HUNK listens to the laughter, and notes this quietly, too, filing it away. There's no point in addressing it now, but it's telling.
Military lifers looking for death. It's a phrase he'd used often, before his words started dropping in frequency. He doubts if Nicholai remembered it.
Why did he remember it?
He shoves the thought out of his mind, and carries on with business. In the cool of the cement-walled room, HUNK shifts in the uncomfortable seat, tucking the old phone more fully under his jaw.
"To some extent. You'll need to rendezvous at the checkpoint. There will be a chopper waiting for you. You'll be brought to the island, and we'll go over more details there."
He considers, knowing Ginovaef doesn't have a job right now, living off of his pay as a special forces commando. It'll be growing thin by now, he figures. Unless Nicholai has found a more lucrative source of cash that doesn't involve employment that the file didn't say.