And even if we found an indiscreet employee, we wouldn’t have known who to ask for because we didn’t know what name Manny would be staying under. So, while leaning forward to ask some typical questions about Manila and environs, Dox had taken the liberty of placing a few adhesive-backed transmitters under the long front edge of the marble reception desk. When Manny checked in, Dox would be able to listen in on his conversation with the clerk.

I waited two minutes, then heard the twang again. “Well, it’s good news and bad news. Our friend is here under the name Mr. Hartman. But all the clerk said to him is, ‘Mr. Hartman, your room number is written here.’ ”

I’d received the same treatment when I checked in and wasn’t surprised. The hotel staff was well trained.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Sure, there’s something else,” I heard him say, and I could imagine his trademark grin. “He took the elevator on the Ayala Tower side.”

The hotel had two separate wings-the Ayala and the Makati. Now we knew which set of elevators to focus on. We were beginning to triangulate.

“You get on with him?” I asked.

“I tried to. But the bodyguard was awfully polite and insisted that I just head on up by my lonesome.”

All right, his bodyguard had some tactical sense. Not a surprise. “Did he get a good look at you?”

“Good enough. I think we can expect him to recognize the best-looking fella in Manila next time he sees me.”

I nodded. Letting Dox run ahead was a calculated risk. Soon enough we would be double-teaming Manny, and it would be hard for his bodyguard to avoid getting distracted by sightings of Caucasian Dox, with his linebacker’s physique and good ol’ boy’s grin. Distracted enough to completely overlook the smaller, unassuming Asian guy Dox was working with.

There were about two hundred and sixty rooms on the Ayala side, and I thought about calling each of them from the house phone, offering, “May we have someone draw you a bath, Mr.