ROOM 571

  A SHANE RILEY ADVENTURE

  BOOK 0

  NICK THACKER

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Books by Nick Thacker

  About the Author

  1

  This is a prequel to the The Shane Riley Adventures. The story continues with Book #1: The Hermit Kingdom, available on Amazon and through Kindle Unlimited.

  Start reading today!

  It was nice not to be shot at for once.

  His entire professional life, thus far, could be summed up in a few words: running from people trying to shoot him.

  He breathed a deep breath of artificially scented air through his nose. The Swiss hotel room was exactly what he expected a fancy hotel room to be. Pleasant, well-decorated, and luxuriously suitable for temporary lodgings, but it would undoubtedly feel awkward and out of place as someone's home.

  He examined his surroundings, squinting intensely. To be fair, he had only seen places like this in movies; he had never stayed in one. His experience in hotels was mostly limited to establishments where he was fortunate if there was a single doughnut or scone available at the continental breakfast the following morning. Or a hot tub that was lukewarm, full of other people’s dirt and grime. Hotels that offered the bare minimum amenities needed for a one-night stay.

  To him, hotel stays were not supposed to be pleasurable experiences but a means to an end.

  He lingered near the doorway, drinking in every detail. His gaze trailed towards the ceiling, noting the decorative elements — what were those things called? Crown molding? A huge flatscreen television displayed a slow-motion video of the hotel grounds. An infinity pool hovering over the edge of a massive cliff the hotel was perched on, an ornate lobby, a chandelier-clad conference area. His name danced across it, superimposed over the scene. It wasn’t the most personal, human way of welcoming him, but he knew it was the thought that counted.

  Welcome. Room 571: Shane Riley.

  A single coffee pot was neatly placed on a table alongside an assortment of cups — two paper, two glass. Everything was neatly wrapped in plastic and set on a large doily.

  Shrugging off his backpack, he threw it onto the bed, watching it land softly — delicately, even — on the duvet.

  Is that what those things are called? He always got the words duvet and bidet confused. French wasn’t his strong suit.

  He attempted to feel annoyance – he found it to be the easiest emotion to summon – but he was having trouble. This place was impressive. Wainscoting reached a third of the way up the wall, with ornate floral wallpaper stretching from there to the ceiling on all four walls. He wandered around the room, examining the bathroom and finding it even more spacious and well-appointed than the pictures had suggested.

  He walked back to the door and pulled it open, poking the little nubby inside the door into the nubby holder on the wall — again, French wasn’t his strong suit — so it would stay open.

  He suddenly wished he had brought Kate with him. She was swamped with a special project in her genetic engineering research department at the university. However, taking Friday and Monday off for a long, luxurious weekend wouldn't have been too much trouble.

  But Shane was also working. He wasn't here for leisure. Trained in the Australian special forces and as a member of the Australian 2nd Commando Regiment, he had traveled plenty. But he had left that job a little over a year ago. Making his own way and seeing the world, he was hoping to set himself up as a "retrieval specialist."

  He wasn't entirely sure what that entailed — he was making it up as he went along — but he knew he could handle it. By his definition, he wanted to be the guy who found and retrieved valuable items for others — prized possessions, art, collectibles, essentially anything worth good money.

  Anything someone else wished to claim as their own.

  He recognized the moral gray area of this line of work, but had chosen not to ponder too deeply those sorts of questions. He would accept jobs on a case-by-case basis, gauging if he was working for the good guys. And generally hoping he was.

  This would, hopefully, lead to his first paid gig. The Swiss hotel was hosting a gala, or as Shane had described it to Kate, a fancy event full of rich people who want things.

  Some of those things, Shane knew, were things he could procure. For a price.

  But he was not able to contemplate more on the matter, because a moment later, someone pulled him back into the life he’d thought he’d left behind.

  Was he being shot at?

  The bullets began to fly, freely and loudly. Shane sprang into action, reacting on instinct. He flung his body onto the floor, hearing gunshots pepper a far wall in the hallway behind him.

  Why did I leave the door open again?

  At least two shooters, one on each side of the corridor.

  Lying prone and facing away from the door, he listened carefully. His pack was on the bed, three feet away, a Glock inside. He pulled himself toward it, lifted his torso over the edge, and snatched the bag, dragging it to the floor. He didn't want to risk any stray shots piercing his hotel room and hitting him.

  He found the Glock a moment later, unloaded but ready. He reached a magazine in the inside pocket and slid it into the base of the gun. He then pivoted, putting his back against the edge of the bed.

  Nice mattress, he mused.

  After a day of travel, he was craving a nap, but sleep would have to wait. His job had started sooner than expected.

  Shane stayed still for another five seconds, straining his ears for any telltale sounds. The firing had ceased, but he hadn't heard the sound of retreating footsteps or a body collapsing. He remembered surveying the carpeted, plush hallway, much like he had done here in this room. The thick carpet would muffle someone's footsteps, making them practically inaudible inside this room unless they were purposefully creating a racket.

  Similarly, the carpet would also absorb the sound of a body dropping after being shot.

  That meant someone was still out there. One of the two shooters was still alive and possibly —

  A figure flashed across his doorway.

  But it wasn't a gunman. All Shane saw were legs — long, slender legs peeking out provocatively from a high slit in a sequined, light-green gown. The gown was perfectly accented by large loop earrings dangling from her ears.

  The woman's skin was dark, and Shane tried to take a mental snapshot as she passed, but he froze when she halted just outside his door.

  How did she see me? The woman had been moving quickly, not quite running but certainly not walking leisurely. She seemed to be in a rush and perhaps had merely gotten lucky, glancing in his direction as she passed his room.

  "Shane Riley?" she asked.

  Or, he considered, she knew I was here and had been looking for me the whole time.

  He swallowed, nodding awkwardly from his position on the floor by the bed.

  "What are you doing? We don't have time. Get up.”

  He attempted to place her accent. It wasn't American, but her English was good. Danish? Norwegian? Swiss? Of course, she could just be from around here. Did those accents even sound the same? He guessed it could be Russian or Ukrainian, too. He'd never been good with languages. He knew a bit of Korean, Spanish, French, and Japanese, but that was primarily because he'd wanted to learn how to order a beer in each of those countries during his time with the Australian military.

  He began to stand, using the bed for support. Apparently, he wasn't moving quickly enough.

  "Hurry!" she barked again, her gaze darting down the hallway. He wondered why she didn't just come into the room. If she was worried about another shooter—

  The deafening sound of her weapon – a subcompact carbine 9mm – firing three quick rounds snapped him out of his thoughts.

  She nodded once, then turned back to him.

  It seemed that any threat she had spotted had been sufficiently dealt with.

  2

  As soon as Shane's left foot hit the carpet outside his door, the woman seized his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved his back against the wall.

  Her forearm lodged just beneath his neck, pinning him and nearly choking him. He strained against her surprising strength, given her slight figure. He squirmed a bit, then understood that she was shielding him. Four shots echoed down the hall, punching through the wall next to Shane's open door.

  He pushed off the wall as soon as her elbow and forearm relaxed, fumbling with his Glock. He transferred it to his good hand and dropped to one knee, surveying the hallway in the opposite direction as the woman. They knelt side-by-side, back to back, each covering opposite ends of the corridor, ready for any more assailants.

  "Two from my side, one from yours," she murmured. Her voice was clipped, low enough that only Shane could hear.

  This woman was seasoned, trained. She knew what she was doing, controlling her breath, preempting the adrenaline surge.

  "Affirmative."

  He wanted to add, who the hell are you? And who the hell is shooting at us? But those were questions for later.

  They navigated the corridor, the woman walking backward, adjacent to Shane's right shoulder, both keeping their weapons trained down their view of the hallway. They reached the end without more gunfire, but Shane was anticipating at least one more assailant from either side.

  As if reading his mind, the woman said, "He was on the right side before, but he may have darted across before I looked back that way."

  Shane nodded. As he edged toward the corner of the corridor, he tried to visualize the layout on the other side of the door. There would be a stairwell, probably a landing, and his memory of the building's exterior suggested stairs running both directions, leading upward and downward.

  That meant any adversary ascending or descending the stairs on the other side would have a direct shot into the hallway. Not ideal, but he could handle it.

  Not to mention, this enigmatic woman who had kept him alive so far and seemed keen on keeping him that way could also handle it. She was both captivating and proficient. Who was she? And why was she here?

  Shane hadn't anticipated company. He'd expected this to be a typical check-in at a hotel, just like anywhere else in the world. Sure, he was here for work—the art auction scheduled for the next morning was to take place in the hotel's grand atrium—but he wasn't aware of any pieces that would provoke this level of hostility.

  Clearly, he'd stumbled into a situation that had been simmering long before his arrival.

  The woman made a two-fingered gesture over her eyes, then indicated one side of the stairwell. He nodded briskly, reaching out to pull the door handle. He waited until a soft click sounded, then threw his left shoulder into the door. Stealth was not an option here, nor was there an opportunity for a proper surprise attack.

  The woman dashed through the open doorway before Shane, covering the right side. He trailed behind, pivoting to the left on the other side of the doorway, only to find the landing and stairwell below deserted.

  "Clear," she whispered.

  He echoed the word, then stole a glance at her while keeping his Glock aimed down the stairs, awaiting her next command.

  It was clear—he was not in control here. He was aiding her in whatever this situation was.

  "Let's move up," she suggested. "We need to get to the roof."

  He didn't argue. He didn't know why they had to reach the roof, and didn't fancy the idea of a prolonged excursion through the hotel, but he had decided not to dispute her. Whatever he had walked into, survival was certainly preferable to the alternative. Staying with her seemed to mean staying alive.

  Shane followed her, ascending the stairs to the right of the doorway. As they ascended, more noise erupted from behind them.

  Two gunshots peppered the other side of the doorway, one bullet pierced through the wall separating the stairs and landing from the rest of the corridor. It appeared their pursuers preferred to shoot first and rely on a lucky ricochet rather than conserving ammunition.

  In other words, whoever was shooting at them really wanted him dead.

  Or maybe it was this woman they were after. Shane hadn't even seen their attackers yet—he didn't know who they were or why they were shooting. The only thing he did know was that he had now landed himself squarely on their hit list.

  As they ascended and rounded the set of stairs to the next floor, Shane wondered if he had made a mistake by following her. Perhaps he had inadvertently allied himself with someone he would have preferred to avoid.

  But she had known his name. She had come straight to his door, seeming to anticipate the attack before it had started.

  They arrived at the sixth floor moments later, once again positioned on either side of the heavy metal stairwell access door. This time, the door would swing towards them, opening into the landing.

  "Do we need to stop here? If we're heading to the roof, shouldn't we just keep going upstairs?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "We have to get to the other side of the hallway first."

  “Why?”

  She remained silent, offering no further explanation.

  Shane shrugged, and waited for her to pull open the door so he could check the hallway. The woman eased the handle, similar to what Shane had done downstairs.

  This time Shane led the way, initially peeking through the gradually widening crack to ensure no one was waiting for them outside this corridor.

  3

  Making it across the hallway was easier said than done. As they darted onto the carpeted corridor of this floor, Shane caught sight of three hotel patrons. One man, walking towards them, and a couple — a man and woman — exiting a room.

  As Shane and his companion burst into the hallway, all three individuals looked up, startled.

  "Shit."

  Shane glanced at the woman he was running alongside but didn't have time to ask questions. She raised her pistol and fired two quick shots, taking out the man just as he turned and let the door close behind him.

  "What the… what the hell?" Shane stuttered.

  But the gown-wearing killer was still moving, still charging forward.

  Suddenly, Shane saw why. The woman – the one he'd thought had been merely a hotel guest, swiftly dove forward onto her knees, producing a silenced PPK and aiming it at them.

  Shane fired quickly, clipping her leg and spinning the woman around.

  Meanwhile, his partner was targeting the lone man farther down the hall, who had also drawn a weapon. It was another silenced pistol that Shane couldn't identify from his distance, but she hit him in the chest twice before he could fire. His gun flew backward, clanging loudly against a light fixture before falling to the floor. The man stumbled but didn't fall, causing Shane to wonder if he was wearing some kind of body armor.

  His focus returned to the woman, still kneeling but now turned so she was facing the opposite wall in the hallway, her side exposed to Shane.

  He fired one more shot, this time hitting her between the ribs under her right arm.

  She gasped, dropping her weapon as she slid to the side. Blood dribbled over her bottom lip, her eyes wide open in shock.

  Shane’s new friend barreled past the dying woman, seemingly unfazed, on her way to finish off the other man.

  He was reaching down, pulling up his pant leg to reveal a small holstered pistol.

  She landed a shot just above his collarbone. Since he was leaning forward to retrieve his weapon, the bullet likely traveled deep into the soft tissue, piercing vital organs.

  He crumpled forward then, dead before he hit the floor.

  "Come on," she called over her shoulder, as if they were on nothing more than a casual stroll to the hotel pool.

  Shane nearly froze, stunned by what he had just done, but he forced himself to keep moving. He had no idea who he was shooting at, who was trying to kill him and this strange assassin who’d found him, but as he'd concluded earlier, she was the only one making an effort to keep him alive.

  They reached the end of this hallway and Shane was preparing to follow her through the door to the landing on the opposite side of the hotel wing when he heard the click of a door. He turned, dropping to a knee and readying his weapon. A man wearing a hotel bellhop uniform poked his head out.

  Just like the other two had pretended to be guests.

  Shane squinted down the sight of his pistol, aiming. From this distance – a mere 20 feet – he wasn't going to miss.

  "Stop!" she ordered.

  Shane hesitated, then felt the woman slap his arm down, forcing his weapon to lower as well.

  "What the hell?"

  The man exited the room fully, pulling a cart filled with suitcases behind him.

  "He's part of the staff," she said softly from behind Shane. "Obviously."

  Shane stared, still suspicious, waiting for the man to reveal a concealed weapon from beneath his bellhop jacket. After another second he spun around, facing her. For the first time, she seemed to look directly at him, as if truly seeing him for the first time today.

  Obviously? Was that sarcasm?

  "Stop wasting time," she added, turning around again and starting up the stairs.

  Shane shook his head in disbelief. "It was obvious?" he muttered to himself, baffled. What on earth was going on?

 

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