Eventually, though, he got his shower in and came out looking like a civilized human being again, though they did have to wash their clothes in the communal washer and dryer before they had anything to wear. They had decided a few hours into their walk that they needed to unload some of their luggage. After some negotiations, they finally agreed that their spare clothing was the most logical choice. Now, with one change of clothes and down two operatives, they were finally ready to begin their mission. First things first, though.
Roen opened the duffel bag with the comm units and scowled. “We have a problem.” He held up a small bullet-ridden bag. Inside, the crypto key had broken in two.
“We need to re-establish communication with Command another way, then,” Marco said. “It’ll be a problem getting in touch with the scout team as well.”
“I think food is the more pressing matter at the moment,” Roen said. “We haven’t eaten in a whole day.”
“See if we can find an up-to-date map of the town,” Marco continued. “The scout team should have left markings in case of this happening.”
“Food is more important,” Roen repeated.
“I’ll look into finding a secondary base of operations as well. There’s no way we can run this from a sex motel.”
“But first food. Really, I’m starving.”
“And maybe buy a change of clothes,” Marco said.
“Food. Food. Food, before I chew your arm off.” Roen pounded a fist on the bed. He was not ashamed to admit he got petulant when hungry.
Marco looked over at Roen as if he had just noticed him talking. “Well yes, dinner would be fantastic as well. I’m quite famished.”
“I’m going hunting,” Roen growled, heading toward the door. “I think I saw a General Tso’s Chinese restaurant and a convenience store across the street.”
“Try not to get anything with MSG,” Marco called after him. “It gives me indigestion.”
Roen didn’t bother looking back as he raised his hand and gave Marco the middle finger. Twenty minutes later, after being tortured by the aroma of his cooking take-out, Roen came back with a pile of food. He plopped the five containers on the table and begun to dig through them.
Marco, sitting on the bed, going through a map of the town he had found, looked up, puzzled. “Are we expecting guests?”
Roen ignored him and began to shovel the Singapore noodles into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks. He picked up a box of General Tso’s chicken – their specialty, unsurprisingly – and unfolded the container into a plate. Then Roen busted out a twelve-pack of beer and tossed Marco a can. The two ate in silence for the next fifteen minutes, polishing off two beers apiece.
“You know,” Marco said, tossing an empty box into the garbage can. “This Tso chap makes a damn tasty dish. He must have been a fine soldier.”
Roen spoke with his mouth full as he kept stuffing himself to make up for a day of not eating. “Pretty sure this dish was invented in New York City. Besides, I didn’t know a general’s skill was reflected by the dishes named after him. That would make Napoleon a great general.”
“Napoleon was a great general, one of the finest in history.”
Roen grunted. “That’s not what Tao told me.”
“That’s because Tao’s host, Lafayette, hated Napoleon’s guts. Oh, trust me, Ahngr was there. He saw firsthand. Anyway,” Marco said, standing up, “now that your stomach has had its fill, let’s get down to business. We have to assume that all communication and Internet usage has a higher possibility of being monitored. The only crypto key available is with the scout team. But we can’t contact them without a key.
“First thing tomorrow, head to the main streets and look for any IXTF or Penetra patrols. Keep an eye out for Prophus scout team markings. I don’t know what dozen they’re rotating through, but you should be able to catch the signals.”
Roen looked dubious. “That’s the plan? You want me to walk around town all day until I find something?”
Marco nodded. “No one said you have to walk. Go purchase a vehicle if you like.” He pulled out some cash and tossed it on the bed.
Roen picked it up and counted through it. “Five hundred bucks? What kind of car do you think I can buy with five bills?”
“No one said it had to be a car. You seem like a fellow who can make a dollar stretch.”
“Well, what are you going to do then?”
“The thing I know you positively can’t be trusted with,” Marco sniffed. “I’m going to buy us some clothes.”
The next morning, right after sunrise, following a breakfast of leftover Chinese food, Marco and Roen headed to town. Their sleep the night before had been both blissful and uncomfortable. Blissful in that it was the first time either had slept in over twenty-four hours. Uncomfortable in that Marco liked to roll around in his sleep, and that he was a hugger.
Roen woke up to find the Englishman draped over him. It made for a very unsettling morning, especially knowing that they were probably stuck in the same bed for the immediate future. He thought about putting a rifle down between them, but decided against it, given neither of them were small men, and bed real estate was at a premium. It was just going to have to be a burden he had to live with.
They reached the outskirts of town and split up, Marco to shop for clothes and groceries, and Roen to explore Ontario and search for the scout team. They had decided that with the threat of the Genjix and IXTF, Roen should be the one to do most of the work around town, since getting dinged by a Penetra net was a very real possibility here.
The first thing he intended to do was buy a car. Somewhere in this small town, someone must be selling a car for cheap. Roen had two thousand dollars in cash on him. Marco had given him the clearance to only spend the five hundred, but Roen decided he would give himself a little flexibility. After all, a car could be a valuable asset; splurging a little made sense.
Roen spent most of the morning wandering around town until he found a salvage yard. He had stopped by all the car dealerships earlier, but was laughed out when they found out how much he wanted to spend. The salesman at the last dealership took pity on him and directed him to this place, which was hardly more than a junkyard.
The owner of the yard noticed right away that something was a little strange about him. After all, in a town of twelve thousand people, everyone was bound to know everyone else. When a complete stranger walked up to his lot looking to buy a car, the guy had to know that something was off.
In the end, with Roen’s pitiful budget, he only had three options: a 1978 dark green Rabbit, a rusty, mustard-colored 1982 Bug, or a 1970 light-blue station wagon with the fake wood panels on the sides. The station wagon won the beauty contest, because it had room to stow their gear, a roof rack, tinted back windows, and because he drove it off the lot for a measly three hundred and seventy-five bucks.
“If Tao could see me now,” he grumbled, feeling the engine twitch and pop as he made a right turn out of the lot onto Verde Road. Screw it; Tao would be proud of him for his tough negotiating skills. The guy originally wanted four hundred bucks for this damn thing.
You drove a hard bargain, his friend would have said.
Actually no, Tao would say something sarcastic about all the fine vehicles he had driven while working for the Prophus. That much was true. For some reason, ever since he had first become a host, he was allocated crappy car after crappy car. He initially thought it was simply because he was a new agent and had to work his way up. It wasn’t until a few years into his service that he realized that someone, or multiple someones, or everyone, for all he knew, working within the quartermaster division hated Tao and was purposely allocating Roen really pathetic and embarrassing cars. Even now, when he got to choose his car, he somehow ended up with a wagon with wooden panels.