The Wrong Lawyer by Donald W. Desaulniers Page A

story was too recent to
have made it into the papers.
    My supper arrived
on a tray wheeled in by the same guard.
    My mind was
whirring as I ate the food. There must be some way to escape out into the city.
    The room was on a
high floor and there was no balcony. Also, this was not an interconnecting room
with a door leading to an adjoining room. The only exit was through the main
door.
    When I had
finished eating, I flung the room door open.
    Both guards
immediately sprang up and simultaneously blocked the doorway.
    “You can remove
the serving cart,” I said politely. “It was very good. Thank you. It’s lonely
in here. Are you authorized to come in and keep me company?”
    “No, sir; our
instructions are to ensure that you remain in the room and to bring you
whatever you need. Please refrain from opening the door again. If you require
anything, use the telephone to relay your request to the agent manning the line.”
    “Sorry, fellows;
nobody informed me of those rules.”
    From the way the
two guards coordinated the removal of the serving tray, it was apparent that I
had zero chance to make a run for it. At least I had been able to discover that
my room was at the extreme end of the plushy carpeted corridor.
    A physical escape
was out of the question.
    I popped open an
Old Milwaukee and sat on the sofa to reassess my situation, and I began reading
the various newspapers in more detail.
    The idea popped
into my head, likely influenced by movies I had seen, that a possible way to get
out of this room would be to fake a heart attack.
    With that general
plan in mind, I began to formulate a detailed course of action.
    Although I
appeared to be in a hotel room, nothing had been left revealing the name of the
establishment. The room service menu’s cover had been removed and the
stationery in the desk was generic as was the toiletries in the bathroom and the
ice bucket and glasses. It was clear from looking out the windows that I had
been plunked right in the downtown area of the city, as there were high-rise
buildings everywhere within my view.
    I supposed that it
was conceivable that I was in fact in some government building, although upon
further reflection, I highly doubted that. Even though I had been blindfolded, the
entire journey inside this building had been on carpeted hallways. Even the
elevator had plush carpet. This must be a commercial hotel. The glimpse I had
of the hallway outside the room was of a typical high-end hotel.
    For the next
couple of hours I scoured the editorial pages of the papers.
    One of the guards
suddenly entered the room and plunked my sports bag down on the carpet.
    “Here are your
clothes and personal effects, sir. Your wallet and money will be returned to
you at a later time.”
    I thanked him as
he departed and closed the door.
    As I casually
unpacked my belongings and put them away on hangers or in drawers, it struck me
that the government was almost certainly taping any conversations I had in this
room. They had already demonstrated that they had perfected the technology.
    Were they also
videotaping me?
    If that were the
case, then a successful escape would be impossible if my actions inside the
room didn’t correspond with the medical emergency I was faking.
    I tried to examine
the room with a view to spotting where a hidden camera might be cleverly
concealed, but that task was impossible for an amateur like me with no security
training.
    The most likely
places were behind mirrors or inside air vents.
    The concept of
writing out the details of my contact with and concerns about Bander Haddad
sprung to mind.
    Then, when I was
examined by a doctor or rushed to the hospital, I could secretly hand the
letter off with instructions to deliver it to a newspaper.
    The more I thought
about it, the more problems came to mind.
    For one thing, the
doctor would almost certainly be in the employ of the government so he or she
would never pass along my letter.
    An additional
impediment to success