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Title: The Tech Guy
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: Black Hawk Down: D-Tech
Pairing: None that the tech guy can see.
Rating: Mild. Implied only, and only if you've read all the D-Techs.
Warning: Won't make any sense if you don't know Black Hawk Down and D-Tech.
Disclaimer: Totally MADE UP.
Summary: Sanderson and Hoot need a full-time tech guy. Someone from their past applies for the job. See if you can guess who the new tech guy is.
The Tech Guy
The potential new tech guy stood across the street and studied an ordinary house on an ordinary street in mixed-use part of town, second from the left before houses gave way to older workshops and warehouses. There was no sign, nothing to indicate that the D-Tech office hid inside, but he recognized it from the satellite imagery.
That had been the last of the series of tasks that had made up the application process. First, he'd answered a somewhat cryptic advertisement at a bulletin board for cybergeeks. Then, he was given instructions to set up an "unbreakable false online identity", which had taken Sanderson a week to crack, although he'd not known it was Sanderson at the time, and he wasn't sure how many had responded to the ad, so there was no telling how much time Sanderson had actually devoted to the breaking of his identity.
Had Sanderson been surprised to find out who he was?
He hadn't been much for the gadget end of things back in the army. He'd been too busy with doing his job. But he'd learned a lot since then, become a bit of a wirehead, even. He'd always been good with his hands. He found electronics comforting. Soldering, in particular. Soothing. Any small, detailed or repetitious task was good. Cleaning. Mending.
He could remember watching his father practice suturing on oranges while he listened to the evening news. His mother used to doodle, the same shapes, over and over. One night last week he'd found himself rewiring his alarm clock in the dark. Same sort of thing, really. Idle hands make the devil's work, or something. His mother never used to say that but he'd heard Captain Steele say it more than once, when they stripped their field weapons in training.
Sanderson could probably clean every weapon the army had ever used. In the dark. Blindfolded. Hoot could probably do it in his sleep.
Come to think of it, he was a little surprised that he's put so much effort into applying for this job, before he'd even known who he was applying to.
He knew who they were now.
That had been the next stage of the application, finding out who was D-Tech. Difficult task. D-Tech wasn't a covert operation, so it wasn't like trying to find a top-secret government project or anything, but Sanderson had set up an amusing obstacle course to get from the ad to the company. There had been certain clues. Riddles. It was more of a puzzle than anything else. Once he'd figured out that Sanderson was using Neuromancer as his code key, it wasn't all that difficult. And once the name D-Tech had popped up, the identities of the owners were easy enough to discover. Relatively.
He didn't blame them for making it the application for the job so convoluted. After all, they needed a tech guy who would be able to dig deep. He had to prove his abilities. He'd performed a half dozen other tasks - from a distance. And answered questions about everything from remote surveillance to burglar alarms. The sort of questions you would expect from a security firm looking for a tech guy.
He was reasonably sure he had the job, but he wasn't about to discount the possibility of surprise. An ambush, even. That last email, informing him that he'd passed all the tests and telling him that if he could find the place by 09:00 Monday morning he could have an interview, had been a bit of a surprise. He knew he'd passed the tests, but who would have thought the email would be signed by John Grimes?
No outward signs of activity, but this had to be the place. Even without the satellite image of the coordinates hidden in the text of the email, he knew this was the D-Tech office. The vehicles were a dead giveaway.
The big, black, beat-up, somewhat intimidating black truck was just what he would expect of Sanderson. And the big, black, beat-up bicycle had to be Hoot's, because no one else had legs that long, and no one else could own a bicycle that was actually that intimidating, even without Hoot on it. The silverblue commuter bike with the slightly crooked rear rack - indicating habitual use of a heavy pannier - had to belong to Grimesy. It was the right size, and he could even picture Grimes riding it, now that he knew Grimes worked for D-Tech.
Who would have imagined Grimes working for those two?
It was a bit weird that Sanderson and Hoot were situated here, so close to Ranger territory. He would have expected Deltas to settle closer to Fort Bragg. But then he'd dug a little deeper and found out about the wife back when Sanderson was a Ranger, and it all made sense.
A lot of guys stayed in the area after turning civilian. That had made it easy for him to couch surf closer and closer as the tests wore on. If he got the job, he too would be living within spitting range of the base. And maybe the rest of his life could get on track.
He was tired, after two years of wandering, tired of not knowing what he wanted. He knew he didn't want to be in the army anymore. He'd had enough of life-or-death. Death, really. But he didn't want 9-5 either. He'd tried a few regular jobs, but they weren't satisfying. He needed more of a challenge, but one without the possibility of imminent death. No more blood. No more bodies.
D-Tech was clean. It wasn't an offensive organization. Security - defensive, surveillance, investigation. Danger - yes, perhaps. More along the break-and-enter lines than what they all used to do. More like creative solutions to difficult problems. Corporate. Civilians. No cowboy antics.
Maybe a few cowboy antics. After all, Hoot was involved.
Nothing that would involve him. Maybe some location work, but he wouldn’t be asked to do anything risky. He thought. Besides, these guys had done their time. They weren't going to take unnecessary risks. Not for money. And this was a business. It was just about money.
Time to go in.
He wasn't sure of the protocol. He might be blowing the job opportunity - maybe he was supposed to sneak in or something. Prove his stealth skills.
Naw, that would be stupid. They weren't hiring him for fieldwork. Besides, breaking into a house containing one, probably two and possibly even more ex-Deltas? That would be suicide. Better to be smart and ring the bell.
John Grimes appeared in the window, and opened the door, all smiles, saying he was right on time, sorry for the intricacy of the application process. He lied and told Grimesy it had been a piece of cake to find the place. Grimes laughed and made it clear that lying wasn't going to work. Fair enough.
There was something different about Grimes, aside from the hair and the civilian clothes. Grimes had always struck him as a little bit shifty, but not now. Very straightforward and upfront. He still hadn't gained back the weight he lost after the Mog, but whatever it was that had fucked him up so bad seemed to have passed. He looked healthy. Healthier than he'd ever looked in the army.
Sanderson didn't look quite so healthy. He didn't look sick, but he looked a little gaunt, and like he'd had about two hours sleep the night before. Though he'd showered, he hadn't found time to shave or comb his hair yet. Sanderson was friendly, effusive, even. "You look great, man. Hey, I loved how you located that cached file. Very clever. I left a back door, but you found a side door I hadn't even noticed. I need someone with skills like that. This business is becoming more and more computer based every day."
No doubt about that. But he was good at another stuff too. "You don't just need a hacker, right? I enjoy that, but I can do more."
"Oh sure," Sanderson said. "There will be a lot of computer work, but electronics as well. Really, whatever you can do, we can find a use for it. I have a workshop in back, but you can see that later. Come on in."
And so he sat in a chair next to the biggest leather couch he'd ever seen. It was old and worn, but solid. It suited Sanderson and the office. The desk was built the same. Solid. Like Sanderson. It was a solid, masculine sort of office.
There was a fair bit of talk about direction and focus, and discretion. Fair enough. Some details about the sorts of jobs D-Tech did. Sanderson was a bit cagey about what he'd been doing up in Toronto, but he wasn't at all surprised that his whereabouts had been noted. After all, it was expected that a tech guy could figure out where anyone was at any given time.
The door opened about five minutes into it, and Hoot walked in, still damp from a shower, and looking very healthy. Fit and practically glowing.
The house didn't seem big enough to house Grimes' office, this office, a workshop, Sanderson's living quarters and a place for Hoot to live. Maybe there was an apartment in the basement or something. Unless the rooms upstairs were very small. That was possible. Once you were in the army for a while, living in close quarters didn't bother you so much.
Hoot had to be staying here. He hadn't been able to locate a residence, or even a nonmilitary mailing address, for Hoot. As far as the system knew, Hoot Gibson lived on air and still picked up his mail from the army base. He was a ghost.
A very solid ghost, towering over the probable new tech guy, with an intense stare but a friendly enough smile. "Good to see you. You're keeping well."
"You, too. How was Toronto."
Hoot whistled. "Quite the place," he said. "You been?"
"Uh, not for years." Was there something special about Toronto? He couldn’t remember.
"They have some interesting entertainment there," Hoot said.
Sanderson shuffled some files on his desk and coughed.
Hoot sprawled on the couch. "Something tells me it's going to take a while to get that trip out of my system," he said casually.
Sanderson picked up an empty coffee cup and stared at it intently. "Damn," he muttered.
The door opened again and Grimes came in with a file folder. "It's all in there - contract, confidentiality agreements, insurance forms… you want coffee, Sarn't?" he handed the file to Sanderson and took the cup.
Grimes called Sanderson Sarn't. Still. Old habits die hard, he guessed.
"Thank you, Mr. Grimes."
Mr. Grimes?
"How do you want it?"
Grimes was talking to him. "Black, one sugar."
Grimes didn't seem to mind taking coffee orders. He never had. But he seemed to do a lot more than get the coffee around here. He'd brought those files without being asked. There were more files on his desk, along with mail, an old-fashioned rolodex… what was in the rolodex? Contacts. What kind of a contact list had Hoot and Sanderson built up over the years? Grimes probably had to lock the rolodex in the safe every night.
He was sure he could work with Grimes. And Sanderson, he was a professional. But Hoot… was he the way he used to be? He hadn't been hard to work with - Hoot was always a reliable member of any team - but he had that tendency to go off on his own and do things. Sometimes unpredictable things.
Grimes came back with coffee and a tray of food. "Eat something," he said to Sanderson, pushing a bagel across the desk.
So, Grimes had noticed that Sanderson looked a little shaky too.
Sanderson apologized for having skipped breakfast, mumbled something about a busy night, and stuffed some bagel in his mouth.
Hoot grabbed a Danish and a bagel. "I'm starving."
"You're always starving," Grimes muttered as he went back to his own office.
It would only be polite to eat something, so he did. And the coffee was great. This was supposed to be a job interview, though. He wondered if there were any more tests.
He wondered if he looked right. Grimes was impeccably dressed in casual business attire. Sanderson and Hoot were both dressed as if they were still in Delta - head to toe tactical black, comfortable, unmarked, soft-soled boots. His own clothes seemed too civilian. And his hair… Hoot's hair was a big longer than it used to be, but not as long as Grimes'.
The tech guy pushed a curl behind his ear. He should have got a haircut. These fucking curls were not professional. But after two years of drifting from place to place, he'd got used to them. Besides, they wanted a tech guy, back room, silent operator. And shit, look at Grimes - he didn't exactly look military, did he?
More talk about the sort of work they did. Hoot said something about liaisoning with the clients that made Sanderson slam his coffee cup a little hard on the desk, but other than that the two ex-Deltas seemed to have a very smooth working relationship. No ego problems.
The feel of the office was good - there was a bit of an electrical buzz in the air, an edge of perpetual danger or at least action, but that was to be expected. It wasn't rigid like some army environments. It wasn't the opposite either - no crude pictures on the wall or macho posturing. Above the desk, behind Sanderson's head, there was a portrait of Knut Haukelid. These were guys who took their work very seriously. All business.
He started to picture himself working here, coming in every day to tinker with gadgets and design security systems, coordinate surveillance operations, creep around the internet doing fun industrial spy shit. That was a nice picture. Stable. He could get a place in town. He could reconnect with some of his old buddies.
And he could connect with that brunette with the great tits from the bar the other night…
"Mr. Grimes can show you the workshop."
It used to be a kitchen. The doors had been taken off the lowers for leg room. The shelves above and below were rammed with boxes and bins. On one wall, the counter had been replaced with a thick butcher block countertop, burnt in a few places. A stainless steel surface on the other side was littered with the innards of what looked like an ordinary telephone, except for a few added features tucked under the cover plate. The far wall was a computer station. Two computers, and spare parts. Computer manuals. A book on cryptography. Copies of A&S International, American and Japanese versions, Security Magazine, and an old issue of Miniature Camera Monthly. The Locksmith's Annual. All what you would expect in the workshop of a modern security firm.
"Not much to do in here, until you start working," Grimes said.
"Am I going to be working?"
"I think so. You got this far. They wouldn’t be in there talking about you if they weren't going to hire you."
Was that what they were doing?
"What's it like, working with them?" he asked.
"Good. They're fair. They pay on time. They're respectful…ish…" Grimes said. "So, you do tech stuff now?"
"Yeah, I really like it. I started computer programming soon as we got back from the Mog. I needed a change."
"We all did," Grimes agreed.
Had they ever. What was it Eversmann had said to him? It was a few days after the action. They were sitting by Blackburn's cot. "Not like training," Eversmann had said. "You can fire your weapon on a range all you want, but when you see that first man fall… it's not like on the range."
The real thing had been a shock for a lot of guys.
He hadn't liked it much. He'd done his job like everyone else, and he had nothing to be ashamed of. There were things he regretted, but he didn't lose sleep over them.
Not any more.
Not for the last year or so.
Would working with these men bring all that back?
"You think about it much?" he asked.
Grimes shrugged. "Not really. Not any more."
"But when you started working here… you got out of the army not long after we got back here. You got away from all that. After spending time away from the military, then seeing people you knew from Somalia, having to see them every day, did that bring back memories?"
Grimes said nothing. He had a funny half-smile on his face.
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Sanderson closed the door and turned to face Hoot. "What do you think?"
"He has curls," Hoot said.
Well, yeah, okay. Sanderson had noticed that. "I mean, is he our new tech guy?"
"It's not really his area of expertise, is it?"
"He retrained. Just like Grimes."
Or not. No one was just like Grimes.
"He passed all the tests," Sanderson added.
"So? He's good with computers. Big deal."
"No one else passed all the tests."
Sanderson was not about to hire someone who hadn't passed all of his carefully planned tests.
"He has curls," Hoot repeated.
"Are the curls going to be an issue? I don't think we can legally ask someone to cut their hair…" Sanderson said.
"Fuck no! Don't ask him to cut them. I like them."
Sanderson sighed. "You have zero gaydar, Hoot," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you see what you like and you focus on it. Admirable trait in a hunter, but this is work."
"We get lots of work done and still have time to give the couch a workout."
"He's straight. As in, 'does not like men that way'. Forget it."
"How can you tell? You didn't even ask him."
"I can tell. And I can see that look in your eye. Just forget it. You won't be getting him on the couch."
Hoot reached one long arm out and grabbed Sanderson by a beltloop. "I don't want anyone on the couch, 'cept for you."
"And the Russian." Was Sanderson pouting?
"Fuck the Russian."
"I would, but you said I can't, ever again."
"When did I say that?"
"Last night, after I finished fucking you while you were pretending to be the Russian."
"That was the hormones talking. Next time, you can fuck the Russian," Hoot offered.
Sanderson thought about it for thirteen seconds. "Okay. But is he our tech guy?"
The tech guy stood at the desk, signing the forms. The pay was good, better than he'd expected. And he would get his own computer and workbench. And they wanted him to start right away. Nice, safe, secure desk job, but with enough variety to keep him on his toes. Challenging, but not threatening. Computer spying, for the most part.
"If you don't mind me asking," Sanderson said, "why did you leave the army?"
He thought about the thousand ways he could answer that question.
"You mind. It's okay," Sanderson said quickly. "It's just that, well, I know you don't do your old job anymore, and you're not interested in pursuing it in the civilian realm. But…"
"If the need were to arise," Hoot said.
"You think that'll happen?" he asked.
Hoot snorted.
Okay. So D-Tech wasn't so computer-oriented after all. There would be action. Maybe not every day. But some days. Or nights. Dangerous action that needed to be kept quiet, and in the course of that dangerous action, mistakes could happen.
"Unless you don't want to do that at all any more."
"No pressure." Hoot said. "But it might be handy."
"No problem, guys," Kurt Schmid said. "I'm not a medic any more, but if an emergency comes up, I'll be happy to patch you up."
D-Tech had a new tech guy.
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