. "You're lucky that's all I did," she snarled. "You won't get away with this. I'll destroy all of you."
"How, lady? With another article about our unsavory pasts?" Steve chuckled. "I think you've exhausted your sources."
"And now we know exactly who that source is," Shane said, slyly grinning at Rachel. "You really will do anything for a story, will you? But then I should've know that from our little meeting in Riyadh." He turned to the field director. "I do hope you keep your waste-bins emptied. Ms. Knight is quite diligent in her snooping."
Rachel sneered. "If you're under the impression that I can't write more about you, Shane, you're wrong."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I don't have that impression at all." Shane turned back to her. "However, I doubt the Boston Globe and whatever other news services you work for will appreciate it being revealed that their ace reporter has to sleep with her potential sources. And I assure you that the photos will be quite revealing."
Rachel continued to sneer, but finally looked away. Shane could tell that she knew they had her over a barrel. "So what do you want from me?" she demanded.
Steve laughed. "What do we want from you?" he said. "Lady, you'd be the runaway winner in an 'all about me' sweepstakes, but, surprise, we don't want anything from you."
"Not yet," Shane corrected. The photographs could come in use down the road. The threat of exposure might prevent Rachel from writing any more of her character-assassination pieces. But for now that was an ancillary benefit of this mission. Focusing on the primary objective, he turned back to Benson. "Give me your username and password for the ISA computers."
The field director shook his head. "I can't do that."
"Of course you can, pal." John leaned close and gave a threatening stare. "All you do is tell us your username and password, and then we can be on our way."
"If they found out I gave you my password, my career would be over," Benson said.
Steve rolled his eye. "And it won't be over when they find out you've been sleeping with a reporter - a reporter who just happens to be publishing story after story with quotes from anonymous ISA sources?"
"Of course, it will be," Shane said, answering Steve's question. "One look at these pictures and the ISA will know exactly who Ms. Knight's source happened to be." The terrified look on Benson's face was quite amusing. As Shane had predicted, the man folded easily. Crossing his arms and letting his amusement show, Shane explained Benson's options. "Now, you have two choices. Either you don't give us what we want, we release these photographs to the press, and the net result is that both of your careers are destroyed."
"Or?" Rachel asked.
"Or Benson gives us his username and password, we do what we need to do with that information without being detected by the ISA, and nobody ever has to know about your little indiscretion." Shane looked at Benson. "So which will it be?"
Benson glared some more. "What's to stop me from calling the ISA the minute I give you the password."
"Nothing, other than the fact that they will almost certainly want to know the circumstances under which I obtained the password." Shane chuckled. "Which will have the same result as your first choice. Oh . . . I forgot to mention that if you don't give us the password voluntarily, we will obtain it through other means."
Steve smiled cruelly. "You really don't want to see what those are."
Through gritted teeth, Rachel said to Benson, "Tell them."
Benson seemed to hesitate, but he finally relented and gave them a series of numbers that Shane suspected corresponded to the date of Benson's promotion to Salem field director. That was hardly a surprise.
"So are you going to let us go now?" Rachel asked.
Shane reached into his black bag and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. He tossed one to John and one to Steve.
"You can't," Benson said, his eyes going wide. "What if someone-"
"Finds you, pal?" John chuckled as he ignored Rachel's struggles and pulled her hands behind her. "Don't worry. They'll just assume this is your way of having fun."
"It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?" Steve joked. He shut one cuff closed around Benson's right wrist, strung it through a gap in the bed frame, and then snapped the second cuff shut on Benson's left wrist. Finishing that, he looked up at Shane. "You got the rest?"
Shane nodded and rooted through the bag again to produce two gags. He tossed them to Steve and John.
"No!" Rachel shouted, but John stuffed the gag into her mouth before she could say anything else.
"Thanks," John said lightly. "Opening wide made that a lot easier." Rachel's response was a few unintelligible grunts. "You know," John added. "I think I like her better this way."
Shane had to laugh a little. Meanwhile, Steve was trying to get Benson's gag in place.
"You won't get away with this, Donovan," Benson said bitterly. "When Tarrington hears about this . . . blackmail, I - mmmmpphhh." The gag finally silenced him.
"This isn't blackmail. It's leverage," Shane replied. "And you won't tell Tarrington a thing. Not if you value your job like I think you do." He looked at John and Steve, who both nodded, signaling they were done. "Now, you just hang tight, mate. We have a spot of business to take care of, but we'll be back to let you go in a few hours. At least, you'd better hope we're back in a few hours seeing as if we get caught, we may have to explain how we accessed the ISA computers."
The two sets of angry eyes glaring back at him were all the response he got. Shane turned toward the door and started heading back to the car. Behind him, Steve apparently could not resist one last jibe.
"You take it easy, you crazy kids," Steve said. "This kinky stuff . . . it does seem to get out of hand, doesn't it?"