Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller) by Brett Battles, Robert Gregory Browne

the product of a Hollywood production designer.  
    Now she understood why this plane hadn’t been modernized. It wasn’t out of place. It was just another part of the image and illusion of St. Cajetan.
    Alex knew from the Stonewell briefing that at eighty miles long and thirty miles wide, St. Cajetan was one of the larger of the seven hundred islands that made up the Commonwealth of the Bahamas, and had been sold to a private developer in the early eighties for a rumored five hundred million American dollars. It was now a sovereign state with its own government and paramilitary police force and economy. Over the last three decades, the developer, an egocentric billionaire named Leonard “Leo” Latham, had built the place into the exclusive tourist mecca it was today, and had reportedly tripled his investment and then some.
    Over the intercom, the pilot welcomed them all to “paradise.” The floatplane made its descent and landed smoothly on the glassy surface of the water in Latham’s Cove—yes, the developer had named it after himself—and cruised toward a large wooden dock. Several hundred yards beyond a wide stretch of sand, the Hotel St. Cajetan greeted them in all its Habana-wannabe glory, while dockside, a cadre of smartly uniformed bellboys waited with their suitcase carts as the plane came to a stop and cut its engine.
    “Welcome to paradise” was repeated several times as Alex, Deuce, and their jewelry-jangling fellow passengers unstrapped their seat belts and stepped onto the dock.
    Alex knew she was supposed to have her game face on, but she was distracted by lingering thoughts of Uncle Eric and his presence in the wedding video. It bothered her that she couldn’t remember his last name. She knew it was sitting somewhere at the periphery of her mind, but until it came forward, she wouldn’t be able to run a check on the guy. She had considered using Stonewell’s facial recognition software, but knew the video was too old and fuzzy for reliable results.
    Setting it aside for the time being, she reminded herself she was now Alexandra Barnes, travel correspondent extraordinaire, and waited as Deuce supervised the loading of his equipment onto one of the bellboy’s carts. She then followed them up the dock toward the hotel lobby.
    Let the games begin.

CHAPTER 10

    C OOPER GREETED THEM with a big smile. “Alexandra…Sticks… Glad to see you finally made it.”
    The hotel lobby was about half the size of an airport hangar, impeccably decorated with French leather club sofas and chairs, flanked by what looked like authentic Edgar Brandt side tables and lamps. The textured tile floor was polished to such a high shine that Alex almost felt guilty walking across it.
    As Cooper told the bellboy there were more bags in the hotel’s storage room, Alex said quietly to Deuce, “Sticks?”
    “McElroy’s contribution to my cover,” he told her. “Apparently a lot of camera guys get saddled with the name because of the tripod.”
    She rolled her eyes. “He watches too much TV.”
    “What he lacks in imagination he makes up for with a nice, fat discretionary spending budget. If I didn’t like the money he’s paying me, I’d have to kick his ass.”
    “If you let yourself get lured into another poker game, I’ll have to kick yours. ”
    Deuce grimaced. “Don’t worry, I’ll never make that mistake again.”
    While the bellboy was away fetching their things, Cooper said, “The good news is, Warlock hacked the hotel’s reservation system and switched us to a four-bedroom suite on Favreau’s floor. The bad news is, it’s across the hall instead of next door, so setting up surveillance could get complicated.”
    “Why couldn’t he get the suite next door?” Deuce asked.
    “It’s been occupied for the last month by some British rock star I’ve never heard of. Except for the parade of groupies going in and out of the room, he’s holed up in there like a hermit.”
    Deuce sighed. “I knew I