My two teammates nod at me as I enter then slide the door shut. No one notices me sneaking out of the hotel and into a van in the parking lot. The all-clear arrives a matter of moments later and I dissolve into the night. I place the key in the nightstand drawer next to the wallet, phone, and fountain pen. Besides, our clients don’t always stay under their own names and, this way, not only do they not need a passport, they don’t need any ID at all. So much faster than waiting for a hotel employee. The process is also more efficient if we hack into the hotel’s computers.
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The process is more efficient if my teammates rectify the hotel’s records while I’m installing the client and I’ve been trained to break into places way tougher to crack than hotel rooms. The room’s key card slides under the door into the room. While I wait for the all-clear, I collapse the luggage bags-can’t expect the ultra-rich to pack for themselves-for ease of carry. I tap my earpiece and indicate the client has been installed. He’ll wake up in the morning-a few hours from now-already adjusted to UTC+1. They’ve been keeping him in REM sleep and adjusting his circadian rhythms. I peel the patches off his temple then tuck them into my pants pocket.
I’m sure someone found that funny once and it stuck. Internally, we’ve always called ourselves BedEx. There are no short cuts here, just private jets and a lot of impeccably trained teammates doing the impossible. Someone else in the company gets to make sure he wakes up in his own bed in New York after he falls asleep here in Zurich however many days from now. Whether bypassing all those layers of security is a necessity-say, he no longer has a passport and no other way to leave the country-or just a convenience is none of my business. At no point does anyone produce a passport or have anything inspected. My job is to make sure that once he falls asleep in his bed in New York, he wakes up the next morning in this bed in Zurich.
The most garish thing in the room is the basket of champagne and caviar on the desk next to the briefcase. The furniture is all clean lines and rounded corners. The hotel room is surprisingly small, but functional and tasteful. His briefcase and business documents are sitting on the desk. His clothes have been unpacked and stowed in the dresser drawers or hanging in the closet. His wallet, phone, and fountain pen are in the nightstand drawer. I do one final sweep of the hotel room to make sure everything is in order. Slowly, I lower him then tuck him into the bed. There’s a conversation drifting past on the side of the door, but the room is dark and silent. Not only do the ultra-rich not appreciate being bruised, though, once they’re conscious again, they have the means to make sure you don’t appreciate it either. The company seems to assign me only the heaviest clients. Right now, the client may as well be a loaded barbell, except his body gives and his weight shifts more as I walk toward the bed. His immaculately tailored silk pajamas are soft against my hand. I have an arm around his thigh, another around his upper arm.
The client lies slumped across my shoulders.
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