To be fair, Sinclair should probably realize by now that this sort of thing is completely normal for Jack. He's like a splicer killing machine, which is definitely an incentive to keep him on his side.

Sinclair laughs to himself as he punches in the code and lets them in. This time, the turrets sit back, friendly as ever. They like you, Jack. They really like you.

And now for the first order of business. "There's towels and robes in the linen closet, son. Help yourself."