Children of Paranoia (17 page)

I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and continued making mental notes about the patterns inside the house. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. The mark was exercising in the exercise room, bouncing up and down on a StairMaster while reading the business section of the newspaper. The big Aussie was in the bodyguard's bedroom going through his set of exercises—push-ups, sit-ups, then dips. My timing was perfect; I had a few minutes to get around to the front of the house before the maid arrived. I spent a minute or two stretching; knowing that for much of the rest of the day I was going to have to be completely still, at times in cramped, awkward positions. When I was done stretching, I made my way over to the front of the house and hid behind a bush near the front gate. I waited there for about five minutes before the maid arrived.

The maid, as always, arrived in her own little silver car. She had an electric door opener in her car that opened the front gate. She activated it and pulled into the driveway. The driveway led up a small hill toward the house and then circled around a large fountain. In the middle of the fountain stood an angel, wings spread as if about to take flight, one arm pointed up toward the heavens and the other holding a large scepter that pointed toward the front gate. A stream of water shot out of the end of the scepter as if the scepter were a weapon.

When the maid's car pulled into the driveway, the cameras immediately focused on it. They focused on the car and followed it up the small hill toward the house. I waited as long as I could, allowing the cameras to move farther and farther away from the front gate, away from me. Then I slipped through the gate before it had a chance to close and lock again. Once inside, I had only a few seconds to make it to my first hiding spot. As with much of my life, all I cared about was being invisible. I ducked quickly behind a few bushes planted just inside of the front gate. They'd been planted there to hide the gate's engine from view. I carried my backpack in my hands, quickly crouching down and pressing my back up against the engine. I could still feel the motor purring against my back as the gate finally finished closing. I heard the gate click again as it locked itself back in place. I could feel the engine warming my back. The heat was as important as the bushes. The bushes hid me from the people in the house. The heat hid me from the cameras. The cameras were programmed not to recognize the heat from a few locations. The gate motor was one of them. The areas directly surrounding the house were another. The cameras were programmed that way so that they wouldn't stray toward the gate's engine every time the gate opened or closed. As long as I made no sudden movements, I was safe from the cameras here, all 98.6 degrees of me. The first and easiest leg of phase one of the plan was successful. I was inside the gate. I sat, consciously slowing down my breathing, knowing I would be in that position for a while, preparing for leg two.

Inside I knew that the maid was cooking breakfast for my mark and the big Aussie. In another hour or so, the American bodyguard would show up. Like the maid, he would come in a car equipped with an electric door opener for the gate. He would pull up to the front of the house and park the car before going inside to retrieve my mark and the big Aussie. The three of them would then leave together in the same car.

I heard the car outside the gate before I saw it. Then I felt the motor against my back begin to purr again as the gate began to open. I fixed my eyes on the camera that I was facing, a camera that I could see through the leaves of the bushes but that never pointed itself at me. Once I started moving, there would be no time to look at the cameras again, no time to double-check that the cameras had waited the requisite five seconds before chasing me. I simply watched and waited until the lens of the camera began to follow the bodyguard's car up the hill toward the house. In one more second, I'd have to make my second move. I took off my sneakers and placed them in the backpack I was holding in my lap. It was time to move. I tensed up, got to my feet, and sprinted directly up the center of the driveway. By running in my socks, I made almost no noise. I counted the seconds in my head as I ran. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. I realized that I hadn't exercised since I was in Georgia. Four seconds. Five seconds. I was going to be cutting this one closer than I'd hoped. Six seconds. I dropped my backpack on the ground. Seven seconds. I was nearing the fountain with the avenging angel. I leapt. I placed one hand on the fountain's concrete ledge and swung my legs over the side. I made a small splash as I entered the water but the sound was easily washed out by the sound of the torrent of water shooting out of the angel's scepter. Without a second's thought, I submerged my whole body in the water with the exception of my mouth and nose, holding them just high enough above the surface of water to breathe.

The water was shockingly cold. My heart rate seemed to double as soon as I hit the water. If my heart was weaker, it might have stopped completely. I stayed as still as possible, doing everything in my power to avoid going into shock from the cold. If everything moved on schedule, I'd only need to be in the water for five to ten minutes, until my mark and the bodyguards left the house. I only hoped to get out before hypothermia began to set in. I stayed as motionless as I could in the cold water, trying to will my body from shivering. I wasn't visible from the house due to the high concrete walls of the fountain. As long as I didn't move, I knew that the cameras wouldn't be attracted to me. The cold water would effectively cover up my thermal signature. As cold as it was, the water was keeping me safe.

As I floated I visualized the next leg. I had thrown my backpack to the right of the fountain, away from the direction that my mark and his bodyguards would drive their car. I lifted an ear out of the water, waiting to hear the car engine rev up again. My body began to become numb in the water. This made lying there less painful but also worried me. I feared that I wouldn't be able to move quickly enough once I got out of the water. I still needed to outrun the cameras. Without generating enough movement to attract the surveillance cameras, I began to massage my legs with my hands, trying to keep the blood flowing through them. After what seemed like an hour, I heard the engine of a car start. I lifted my head farther out of the water, getting both ears above the surface so that I could better position the sound of the car. I listened as the car went down the hill and pulled farther and farther away from the fountain. I heard the electronic gate begin to open and I eyed the one surveillance camera that I had a clear view of. It was pointing toward the bottom of the driveway, aimed directly at the moving car. I climbed over the fountain wall, stumbled toward my backpack, picked it up, and began running toward the front door of the house.

At first, my legs were clumsy and heavy, like I was wearing two concrete blocks for shoes. My mind moved faster than my legs could go and I nearly fell twice. Fortunately, it wasn't a long run. My blood began flowing again, pumping oxygen to my leg muscles. I bounded up the stairs leading to the front porch and then quickly ducked behind a love seat that was set diagonally across one corner of the house's expansive front porch. Once seated, I quickly eyed the camera that I could see from that vantage point. It hadn't chased me, still pointing toward the front gate, toward the sight of the last moving object. Slowly, as to not attract the attention of the surveillance cameras, but as quickly as I could, I stripped off my wet clothes and replaced them with dry ones; a dry sweatshirt, sweatpants, socks. I put my sneakers back on. I pulled the ski mask over my head in an effort to warm myself back up. Then I pulled my knees up and hugged them against my chest and waited. I was close enough to the house now that the surveillance cameras wouldn't be attracted to my body heat. It was approximately an hour and a half since I had first reached the house. I would be crouched in a ball in the corner of the porch for another two and a half hours, before I had a chance to make another move.

Two and a half hours. For those two and a half hours, every movement I made, I made as slowly and deliberately as I could. I took a few drinks of water, ate a power bar, and waited. Waiting had always seemed to be eighty percent of my job—waiting for planes; waiting for buses; waiting for orders; waiting for the right moments to act; waiting for the right time to kill—but rarely had the waiting been so literal. I counted the seconds. I watched the cars that drove by on the street. I tested to see how long I could hold my breath. I ran over the plan again and again in my mind. I thought about you. I thought about what it would be like trying to say good-bye to you. I tried to stop thinking about you. It didn't work.

The time passed. Eventually I heard the knob on the front door begin to rattle. The maid had finished dusting and vacuuming and cleaning the bathrooms and was now about to venture out to get the mail. The door opened and she stepped outside. She didn't even glance in my direction. She simply wiped her hands on her apron and started walking down the driveway. I watched her as she walked, watched the surveillance cameras follow her down the hill, and then, once she reached the other side of the water fountain, I stood up with my backpack, walked quickly to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside. I left my wet clothes on the porch. I wouldn't need them again.

Once inside, I made my way downstairs to the exercise room. The maid always cleaned the exercise room right after breakfast. She had no need to visit it again. There were no linens to change there. I'd be safe. Once in the room, I ducked into the closet and sat on the floor. I took the gun out of my backpack, attached the silencer, checked to make sure that it was loaded, and then placed it back in my lap. I drank some more water and ate my second power bar. I congratulated myself. I was still cold and a bit tired, but the plan was working perfectly. It was time to wait again. It would be another nine hours before phase two of my plan went into action.

 

 

Eventually, I fell asleep. I don't know how long I was out for. Falling asleep wasn't part of the plan. The five minutes lying in the cold water must have taken more out of me than I'd expected. When I woke up, I was slouched down in the dark corner of the closet, leaning against the walls. I opened my eyes and lifted my head. There was a spot on my shoulder from where I'd been drooling in my sleep. The air in the closet was extremely warm. I don't remember what I was dreaming about but I woke up with a crick in my neck and a raging hard-on. Falling asleep like that had been dangerous. I could have snored. I could have flinched, banging against the wall. I could have mumbled or screamed in my sleep. It was that type of recklessness, those small mistakes, that got people killed. If they had found me, asleep in the closet, with a gun in my lap, it would not have ended well; not for me, anyway.

I was lucky. Everything was okay. I hadn't screamed or snored. I checked my watch. It was five-thirty in the evening. I had gotten away with napping. The sleeping was dangerous but it probably did me good. I just wanted to get it all over with. I checked the gun again. I stopped and listened. I held my breath for a moment, trying to make as little noise as possible so I could hear any other movements in the house. There were sounds of footsteps on the floor above me. They were faint but I could hear them. The maid was still at work. Had the footsteps been the American bodyguard's or those of the mark, they would have been louder.

I visualized the rest of the plan again in my head. I'd wait in the closet until my mark and the bodyguard got home. I'd have to act sometime between their arrival and when they armed the night sensor. They generally armed the sensor right before going to sleep. The night sensor would set off an alarm if it detected any movement. They would effectively trap me in the closet. I'd have to get upstairs before the bodyguard turned it on. The bedrooms were on the third floor. That's where the hits would go down. At the top of the stairs, the library was on the left and the bedrooms were on the right. The plan was to take the bodyguard out first. That's why I needed a gun. I'd kill the bodyguard on the way in so that I wouldn't have to worry about him on the way out. It should have been easy enough—open the door to the bodyguard's bedroom before he suspects anything, pop two shots into him, and then move on to the true target.

At around seven-thirty, right on schedule, my mark and the bodyguard got home. From my spot in the closet, all I could hear was the sound of footsteps on the floor directly above me. I couldn't hear voices. I could, however, make out three distinct sets of footsteps. Not long after the footsteps became a trio, they were reduced to a duet when the maid went home. As long as I could hear the footsteps directly above me, I could track what rooms my targets were in, and by looking at my watch and checking their usual schedule, I could track what each person was doing. The mark was like a robot. He didn't deviate from his nightly schedule at all. The bodyguard's schedule was less fixed. He went upstairs once to check the surveillance video but other than that, I was able to follow his footsteps and feel safe. Just in case something showed up on the surveillance cameras, I readied myself for a sweep of the house. I sat with my back upright, pushed up against the back wall of the closet, and pointed the gun at the closet door, ready to pull the trigger. The sweep never came. When my mark went into his office after dinner, the bodyguard simply went to the den to watch television.

Finally, at around ten P.M., both sets of footsteps disappeared up the stairs. With that, it was time for me to put phase two into action. I ate the last power bar and drank the rest of the water. I pulled the ski mask out of the backpack and slid it back over my face. The mask was for the getaway. After the job was done, I intended to walk right out the front door, surveillance cameras be damned.

I slung the backpack over my shoulders and quietly pushed the closet door open. The exercise room was nearly as dark as the closet. I tried to remember where all the equipment was located so that I wouldn't trip over anything. I could see just enough to make my way through the shadows. Slowly, I walked toward the stairs leading up to the second floor and climbed. At the top of the stairs, I turned, holding the gun out in front of me with two hands. I had never been formally trained to handle a gun so I moved like I had seen actors in television crime dramas move, turning the corners of the dark house quickly with my arms outstretched, leading with the gun.