Part One
Bennett stormed into the abandoned house, flinging the door open with such force that it bounced back off the wall and almost struck him in the face. Further angered by the doors unwillingness to play fair, he grabbed hold of it again and slammed it shut. 'Easy there big guy!' came an amused voice from behind a computer screen on the other side of the room.
'When I want your opinion Strike, I'll give it to you.' grumbled Bennett, removing his sodden poncho and throwing it onto a nearby table. He wandered over to the burning fire to warm up, disturbing another man from his reading.
'Any news then?' asked Andersen, placing his book down on the table.
'Nah', he replied, rubbing his hands together in front of the dancing flames, allowing the warmth to restore feeling to his fingers, 'Ghost's still out there waiting for them to return.'
'Not to worry, as soon as they've got the intel they'll be back. Then we can get on with the job.'
The big man sighed and sat down on a nearby chair. 'I'm sick of the rain. Everywhere we go, it rains. And not just normal rainy rain, it's big fat rain, every single time. What's the deal with that?'
'It's that big bald head of yours', offered Strike, 'Well known fact that rain is naturally attracted to dense, flat surfaces…'
Bennett stared over at the younger man, a slight look of confusion on his face. 'But I was wearing a hat…'
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