movement, waiting, followed by more movement was firmly entrenched in
his mind.
He crouched down at the edge of the front grounds an took one more long
look around; no need to rush. No dogs to worry about, which was good. A
human, no matter how young and fleet, simply could not outrun a dog. But
it was the noise they made that stopped men like Luther cold. There was
also no perimeter security system, probably because of the innumerable
false alarms that would be caused by the large populations of deer,
squirrel and raccoon roaming over the area. However, Luther would
shortly be faced with a highly sophisticated defense package that he
would have thirty-three seconds to disarm-and that included the ten
seconds it would take him to remove the control panel.
The private security patrol had passed through the area thirty minutes
earlier. The cop clones were supposed to vary their routines, making
sweeps through their surveillance sectors every hour. But after a month
of observations, Luther had easily discerned a pattern. He had at least
three hours before another pass would be made. He wouldn’t need nearly
that long.
The grounds were pitch black, and thick shrubs, the lifeblood of the
burglary class, clung to the brick entryway like a caterpillar nest to a
tree branch. He checked each window of the house: all black, all silent.
He had watched the caravan carrying the home’s occupants parade out two
days ago to points south, and carefully took inventory of all owners and
personnel. The nearest estate was a good two miles away.
He took a deep breath. He had planned everything out, but in this
business, the simple fact was that you could never count for everything.
He loosened the grips on his backpack and then glided out from the field
in long, smooth strides across the lawn, and in ten seconds was facing
the thick, solid-wood front door with reinforced steel framing together
with a locking system that was rated at the top of the charts for
holding force. None of which concerned Luther in the least.
He slipped a facsimile front-door key out of his jacket pocket and
inserted it into the keyhole without, however, turning it.
He listened for another few seconds. Then he slipped off his backpack
and changed his shoes so there would be no traces of mud. He readied his
battery-operated screwdriver, which could reveal the circuitry he needed
to fool ten times faster than he could by hand.
The next piece of equipment he carefully pulled from his backpack
weighed exactly six ounces, was slightly bigger than a pocket calculator
and other than his daughter was the best investment he had ever made in
his life. Nicknamed “Wit” by its owner, the tiny device had assisted
Luther in his last three jobs without a hitch.
The five digits comprising this home’s security code had already been
supplied to Luther and programmed into his computer. Their proper
sequence was still a mystery to him, but that obstacle would have to be
eradicated by his tiny metal, wire and microchip companion if he wanted
to avoid the ear-piercing shriek that would instantly emit from the four
sound cannons planted at each corner of the ten-thousandsquare-foot
fortress he was invading. Then would follow the police call dialed by
the nameless computer he would battle in a few moments. The home also
had pressure-sensitive windows and floor plates, in addition to
tamperproof door magnets. All of which would mean nothing if Wit could
tear the correct code sequence from the alarm system’s grasp.
He eyed the key in the door and with a practiced motion hooked Wit to
his harness belt so that it hung easily against his side. The key turned
effortlessly in the lockland Luther prepared to block out the next sound
that he would hear, the low beep of the security system that warned of
impending doom for the intruder if the correct answer was not fed into
it in the allotted time and not a millisecond later.
He replaced his black leather gloves with a pair of more nimble plastic
ones that had a second layer of padding on the fingertips and palms. It