Her earrings

The room was comfortable, but not in any notable way. It was expected that guests of La Rose Noctiflore would spend their days on the hotel beach, their evenings in the casino, and their nights in someone else's bed. Only the bedside table caught her eye, where she'd placed her discarded earrings. The ones now vibrating across its surface.

She snatched them up and entered the bathroom, turning the shower on at full blast. You could never tell who might be listening.

“–ort in! Do you copy, Agent Wren?”

“So sorry, Ringmaster.” Shauna Wren sat against the counter. “I was enquiring the porter about his tip.”

“Dammit all, Wren! You do remember you've a mission to follow? You're not taking holiday on the back of the–?”

“I'm to observe the movements of Fritz Wiebe,” Shauna interrupted. This buffoon might presume to give her orders, but they were both old guards of the SOE. “He deals in pre-war luxury automobiles, and he's arrived from West Berlin to sell them at auction.”

“Very curious how he keeps his reputation when his wares sport so many defects,” Ringmaster continued, assuaged. “Bugged radios. Faulty brake lines. A combusting petrol tank, in one instance.”

“Be fair, Ringmaster. I'm sure it's a coincidence he never sells deathtraps to his friends in the Stasi.”

“He's a communist, Wren. The Stasi don't have to buy them.” She rolled her eyes. “Regardless, Wiebe's a character, and thanks to him this event's drawn quite a crowd. Get into the VIP suites. Identify potential targets. MacCallow will handle things from there.”

“Good, I could use a crack shot at my back. The local fashions don't conceal anything. Now if you'll excuse me,” she smirked as she removed the radios from her ears, Ringmaster still blustering. Any warmer and the shower would steam. “I need to go mingle.”