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Back at their base, an old cinderblock house the Boss had arranged to accommodate them, Tyrone and Flick played cards at the beat-up table as Gator walked in. "You boys know that deck's missing a card or two?"
"Kinda like us," Flick said.
"Adds to the challenge," Ty mumbled. The game involved laying out cards face up, then trying to slap your hand on it before the other guy could. The fun, of course, was when you slapped the other guy's hand instead.
Flick didn't glance up as he flipped the next card, hesitated for an instant, then slammed his hand down on Tyrone's much larger one.
"Ouch! Hey, man."
With a chuckle, Flick said, "Ah, I'm sure you'll get me one of these times."
"Sometimes, I think you're not even trying to get the card."
Flick shrugged. "Monty got the goods?"
"Working on it." Gator crossed to the fridge and started to unload a grocery bag of supplies.
They'd burned through a lot of their supplies for the bonfire, and fed two more mouths. Of course, now they were down by one. That'd help with the per diem. The shed near the old house contained a number of tools and items that could be of use: explosives, firearms, actual construction tech they might use to sabotage a site or vehicle. Should invest in more electronics next time. Gator's crew were meant for local, physical interventions. The Boss had other groups that focused more on cyber penetrations and white-collar corporate work, but it couldn't hurt to diversify. Look at his assignment, where they had to physically retrieve the sensor unit, then electronically access and alter it. Lot more cross-over than the Boss wanted to admit.
His pocket buzzed. Was Monty done that fast? That would be a win. Pulling out the phone, he tapped the connection and stuck between his shoulder and his ear. "Gator."
"Remind me what you're doing down there, Gator," said the smooth drawl of the Boss himself. Hell.
Gator straightened up and stalked outside, waving for Smitty to finish the groceries. Back on the porch beneath the broad eaves, Gator said, "Good afternoon, sir. You heard about the storm that made landfall?"
"So you're planning to blame your lack of progress on the weather."
Gator dug his thumb into his eyebrow. "Not exactly, sir, but it definitely added a level of challenge." He took a deep breath, thinking how to tell the Boss about their losses.
"I haven't seen the files uploaded yet, the data from that sensor you claimed you were bringing in."
"We did bring it, sir, that's when the storm caught us. Barely made it back to shore, but we didn't lose the sensor. Monty's actually working on that—"
"What did you lose?"
"Sorry?" Gator stared into the distance where the heat made ripples of the air over the asphalt.
"You said," the Boss began, in his voice of infinite patience, which usually meant he'd already lost it, "that you didn't lose the sensor. To me, that sounded like a lie of omission. You know what that is, right, Gator?"
His jaw knotted, and the silence stretched, then he said, "The computer kit, sir. Most of our kit, actually."
"Well, now, that is a setback."
"It was, but we've managed to cobble together a system, and Monty's sure he can do the upload today. He's literally working on it right now."
"Two days after the storm."
Gator held his breath.
"I know how well you take care of your crew," the Boss said, almost a purr, "how you like to find other ways to increase the squad war chest—isn't that what you'd call it?"
"Something like that." Gator's voice felt tight. "Keeps 'em busy between jobs."
"Completely understandable. Your sense of initiative is one reason I brought you on. One reason I'd consider making you a partner. Of course, I'd be pleased to accept a little earnest money toward your investment, when you land whatever else it is that you are, no doubt, pursuing..."
Rowe was pretty high profile. If he went down while Gator and the boys were in Baja, maybe—hopefully—nobody else would make the connection, but the Boss sure as hell would. If they found the ship, could they keep it quiet enough not to give the Boss a cut—a cut Gator felt sure would be counted separately from the actual earnest money for his partnership. "We're following up on a couple of leads. Nothing definite."
"I see." Pause. Boss seemed able to time his pauses precisely to indicate his level of doubt, a skill Gator would like to master. "In the meantime, I pay you to do what I want and make our clients happy. If you're stuck on one front, I trust you to choose another angle of attack. These green freaks must have other weaknesses, other ways they can be undermined. Keep on the sensor problem—that's a solid approach, but it doesn't need to be the only one."
"Thank you, sir. We'll find a way."
The line went dead, and Gator fought the urge to hurl his phone into the desert. Boss wasn't happy. They might miss their bonus this round. "Smitty!"
Smitty's head popped out the door. "Gator? What up?"
"Boss on the phone, and he wants more action. Did you get the code?"
"Sure did." Smitty winked. "When's the B&E?"
"Tonight. Let's get in there and see what we can learn. Or what we can plant." Gator began to regret letting Joe's corpse go so easy. Framing the Alliance for murder would've been a sweet twist. No matter. He'd think of something. He always did.