Page 26 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
As I lean over to adjust the radio on my belt, I whisper, “Room 204, nightstand drawer. Room 311, bathroom vanity. Room 405, desk drawer. Room 502, closet shelf.”
Her eyes flicker with recognition—our target locations for the traceable jewelry. She gives an almost imperceptible nod before pushing her cart toward the service elevator.
Phase one of Operation Jewelry Heist (Teddy’s name, not mine) is underway.
I spend the morning moving between floors, establishing my presence throughout the hotel while surreptitiously planting our bait. The fake jewelry—convincing costume pieces from Teddy’s collection—has been fitted with tiny GPS trackers linked to an app on my phone. Last night, I hollowed out small sections in each piece and embedded the miniature trackers, then sealed them with a clear epoxy that dried seamlessly. Skills I’d picked up during specialized SEAL training that I never expected to use for a hotel sting operation. Each piece looks valuable enough to tempt our thief but isn’t worth enough to cause serious legal issues when it inevitably disappears.
My security position gives me access to the hotel’s occupancy system—a tactical advantage I’m not above using. I’ve studied the guest schedules, noting check-out times, pre-booked excursions, and restaurant reservations to identify the optimal windows when rooms will be empty.
Room 204: A pearl bracelet that looks like it cost thousands but is really plastic beads on a string. According to the system, the occupants—a family of four from Chicago—have booked a full-day dolphin-watching tour. I verify their departure through the lobby security feed on my phone before heading up. I place the bracelet in the nightstand drawer while pretending to check the smoke detector.
Room 311: Earrings that sparkle like diamonds but are cubic zirconia. The business executive staying here has a conference schedule that keeps him out of the room until late afternoon. I time my “routine security inspection” to coincide with the housekeeping rotation, giving me legitimate access when the guest is guaranteed to be absent. The earrings go in the bathroom vanity while I inspect the shower for leaks.
Room 405: A gaudy ring that resembles an heirloom ruby but is colored glass. This room houses spring breakers who, according to their beach club wristbands, prepaid for an all-day party boat excursion. Easy to predict their absence—they won’t be back until sunset at the earliest. The ring slides into the desk drawer during a routine security check of the balcony locks.
Room 502: A necklace with a pendant that looks like platinum and sapphire but is painted pot metal. A noise complaint from the neighboring room gives me the perfect cover to confirm the guests are at the pool—visible from the hallway window—before entering. This one gets tucked onto the closet shelf while I “investigate” the reported disturbance.
By noon, all four items are in place, and I’ve established a clear presence on all floors—natural enough that no one would question seeing me anywhere in the hotel. Under normal circumstances, I’d have conducted days of surveillance before placing the bait, established multiple fallback positions, and had a team ready to respond. Today, we’re improvising with minimal resources and zero backup.
Now we wait.
I check the tracking app during my lunch break. All four signals are still stationary, exactly where we placed them. But the day is young, and housekeeping rounds are just beginning in earnest.
As I patrol the second floor, I spot Teddy exiting room 204, her cleaning cart fully stocked. Her eyes meet mine briefly as I pass, her expression giving nothing away. But I notice her hand make a subtle thumbs-up gesture at her side, confirming she’s seen the bracelet and left it in place for our thief to find.
“Conrad,” my radio crackles, Roberts’ voice cutting through the static. “Report to the fourth floor. Guest complaint.”
I acknowledge the call and head to the elevator, ignoring the flutter of concern. Fourth floor—where we’ve planted the fake ruby ring in room 405. Could be coincidence, could be our trap already springing, could be Roberts positioning me away from Teddy. Hard to tell without more information.
The “guest complaint” turns out to be legitimate—a family upset about the noise from the room above them, demanding to be moved. Standard spring break issue that any security officer could handle. It takes twenty minutes to resolve, relocating the family to a quieter section of the hotel and issuing a warning to the rowdy college students above.
As I finish up the paperwork at the front desk, I notice Roberts watching me from his office, his expression calculating. Has he assigned me busy work to keep me occupied? Or am I getting paranoid, seeing conspiracy where there’s just normal hotel management?
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Checking it discreetly, I see a notification from the tracking app. The bracelet in room 204 is on the move.
Game on.
I casually make my way back to the second floor, watching the tracker’s progress on my phone. The signal moves down the hallway, then stops near the service elevator. Interesting. I round the corner just in time to see Lisa from housekeeping pushing her cart into the elevator, her expression neutral as the doors close.
Lisa works the fourth floor primarily—what is she doing on the second floor? And why is the tracker signal now heading downward with her?
I take the main elevator down, arriving at the ground floor just as the tracker signal moves through the staff areas toward the employee locker room. Perfect timing—my break is officially starting, giving me a legitimate reason to be in the employee section.
The locker room is empty except for Lisa, who stands with her back to the door, doing something at her locker. She startles when I enter, closing the locker quickly.
“Conrad,” she acknowledges with forced casualness. “Busy morning?”
“Spring break,” I reply with a shrug, moving to my own locker as if I’m just here to grab something for my break. “How’s fourth floor treating you?”
“The usual chaos.” She fidgets with her keycard, not quite meeting my eyes. “Carmen had me cover a few rooms on second since Eduardo called in sick.”
That explains her presence on the second floor, but not why our tracker is now stationary inside her locker. I make a show of checking my phone while discreetly confirming the signal location.
“Well, back to it,” Lisa says, a bit too brightly. “Those rooms won’t clean themselves.”
As she leaves, I text Teddy:Bracelet on the move. L took it. Signal in employee locker room now.
Her response comes quickly:Check other trackers?
