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"This is a horrible plan," Booker says, finally feeling brave enough in the cramped quarters of Copley's van to air out his opinion, "We're going to step foot in this lab and she's going to know exactly where we are."
Copley takes a turn just a bit too sharp, jostling Booker into Tuah, their knees knocking painfully against each other, "According to the schematics of the place, there's a control room that'll allow me to access the computer system—if I can get to that, I can take over the cameras and that'll give us the advantage."
Booker grinds his teeth together, feels an ache in his jaw that stays rather than fades, "This is a nuclear site, do you really think that you're going to be able to get any kind of access around whatever firewall they've got?"
When Booker finally draws his gaze towards the front of the van, Copley's watching him through the rear view mirror with a calculating look on his face, "And I suppose you have a plan for that, then?" he asks, and there's a challenge in his voice, something curious that makes Booker want to bare his teeth, curl his lip up into a snarl and launch himself out of the van as it's going down the road—
—he can't now though, not with his mortality, not until he's sure that it had worked.
"And here I thought, you didn't trust traitors to make plans," he says instead, prim, even as he's ripping open the velcro on one of the pouches of his vest, pulling out a knife, the handle of it black matte and bulkier than usual.
"You're focusing on a computer in one room that probably has access to only the things in that room, not the entire facility." He says as flips the knife over and digs his thumbnail into the hilt of it, popping the blade away from it, "What you need to focus on, is getting access to the firewall so you can lock down the network."
He carefully pries the two pieces of the knife apart—inside the hollowed out portion of the hilt sits a green and gold motherboard; it's not very large, just big enough to fit in the palm of Booker's hand, on the side of it there's silver ports; HDMI, USB-C, Ethernet.
"You'll need a computer to gain access," Booker says, holding the board between his gloved fingers carefully, "They do teach you CIA guys how to work around firewalls, right?" he asks, looking over towards Copley again—the man no longer watching him. "I have a power supply and a console cable, they're small enough to fit in with the gear, shouldn't be too bulky. Once we get to the firewall, you'll need to find the console port, plug the cable into it, and into this," he shakes the board. "Power it on."
"So you'll be doing that while the others run interference?" Copley asks.
Booker glances around at the others—they're all watching him and well, he's the tech guy, he's always been the tech guy, he knows these things, before Nile, he'd been the youngest, the one who'd been able to adapt to tech quicker than the rest of them.
"No." He says resolutely. "I go where Andy goes," he shifts, bumps his knees into Tuah's again and looks over at Joe, tilts his head until he makes eye contact with his friend—
"Booker—" Joe says, there's a tiredness in his voice, even as he's leaning forward to hold his hands out, cupping them together to take what Booker's offering him. "Are you sure this is the right choice."
Booker sits back for a moment, digs out a coiled black cable—one end is USB-C and the other is RJ45, it's only about a foot long. The other one he digs out of his pockets is a power supply with a short USB-C cable, he passes them over to Joe.
"I think if anyone's got a better chance at getting into the server room, it'll be you," Booker says, resolute, "Console cable is the one with the RJ45, that part goes into the firewall, the other side goes into the Pi. You'll need to find a plug in, there's usually an uninterruptible power supply close by the firewall you can plug the power supply into. This will give the Pi power. Once you've got that plugged in, Copley can take it from there. Right, Copley?" he asks, raising his voice, glancing towards the front of the van for a moment. "This falls under ethical hacking, yeah? That's what you CIA guys can do, right?"
He looks back at Joe, Joe who's still staring at him with his palms cupped around a disassembled knife and a RaspberryPi and assorted cabling, his brown eyes wide and filled with something, like he already knows the big ugly secret that Booker's hiding beneath the layers of his clothing, "If there were ever a time to trust me Joe, now would be it."
Beside Joe, Nicky shifts and Booker watches from the corner of his eye as he tightens his hand on the hilt of his sword and plants his feet wider as if making himself seem bigger, shifting forward a little, his shoulder pressing against Joe's for a moment—and sometimes, Booker forgets, that Nicky is hundreds of years old, that he's this dangerous and vicious man who could take him apart if he so pleased. That his trust, once broken, is not something easily gained back.
"Alright," Joe says finally, looking down at the tech in his palms, even as he presses back into Nicky's shoulder, there's a pinched expression on his face, eyes narrowed as he takes everything in. "I'll do it."
Booker nods and there's a weight that lifts off of his shoulders at that, at Joe's willingness to go along with his plan, "Thank you," he says, quiet, meaningful, "You fit the Pi into the hilt, it locks onto the base of the blade, you'll feel where you press down to release it," he says, coaching Joe through piecing everything back together. "Fits right in your pocket, along with the cabling. Don't throw it at someone, put it somewhere you won't use it."
There's a side pocket on Joe's pants, one that's a little too far to reach in a fight that he puts everything into, velcroing it closed.
Booker sits back finally, accidentally bumps his knee into Tuah's again, wincing a little when it smarts, "Once we stop, before we head to the facility, I'll get Copley set up with access to the Pi, as soon as it comes online he'll be able to see it and that'll be his window into the firewall."
Silence then, there's a shift, the creak of the van seats as Nicky and Joe settle back in their places—but no one speaks for any signifigant amount of time and Booker closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall behind him as he lets it wash over him.
He breathes in, a slow and deep and careful inhale, taking stock of his body, of his heart beat, the blood pumping in his veins before he exhales, barely a sound coming from him as he lets his chest deflate. Trying not to think too hard about how this could be his last time cramped in the back of a van on the way to a mission. Thinking about how if everything goes according to his wishes, then he'll finally, finally finally get a fucking break.
"Booker," Andy's voice comes across the van, quiet and careful as she nudges her foot against his, "You okay?"
He lifts his head and opens his eyes, stares across the van at Andy for a moment, watches her before offering her a smile that he hopes is less of a grimace than it feels like, "Yeah boss," he says, "Just forgot what all this feels like."