The man touched his arm. “We have footage if we need it,” he told him. “We’re not stupid.”
“But your footage won’t be easily accessible…” he replied and came to his own conclusion.
“Exactly.” The worker stopped and indicated a door. “Through there, second corridor on your right, and the third door on your left. Your waiter will be there—and don’t worry, those X-ers won’t remember a thing in the morning.”
“Will they be okay?”
He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Let’s say they’re about to become very good friends with Medical, and their boss will find it hard to find replacements for the next week.”
“But…” he began, only to have the man slap him on the shoulder. “Get going, Sergeant. Do whatever you need to do. We trust you.” His mouth compressed with disapproval. “Unlike others around here.”
Todd badly wanted to ask him what he meant but he could see the repair teams putting the cameras together and knew they were out of time. “Thank you,” he muttered and entered the door.
While part of him was grateful for the courtesy shown to him and his team, another part was wide awake and alert and looking for the ambush.
It didn’t come and he’d begun to relax when the maître d’ appeared in the corridor ahead.
“Welcome back.” He opened a door in the wall beside him and ushered them through. “We trust you’ll enjoy your evening.”
He nodded his thanks and entered. Stromo’s had outdone themselves and he almost stopped on the threshold, but the pressure of the team behind him kept him moving forward.
Once more, their meals were waiting and a fully stocked bar stood to one side. A screen filled one wall and a small dance floor occupied the opposite side of the room. He advanced to the table and took his seat.
“I’m calling this meeting to order,” he told the team and looked around, “because we damned well need a night off and this might be the only chance we get.”
“Woot!” Angus was all agreement. He took his seat and picked his cutlery up, but he caught Todd’s glare and set the knife and fork down until the others had joined them.
“Food first,” he ordered, “then we’ll work out exactly what we need to be able to get the monkeys off our backs.”
“I vote for a long and cozy chat with that maintenance worker,” Drusilla told him.
“And I need to dig in Naval records,” Ka added.
“I’m gonna need more grenades,” Piet informed them morosely. “I’m down to my last one.”
Todd stared at him. “You didn’t…”
The man nodded. “You’re not the only one they’re stinging, Sarge.”
“What did that bloke mean by ‘X-ers?’” Reggie asked. “I’ve never heard of any Marines called that before.”
“And you won’t,” the demolitions expert retorted. “Not ever and not twice, because it’s certain death or disappearance to mention them. They’re like the enforcement arm of the Intelligence corps. No one knows they exist—and, if they ever find out, they don’t know it for long.”
“And you would know this how?” Ka demanded.
He raised his steak burger as though he was about to take an enormous bite, but lowered it. “You know that stuff I didn’t want to talk about when Stephanie asked me?”
“I’m fairly sure that was the Morgana,” Dru corrected him, “but yeah. We got the impression some bad shit went down in your past.”
Piet raised the burger and this time, he did take a big bite out of it.
“Well,” he told her through a mouthful of steak, salad, and bread, “I still don’t want to talk about it.”
Todd raised a hand when the two women would have pushed the issue. “Piet, you and me later. Okay?”
The explosives expert rolled his eyes but nodded and continued to chew. As if his determined focus on his meal was a signal, the rest of the team fell silent as they enjoyed their food. When Todd glanced around, he noticed the bartender and waiter both wore earplugs, although they kept an eagle eye on their guests and refilled glasses and cleared plates as needed.
He didn’t buy it for a second. The restaurant would need insurance, and that meant they’d want to know what their guests were talking about in case it came back to bite them later—or they needed leverage.
“Would you like to order dessert?” the waiter asked when the last plate was cleared.
Todd let the ensuing hubbub subside and cleared his throat. “So,” he began, “what will we do about our asshat fans?”
“You mean the X-Marines?” Gary quipped.
“They’d be ex-Marines if I had anything to say about it,” he told him, “but given that we don’t have that option, we need to work out what we’ll do next.”
“They won’t be allowed to follow us aboard the Knight, will they?” Angus asked.
“I hope not.”
“Damn, boss. I was hoping you’d say no so I could say, ‘See? Problem solved,’” he snapped in response.
“Sorry, Angus. All I can give you is that if the Knight is ordered to take them, she’ll be able to do something about them.”
The young man grinned. “Then see? Problem solved.”
“It’s what they might do in the meantime that worries me.” Todd’s reply wiped the smile from his face. “We need a way to plan for the unexpected and mitigate it.”
“For that, we’re gonna need a way off this orbital.” Piet’s quiet observation stopped them. He gestured at Jimmy. “We already have a pilot, so we’d only need a boat.”
“Can you organize that?” Ka asked.
“Yeah, you with the shady past,” Drusilla added. “Can you organize it?”
“It’ll be easier because we don’t need a pilot.” He nodded at Ka. “And easier because we can create our own access if necessary, but I’ll need some follower-free time.”
“It would be best to do it in the next two days then,” Todd told him. “I think Stromo’s said the current team would operate at less than optimal at least for tomorrow.”
He raised his eyes and looked at the waiter, only to be met by a blank stare. Todd pretended not to notice the man’s puzzlement.
“Isn’t that correct?” he asked and glanced at the ceiling.
At first, he was met by silence and he added. “I know you’re listening. You have to be able to make your reports somehow.”
There was no immediate response to his words, but a few minutes later, the waiter stiffened at a sequence of knocks at the door. “We’ll be with you in a moment, sir.”
Todd was not surprised when the maître d’ entered the room. The man wasted no time in coming to the point.
“We can put you in touch with someone. I’ll have them contact you separately. Our chef’s name is Ansler.”
He would have bet it wasn’t but he wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he said, “I’ll look forward to hearing from your contact.”
“Very good.” The maître d’ returned to the door, hesitated, and looked over his shoulder. “Will that be all the business you require tonight?”