It's a short interview, and there's no part of him surprised in the slightest it takes place on a beach. Not in Hawaii. Where everything and everyone got sand in and on themselves, even if they hadn't been in days. He remembered that. It had probably gotten everywhere on him in that short time. He'd be picking sand out of his hair, clothes, and socks before lights out. Even if, in the short pull of the long run, sand was nothing compared to other things he'd gotten out of all of the above.
The kid, and she was a kid, field fresh, even more than the wet-necked tadpoles right out of Coronado that they all got saddled with from time to time, was passable at least. Definitely good for bait. Definitely looked like she could handle herself, whether that was up on a wave, or down with the riff-raff in the surf. He could trust her to at least attempt to take care of herself after seeing that right cross. Though even the best civilian right cross meant nothing against a dozen guns or trained guys.
But it would have to do. These were the resources he had. Here. In Hawaii. The three of them.
He'd done more with less, he reminded himself looking at the beach through dark glasses, and thinking even without them there was something too bright about the place. Too closed. The closer he stood to the ocean. The way his eyes drift back to the furthest point on the horizon where the water became a blurring line with the sky, evaporated ribbon, too far away to see, and made everything here too loud, too close, and too everything else.
Nothing like a boat. A boat. Any kind of boat. Land, sea sky. Nothing military about any of this setup. Or the people milling, and playing in the sun. Nothing demilitarized about the lay of the land, sun and sand and sky as far as the eye. The thoughts crawling up his spine slow, and steady, martial and marching, up his spine, like a line of ants. He used to joke about coming back here. With. With people it was too soon to even glance toward, when he'd never be able to do that again. Glance, or joke.
Do anything more than keep rolling on. Eye on the prize, and on nothing else, or it'll slip out of his hands again, and Hesse was already too good at that. He put it all back every time it crept toward him. Eyes on the prize, and if they think he's hardass, he has reason to be. There are children's lives on the line all over this rock, and more over the world. And if they think it's personal and gone to his head, maybe they're right, too, but they don't say it and he doesn't have to point out it doesn't matter.
They hash out the meet with this Sang min. Secure an interview. Setup a plan around it. And the hours keep rolling.
Which means eventually they all have to go, civilians do that, fall down once it gets dark. And he'll keep working on. Well. Something. He's still got markers to call in on details. Results that might have come in since the last time he was checking for them. And. There's this place. The rooms and the offices and everything covered in plastic. That needs to be moved. He could ask for people for that, too. During tomorrow, while they were all out. For all he knows that may already be part of the package, since he asked for a quick and dirty setup.
It's checks down a list he's in the middle of when he's looking up and having to focus on Williams talking.
Looking at the room, and it's really an idiotic suggestion even in his head, staying here, working on this, so he nods. Almost too fast, clipped and sure though, like he'd known it was coming or hadn't had any reasons to consider a different answer. "Yeah, thanks. I could use a lift back to where I'm staying." It'd be faster than a cab, and then he doesn't even focus on much. Picking up one of the laptops and the rest of what came with it, while nodding toward another table. "Grab that box."
More equipment he can check for their sake before dawn, too. Make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Get Sang Min. Get Hesse. Maybe then he'd consider something beyond the next twelve hours. For the first time in days. Weeks. The last five years.
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The kid, and she was a kid, field fresh, even more than the wet-necked tadpoles right out of Coronado that they all got saddled with from time to time, was passable at least. Definitely good for bait. Definitely looked like she could handle herself, whether that was up on a wave, or down with the riff-raff in the surf. He could trust her to at least attempt to take care of herself after seeing that right cross. Though even the best civilian right cross meant nothing against a dozen guns or trained guys.
But it would have to do. These were the resources he had. Here. In Hawaii. The three of them.
He'd done more with less, he reminded himself looking at the beach through dark glasses, and thinking even without them there was something too bright about the place. Too closed. The closer he stood to the ocean. The way his eyes drift back to the furthest point on the horizon where the water became a blurring line with the sky, evaporated ribbon, too far away to see, and made everything here too loud, too close, and too everything else.
Nothing like a boat. A boat. Any kind of boat. Land, sea sky. Nothing military about any of this setup. Or the people milling, and playing in the sun. Nothing demilitarized about the lay of the land, sun and sand and sky as far as the eye. The thoughts crawling up his spine slow, and steady, martial and marching, up his spine, like a line of ants. He used to joke about coming back here. With. With people it was too soon to even glance toward, when he'd never be able to do that again. Glance, or joke.
Do anything more than keep rolling on. Eye on the prize, and on nothing else, or it'll slip out of his hands again, and Hesse was already too good at that. He put it all back every time it crept toward him. Eyes on the prize, and if they think he's hardass, he has reason to be. There are children's lives on the line all over this rock, and more over the world. And if they think it's personal and gone to his head, maybe they're right, too, but they don't say it and he doesn't have to point out it doesn't matter.
They hash out the meet with this Sang min. Secure an interview. Setup a plan around it. And the hours keep rolling.
Which means eventually they all have to go, civilians do that, fall down once it gets dark. And he'll keep working on. Well. Something. He's still got markers to call in on details. Results that might have come in since the last time he was checking for them. And. There's this place. The rooms and the offices and everything covered in plastic. That needs to be moved. He could ask for people for that, too. During tomorrow, while they were all out. For all he knows that may already be part of the package, since he asked for a quick and dirty setup.
It's checks down a list he's in the middle of when he's looking up and having to focus on Williams talking.
Looking at the room, and it's really an idiotic suggestion even in his head, staying here, working on this, so he nods. Almost too fast, clipped and sure though, like he'd known it was coming or hadn't had any reasons to consider a different answer. "Yeah, thanks. I could use a lift back to where I'm staying." It'd be faster than a cab, and then he doesn't even focus on much. Picking up one of the laptops and the rest of what came with it, while nodding toward another table. "Grab that box."
More equipment he can check for their sake before dawn, too. Make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Get Sang Min. Get Hesse. Maybe then he'd consider something beyond the next twelve hours. For the first time in days. Weeks. The last five years.