"Splendid work, gentlemen." Daniel Morchester III lowered the report to his desk. "No casualties, no international hullabaloo, even less damage than we expected. Well done indeed." He moved the papers on his desk around and looked up at the two men standing in front of him. "You frightened Mr. Bullfinch so badly that he went willingly with the Norwegians."
Robert Sadeski scowled. "You didn't tell us the Norwegians were coming." His companion placidly nodded in agreement.
Morchester began rummaging through his reports. "Well, ah, we didn't exactly know they were coming ourselves. No contact until it was too late." He found a newspaper several layers down and pulled it out, opening to a picture of a dour Gerry Bullfinch being led off a helicopter by the Norwegian major. "Look at this. The buggers we sent you after brought a journalist with them. This journalist reported a 'mysterious ship' attacking their boats and the Norwegians effectively saving them from being sunk." He laid the paper on his desk.
Gordon Weston glanced down at it, then back up at the MP. "So, have you sent the money?"
"Our proxy in the Cayman Islands sent it to yours. They're apparently in the same bank now." Morchester smiled. "Polar Star has good taste." He paused briefly, his eyes drifting upwards to something that wasn't there. "I do have one question, though. Did they really have a cannon?"
"If that was a cannon, I'm a general." Sadeski growled. "It looked like a trash can."
Morchester picked up a pen and paper. "Ah, homemade. Well, thank you. You've saved us a potentially very sticky international issue. About half of them escaped or were released. Only two or three are actually going on trial, and Norway's letting us deal with 'finding' you two." He winked at Weston. "I don't think we will. Well, gentlemen, best of luck, and may we cross paths in the future."
After a pair of handshakes, the two mercenaries were shown out of Morchester's residence by a bored-looking butler. By the time they had walked the length of one block, the London fog had concealed the narrow house. Robert jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and exhaled sharply. "That guy really pisses me off."
"He's a good customer." Weston's placid attitude hadn't changed. "He's known Mark for maybe ten years now. Longer than you've been with us."
"Mark. We gotta call him." Sadeski grumbled. "After we get back to the boat."
It was a fairly long walk back to the Northern Cross. A collection of tarps were covering most of the boat, and the rest of the crew had gone ashore. Gordon shook a few puddles off the edge of the tarp overhanging the boat's reinforced door and entered, with Sadeski following close behind, toying with a sheath knife. In the ship's control room, Robert opened a laptop. He idly fiddled with the knife while the machine attempted to put through a video call to a quarter of the way around the world.
A bleary-eyed Mark Birch appeared on the screen. His hair was disheveled and he appeared to have been sleeping until recently. He glanced irritably at his watch, then held it up to the screen.
"May I remind you, Bob, that when it's 10:30 over there, it's 5:30 here." He rubbed his eyes. "I guess you finished the job?"
"Yeah, went well." Robert continued fiddling with his knife. "Morrie paid you. Next job?"
Birch began typing something on his computer. "I'm the one who just woke up. I should be the one speaking in monosyllables." He squinted at the screen. "Next job... Intel gathering. A Khmer separatist group in Thailand is trying to secede from the country, and our dear friends in the Thai government are, as you might expect, not too happy. I'm sending the details now." He forcefully pressed the enter key, then turned back to the screen. "Yes, you're going to the far end of the world. Sorry, but jobs are getting scarce lately."
Sadeski groaned. "Can't you send Zeke's boys? Surely the Blessed Rains is closer than we are."
"They're down in Africa. They're on a long-term assignment in Tanzania." Birch looked back at the camera. "Bob, I'm sorry, but you're going."
"Fine. You're terrible." Sadeski put as much emphasis as his voice would allow into the final word.
"Love you too." Birch closed the call. Robert sighed and wandered into the main crew room, where Gordon was using an exercise machine.
"Looks like we gotta get the boys back on board. We're going to Thailand." Sadeski's voice was guttural and far from pleased.
Gordon gritted his teeth and eased the bar he had been using to simulate a bench press back into place, his dark skin rippling as the muscles relaxed. He stood up slowly, raising a hand to his forehead. "You know, you should try to see the best in this." He glanced at Bob, whose smoldering eyes were indicative of any possible outcome of this subject of discussion. "Fine, I'll call 'em."
Weston had barely pulled his cell phone from his pocket when a commotion was heard from the doorway. Zachary Taylor came barreling into the room, closely followed by Rene Levancon and Takeshi Sato. Levancon collapsed onto a chair. "Get moving!" he wheezed.
"What the hell did you do, kid?" Robert's teeth were gritted. "If we've got police problems-"
"We're going to in a minute!" Taylor had run back into the control room and was starting up the engine. "We already cut the lines. It's Takeshi's fault!" His voice was hoarse and shouting into the next room did not help matters.
Gordon sighed and turned to the Japanese mercenary, who was now gulping down water. "What did you do now?"
"I didn't even do it! We weren't even here! We were up north hunting hippies!" Sato poured a cup on his head.
"He was trying to get with a woman who thought he molested her three days ago." Levancon's voice was returning. "I've seen bad luck, but he's hit a new low."
"Grab something!" Zachary yelled. The ship lurched backwards, nearly colliding with a motorboat which beat a hasty retreat from the armored craft, and then jerked to the right, throwing tarps into the river. On shore, a few policemen came running up and began shouting at the rapidly departing boat. The Northern Cross sped eastward, headed for open waters.
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