9 - Lines We Don't Cross

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"All right

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"All right. Keep a lookout. We're behind enemy lines," JJ said, pulling out the gun like we were breaching a military compound rather than sneaking into a hotel.

"Yo, come on, man. Put it back," John B said.

"JJ," I said, giving him the look, feeling a small flare of irritation tighten across my shoulders.

"What? You can never be too careful." He shrugged.

"I predict that bringing a weapon to a four-star hotel will cause significantly more problems than it solves," Pope said.

"Thank you, Pope," John B muttered, and grabbed the gun from JJ's hand and put it back in the glove box.

"There you go," Pope said.

"You can't just grab a gun like that," JJ mumbled, climbing out. "Can't forget my badge. Professional busboy." He patted his pocket and hopped out of the Twinkie.

"Real smooth," I said, shaking my head, though I couldn't fully suppress the small twitch of a smile.

---

JJ led us down the side of the building with the energy of someone who had done this before and was enjoying the performance of it.

"Where are we going?" Pope asked.

"Getting on the internet. Only rich people have electricity right now," JJ said. "This way!"

"Andrew!" he called at the service entrance.

"All right?" said the guy inside.

"What's up, bro? Mama L — good to see you!" JJ reached out his hand and got it smacked away.

"JJ, no!" the woman said.

"Mm-hm." JJ led us into a back room full of humming computers, the generators doing their quiet, expensive work, the hum of it settling into my teeth after the noise of everything outside. "See? Kooks don't miss a beat."

"Sweet Lord," Pope said, dropping into the nearest chair. "The internet. I've missed you."

"Let me get in there. Gotta check my Insta models," JJ said, already reaching for the keyboard.

"JJ, no," I deadpanned.

"Hey. Hey! My dad's map." John B spread the worn paper carefully across the table, and I watched his hands smooth it flat, careful in a way that made my chest ache a little.

"Coordinates?" Pope asked, fingers already moving.

"34° 57' 30" north, 75° 55' 42" west," John B read.

"Okay. Boom — continental shelf, right there." Pope pointed.

"If it's off the deep end, it's not much of a treasure hunt," he added.

"Come on, baby," John B murmured at the screen, and I felt the tension in the room climb with the loading bar.

"It's on the high side. Only 900 feet," John B said.

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