Instead, he reached underneath the lock on the door until his finger found a small, circular port and inserted the plug of his device. He looked at the keycard lock on the door in front of him, a metallic box that offered a vertical slot ready to accept a guest’s keycard like a piece of bread into a toaster.Ĭashatt didn’t have a keycard. On one end of that loosely assembled gadget was a cord attached to a plug. He pulled out a sunglasses case from his pocket, flipped it open, and removed a small tangle of wires connected to a circuit board and a nine-volt battery. When he found a quiet stretch of hallway, Cashatt chose a door and knocked. Six feet tall with blond, close-cropped hair, he wore a black sports coat and baseball cap and kept his head down so the hat’s brim hid his face from surveillance cameras. On a warm Phoenix night five years ago, Aaron Cashatt walked down the red-carpeted hall of the second floor of a Marriott hotel, trying to move casually despite the adrenaline and methamphetamine surging through his bloodstream.
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