Chapter Forty-Nine
Sax glanced at her watch as the bus stopped in front of the Rembrandt Hotel lobby doors. 3:59 a.m. in London. Right on time.
The air brakes sighed and the door swung open. After a grin and a thanks to the driver Sax bounded down the three steps and stood at the bottom watching as the nervous passengers began to disembark.
One man, wearing a heavy wool coat, dark glasses, an ivory-white scarf around his neck, and reeking of stale scotch, stopped to ask if the presidential suite was available.
Sax smiled tightly and directed him to the lobby where he could enquire at the front desk. Great. A drunk. Just what every wedding needs. He looked her up and down, grunted, and headed for the doors. “Have the porter bring my bags to my suite,” he said, walking away with
