Terminal Velocity • Voltron x Terminal List

V

Emilio's rental property was practically a castle by Lance's standards. Veronica's house had three bedrooms, one full bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Emilio's place had three stories, the bottom of which was largely undivided to allow for big social gatherings. There was an in-ground pool out back that currently hosted approximately two dozen women in barely-there bikinis, trailed by half a dozen men in suits that sipped at expensive beverages and eyed the women openly.

Emilio stood near the door, greeting guests as they arrived. He was wearing a tailor-made white suit, which was an unfortunate choice on his part. Lance adjusted his scope to find that Emilio was wearing several thick rings on his right hand. No wedding ring, though. As far as Lance could tell, he wasn't carrying, but there were two figures that looked to have been chiseled straight out of concrete that were both packing heat.

"Eight bodyguards on the south side," Keith said to him over the comms.

"Two up front, four more that I've seen so far patrolling the perimeter. None upstairs that I can see."

"I think they're under contract with Capstone Industries," Keith replied with a small hum. "They're well-trained, too. Not just idiots with guns."

"Roger that," Lance said, still peering through his scope. He was inclined to agree with Keith on that charge; the two bodyguards next to Emilio weren't just bulky, they were also alert. Which didn't make things impossible, just more difficult. Fine by him.

"When do we move in?"

"We don't," Lance corrected, trying to gauge how much of a threat the bodyguards were. Both guards had a pistol currently tucked away in their hip holsters, each with an automatic weapon slung casually across their shoulder. He could make out the outline of a blade strapped against their lower leg. "You're just here for recon. I move in, and I move in alone."

The line crackled, but Keith didn't say anything for a while. Then, "I'd just like to state for the record that I think that's stupid and a bad idea. Respectfully."

"Noted and overruled," Lance replied, moving his scope to a vehicle that was arriving from the narrow service road that ran up to the property. It was a limousine, sleek and shiny as it glistened under the sun. A man stepped out and looked at the property with a frown, apparently unimpressed by the glamour of luxury. Lance zoomed in further with the scope and snapped several pictures first of the man, then of the license plate on the limo. By the way Emilio had straightened up, the guest of honor – and of influence – had just arrived.

Emilio stepped forward and clasped his hand, smiling easily and gesturing for the man to go inside. He guided him forward with an arm around his shoulders, and two guards stepped out from the limo to accompany them inside. The limo pulled away around the corner and disappeared to where the other vehicles had been parked.

Once Emilio and the newcomer were inside, one of the bodyguards shut the door and turned back to face the road, both hands on his automatic weapon and his eyes repeatedly scanning his surroundings.

Lance sank back into the underbrush and pulled out his phone, logging into the hidden layer once more and pulling up the communication app. He transferred the photos he'd taken over to his phone and started up a new session with Pidge, sending the photos over.

anything you can dig up on this guy?

For once, Pidge didn't respond immediately, so Lance left the app open and took a moment to review the photo in more depth. The man was in his mid-to-late forties if Lance had to guess. No wedding ring, but a pale mark where such a ring would have sat. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the premature wrinkles, Lance would bet on divorce, and a recent one. He didn't quite have a beard, but his chin was lined with salt and pepper stubble. His suit fit him well but had a few wrinkles that told Lance that he didn't own very many suits and didn't see the point in buying a new one, or perhaps he couldn't afford one, but Lance doubted that he had a money problem considering the industry he worked in. Perhaps the suit had sentimental value, but Lance was more inclined to believe that the man wasn't often wined and dined; he seemed more at home in a lab than out conducting business.