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I’ll admit “the plan” isn’t exactly ironclad. It doesn’t even extend past this part.
“You wait here just in case,” I say to Nash.
“In case of what?”
“I don’t know. In case I’m neutralized. We need a witness to report back to basecamp about what happened.”
He gives me a look that shows me just how much that didn’t increase his excitement about any of this.
“And basecamp is…?”
“Whatever you want it to be, I guess.”
“I see. And how long do I wait before reporting back to basecamp?” His tone is not one that I appreciate at the moment.
“I don’t know. Five minutes? Ten? A half hour?”
In the movies, they always know how long their partners should wait before leaving them behind and blowing shit up. When they say to proceed if they’re not out in fifteen minutes, was that based on a carefully constructed practice run? Were they going off their vast experience of blowing up bad guys’ hideouts? Personally, I’m reluctant to rest my fate in the hands of a guestimate, but Nash already thinks this is a terrible idea.
“Twenty minutes,” I say confidently. “If I’m not back in twenty, assume I’ve been compromised and… Larinda. Yes. Larinda is ‘basecamp.’ Tell her.”
“Tell her what? That you left this world trying to deliver coffee to a belt store?”
I scrunch my nose. “Maybe not that. But be sure to tell her I love her. Oh! And that ‘Third Last Kiss’ still needs work on the bassline before engineering.”
“Sure. Or you could just text her that stuff.”
“Where’s you sense of spy adventure? It’s way more dramatic coming from someone else.”
“My spy days are over, dude. Well, they were supposed to be.” His eye roll is yet another clue that he’s not fully on board.
I ignore his skepticism and focus back on Kim who takes the carriers from Nash, while also doing an excellent job of pretending she didn’t hear any of that weird conversation.
“There’s definitely a back room we can hide in, right?” I ask her.
She nods at me. “No one will see you. Well, unless they go in the back room.”
“Do people go in there a lot?”
“How should I know? I don’t work here.”
Hmm. I decide not to relay this potential hiccup to Nash, who’s now leaning against the side of the building looking slightly irritated and very bored.
I give him a thumbs up when he glances over.
“Basecamp,” I mouth.
“Whatever,” he mumbles.
Good enough.
He does at least open the door for us, but the second Kim and I slip inside, it becomes clear our attempts at silent sneaking were unnecessary. Music blasts throughout the building. The song is clearly a Jarvis McKinnley track, but not one I recognize.
Kim looks back and motions toward the opening ahead, which must lead to the main area of the store and the origin of the music.
“Hide somewhere,” she says at my ear. “I’ll deliver these.”
“You can’t carry them all.”
