“This is strict recon.”
“And the people we’re doing recon on are dangerous.”
True.
“True. But we’ll have escorts,” she led me into another room: hers.
Escorts? In the form of more Coildiers?
A quick glance around showed that a section at the back was curtained off, while the front had a desk with a computer, a bank of phones and two television screens.
Sounds like an alright place. Not as cool as the Hive, but not bad.
“Escorts?” I asked, as the door closed behind us.
“Like dates for a really fucked up prom.” She worked her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans and dialed. She held one finger up for me, telling me to wait and be silent.
Or maybe she’s in touch with some existing Merchants, asked them to guide her and her friend into the meeting? But I guess there’s no reason to trust those to be any less dangerous than the rest of the Merchants once they’re in.
It took a moment before she spoke, “Minor? I want you, Senegal, Jaw and Brooks in my office. Civvies.”
Sounds like employees, yeah.
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