Quick. Quiet. Neat.
Those three objectives remained at the forefront of his mind as he opened the driver’s door and exited the car. Michael shut it behind him with a gentle, silent push before glancing around to make sure the coast was still clear.
As expected, the farmland around him was dark and relatively still. The only movement he noted were the whispers of the wind. The only sounds were those made by creatures he had no reason to fear.
He reached into the pocket of his black, waterproof, softshell jacket and pulled out the matching ski mask he’d brought for the occasion. Michael slipped it over his head, adjusting the stretchy material into place and ensuring it covered everything except his eyes.
It was the middle of the night, and the nearest neighbor was half a mile up the two-lane road. Michael shook his covered head with a sigh at the irony of it all. He could almost hear Amanda’s repeated words as she’d so often expressed her desire for a quieter life…
I don’t need much, Michael. Just a modest house in the country, surrounded by rolling waves of golden fields, lush, green trees, and the quiet, soothing sounds of nature. That’s the kind of life I want for my daughter. That’s the life I want for my family when I get out.
His partner had said those same wistful thoughts aloud to him more times than he could remember. And while Amanda was still planning to remain an active agent for at least two more years, she’d already started to put her long-term plans into motion, hoping to make the transition into normalcy as seamless as humanly possible.
Too bad she won’t live long enough to fully enjoy what she’d worked so hard to build.
Filling his lungs with a full, cleansing breath, he let it out slowly and began the quiet trek to the ill-fated woman’s home. With each of his silent steps through the trees near the field where he’d been parked, the knife sheathed at his belt brushed softly against his thigh as he moved.
The pistol in his hand felt comfortable as he kept it lowered at his side. Its weight and grip were so familiar and commonplace, that the weapon was almost like a natural extension of his arm.
For the next few minutes, Michael continued following the non-existent path, knowing it would take him to the back of Amanda’s house. When prepping for the job, he’d carefully mapped out the safest, most efficient route. And as he approached the end of the tree line at the property’s edge, he stopped.
Shoving the monocular into his left pocket, he squatted down next to a small pile of fallen leaves. With his free hand, Michael removed the dead foliage he’d put into place the night before to conceal the device hidden underneath.
The high-powered signal jammer weighed nearly twenty pounds and was almost two feet in width, hence last night’s trip out here. He’d use it for the job and then turn it off and walk away.
It would eventually be found, either by the cops or someone else, but Michael wasn’t worried. If and when the device was found, it would merely raise more questions than answers.
He lifted each of the jammer’s six directional patch panel antennas before pressing the switch on the side of the black metal base. He watched and waited until the little red light turned green. A sign that the device was working properly.
Confident the home’s alarm system, cameras, and phones had been systematically blocked from use, he pushed himself back to his feet and initiated the second stage of the plan.
Michael broke through the tree line’s edge, his booted footfalls silent against the evenly trimmed grass. Dressed in head-to-toe black, he blended into the shadows of the night as he made his way across his target’s backyard.
He passed a swing set on his right. A wooden one with two bright blue swings, two metal rings to hang from, and one of those wavy yellow slides whose end almost touched the grass.
Thoughts of the young child it belonged to faltered his steps as he made his way past the playful structure. He could see her adorable little face so clearly in his mind. Round, dimpled cheeks. Rosy red lips. A smattering of freckles across her tiny nose. Big, blue eyes he wasn’t sure she’d ever grow into, and a quick wit that was impressive for such a young age.
He hoped like hell his handler was right, and she was fast asleep in her bed. Otherwise…
No distractions, remember? Stay focused, get your ass in, and get your ass out.
With a mental shake of his head, Michael cleared his thoughts of anything that wasn’t mission related. He scanned the area with a trained agent’s eyes, noting how the exterior cameras’ positions hadn’t moved.
Previous surveillance of the property had confirmed the home’s cameras and porch lights were all motioned censored. Not a single one was activated by his presence, confirmation that the signal jammer was doing its job.
The sole of his boot landed on the first step leading to the modest back deck. One by one, his legs carried him silently to the slatted platform.
To his left was an outdoor table and chair set with padded seats, their upholstery a deep red with several big yellow and white flowers. A few feet from that, near the deck’s northern, wooden railing, was a smoker he wouldn’t mind having for himself, and a grill that would make lovers of barbeque drool.
Michael refused to acknowledge the familiarity of the scene. He didn’t think about the few times he’d spent with Amanda and Rafe on their deck, nor would he allow himself to remember watching their little girl slide down the yellow slide.
Instead, he remained on task, his attention laser focused. His only objective that of saving his own ass.
He approached the set of white French doors, double-checking that their locks were secure. With silent movements, Michael reached into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and retrieved the special tools he’d brought with him for this reason.
A carbide tungsten alloy handled glass cutter the size of a No. 2 pencil, and a five-inch diameter black alloy glass suction cup complete with rubber handles for a steady grip.
He brought the sharp, durable blade to the glass square nearest the door’s locks. Using the skills he’d learned in his first few weeks at The Farm—as they called their clandestine training facility—Michael created a circle just big enough to accommodate one of his fists.
