The Reception: Aya/Schreient/Ken/Open
The art house was remote enough that most of the cars parked nearby belonged to guests or staff of the reception, and all of those have a registered license plate that matched their list, he checked. Of course, having no control over who were invited, those same cars could well belong to terrorists or the mafia, and he would be none the wiser.
Aya paid particular attention to the vans, trucks, limos and larger vehicles, especially those with darkened panes, knowing that those were more likely to hold what he sought. Shouldn't they have surveillance equipment to monitor the surrounding wireless and radio signals? Aya promised himself to ask Tot later.
His paranoia paid off, when suddenly what he thought was reflection from the upper office windows shrank. Aya quickly glanced up and down again; indeed it could not have been caused by a light down. The change was so minute he would not have caught it had he not had his sight on that van right at that moment, but Abyssinian was not in the habit of second guessing himself. He exhaled slowly, nervousness gone and slowly replaced by budding anticipation. Now this was more likely.
Carefully maintaining his pace and disguise, in case the ambusher had a camera trailed on him, Aya discreetly scratched his back with his non-dominant hand — and with that act pushed twice on the emitter at his belt. Potential situation, investigating. His fingers hesitated on the device, then quickly pressed three more time. Hold for callback in 15 minutes.
The porter was not further than a stone's throw anyway, though currently not within line of sight. Aya had hope that he would not ignore a murder right under his nose, if only because of bystander curiosity.
Aya steadily walked pass the front of the suspect van, as inward as he could on the sidewalk, mindful to not look at his target in order to not attract attention. Nothing. Then the front doors... ready to be attacked at any moment... Another heartbeat and he reached the back of the van, and finally two steps past. Did he dare to look back?
The next vehicle — a motorcycle — was quite dirty and had no reflective surface that could tell him anything. And it was just too bad that streetlights were ruining whatever night vision he could have.