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“Phantom, Doc, Bang Bang, and Tor, you all stay with Mustang. If we need backup, we’ll call.”
“You sure, broki?” Bang Bang looked worried, which made Wyatt worried. Normally, the big bear of a man was as carefree as a kid playing with his friends during recess. The fact that he appeared nervous wasn’t a good sign for what was ahead.
“Yeah, we’ll be good.”
Roman put a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Ready, Salt?”
“Let’s do this.”
“Great,” Mimic said, clapping her hands and going over to the back of the van. She opened it up and grabbed the uniforms that had been placed in the back—wrinkled, but they would work. The three of them got changed before hopping in the van.
Mustang leaned in through the window and stole a kiss from Mimic. “I’ll see you soon, babe,” Mimic said.
“We’ll have a little date night tonight. Sushi and a mindless action movie?”
“Sounds like a great night to me,” Mimic said, leaning in for another kiss. With their goodbyes said, the three of them drove out from under the bridge and onto the main road. Roman put on the radio, filling some of the tense silence with a dancey pop song. Wyatt’s hips started moving, and his head started bopping, and soon he kicked off a sing-along, Mimic and Roman jumping in for the chorus. The bright sunshine beat down on the street, shining off the water in the bay as they rode over another bridge. A jungle of glass and concrete rose up ahead of them as they drove toward downtown, the sun reflecting off some of the buildings and shining down like a spotlight. They wound through packed streets, driving past a busy Bayside arena where people were gathering for an outdoor concert. The sun was beginning to set, splashing the sky in a mix of purples and pinks.
As they drew closer, Wyatt lowered the music. The mood shifted once they reached the curling iron gates marking the entrance to Hammerhead Island. It blocked a long bridge that crossed over pristinely blue waters, trees looming large and blocking anyone from peeking into the goliath-style homes that were tucked behind them.
“Tor got us on the visitors list, right?” Mimic asked, slowing down as she pulled up to the guardhouse, bright green ivy coating the entire side of it.
Roman nodded, sitting back as Mimic lowered her window and handed over the fake ID she’d whipped up on the flight over. The security guard—an older gentleman with a scar across his forehead—looked at the ID before going over to a notebook, using his finger to go through each name, one by one.
He came back smiling and handed over the card.
“Thank you, sir,” Mimic said, an untraceable accent in her voice.
“You’re welcome. Unfortunately, you aren’t on the list for today. You can make a U-turn here and jump right back onto the turnpike.”
“What? Oh, there must be a mistake, sir. One of our most valuable clients lives here and booked us before family visits them tomorrow. They wanted us here ASAP.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Only those on the approved visitors list can go through. You can call your client and see if maybe there was a mistake, but I can’t let you in.”
Mimic gripped the steering wheel tight, her knuckles getting pale. She leaned forward. “Sir, we can’t lose this client. Please.”
“Then call them.” The guard seemed to be getting annoyed, moving to close the glass window.
This wasn’t great. Wyatt didn’t like this being the way their heist began. He sat in the back of the van with his hands under his legs, the anxiety coiling inside him like a spring about to snap.
Mimic put her hand out, holding the glass. “Fine, you can call them. Verify that we’re supposed to be here. You can explain to Mr. Hendrix why we’re late.”
“Mr. Hendrix?” That name appeared to have triggered something in the guard. “Right, okay. Let me go ahead and ring him, then. One moment.”
He shut the glass door and reached for the phone. Mimic whipped around. “Wyatt, can you intercept that call?”
“On it.” Wyatt had his phone out, trying not to let the nerves get to him. He fumbled with the keys but controlled the shake that started to slip into his hands. Intercepting a phone call wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do and something he really hadn’t done before.
But that wasn’t stopping him from trying. He opened a program he had downloaded solely for something like this: Triggerfish. It worked better with the SIM card from the other caller, but Wyatt had to make sacrifices, working quick to input the guard tower’s number and crack through a few other firewalls before a checkmark popped up on his screen and the word “connected” appeared, just as Wyatt’s phone began to ring.
“Hi, hello?”
“Yes, Mr. Hendrix, I have a cleaning crew here for you, but they aren’t on the list. Are they a last-minute addition? Sunshine Cleaning?”
