“There’s a boat.”
“Pretty sure it’s a yacht.”
“Nope. It’s a boat.”
“Why’s there a yacht-like boat in the combat zone?”
“Better question: Can we make it go boom?”
“Within the parameters of our war games with the Brits?”
“Does it matter?”
“Oi, Earp. Get your twats to shut the bloody hell up, will you? They’re clogging up our airwaves. Are they comedians or soldiers?” The dry humour in Hamish Ross’s voice echoed loudly in Wyatt’s ear where he’d been working valiantly to ignore the chatter from his team. “You listening?”
“We’re Navy SEALs, Hamster, not soldiers. We leave that grunt shit to you.” Wyatt couldn’t help needling his old friend and SAS counterpart. They’d worked together multiple times over the years, sharing secrets, wounds, and beers. “Hey, Ross, any clue why there’s a vessel in our designated dive area?”
“None.” Hamish spoke in muffled tones to someone, and a long silence stretched before he returned to Wyatt. “Shouldn’t be there, Earp. We’re picking up four warm bodies on the thermal camera. They’re not ours—or yours. Boat’s registered to a local rental company, the owner claims only one person should be on it. A botany student from Cardiff.”
“A botany student from Cardiff?” Wyatt glanced over at Trace, who looked almost as confused as he felt. “Why the fuck would a— You know what, never mind—what are we doing?”
The start of The Botanist is pure silliness. It’s a brief moment of indulging my absurd sense of humor before delving into darker and more serious subjects. Of all The Sin Bin stories thus far, the one might be my favourite beginning.
For now lol.