[And here is Harry Flynn, squinting out into the bright, tropical day in the middle of a bunch of ruins, the dig around him far too meticulous for his taste. He hasn't even been able to do what he came here for—explore and pillage—because he's been stuck here dealing with this rubbish.]

Look mate, it's not my fault the security detail you've hired on is shite. May I remind you what my job is? Because it isn't this!

[He grumbles, then throws back the rest of his cerveza, tossing the bottle into the grass just outside the dig.]

Least you can do is throw me a bone, Christ.