It wasn't New York, but an American metropolis was still an American metropolis. After only two hours of roaming the Big Easy, Phil had managed to rent an SUV, locate the storefront that was his objective, get ammunition for his .44, take a break at Starbucks', and even buy a new suit. He was currently driving around downtown, waiting for Grissom to contact him.
"Come on, Griss," the telepath breathed, "where are you?" He switched on his earpiece. "Griss, you there?"
"'Bout bloody time," the mercenary replied. "Didn't see you get off the plane."
"Hopefully no one else did either," Phil said. "I was waiting for you to call."
"I was supposed to call you?" Grissom thought a moment. "Slipped my mind, I suppose. But you're here now, so let's think this over."
"Have you located your target site?" Phil asked.
"I'm sitting on a park bench across the street from it," Grissom replied. "Meatheaded buggers don't give too much thought to establishing a perimeter, do they?"
"I didn't notice much of one around my site, either," Phil confirmed. "Which means they're probably all inside."
"Taking shifts on guard duty," Grissom added. "They'll probably switch 'em every few hours."
"I think I want to do a little more recon before we go in," Phil said. "'Every few hours' isn't quite precise enough for what we want to do."
"I'm getting my recon in now," Grissom said. "Get to your site and call me when you figure things out."
"All right," Phil agreed. "On my way."
"And be careful out there, mate," Grissom added.
"You too," Phil replied as he switched off his earpiece and turned left toward the storefront.
