Paul Rogers took each of these things into account while he stared at the gates

to Chris Ballard’s refuge.

 

For he had decided that’s what it was: a refuge.

 

Maybe from me.

 

Since he hadn’t had to work tonight he had left Hampton at eleven and gotten

here around one.

 

He knew where the guards were. And how high the walls were.

 

What he didn’t know was where Ballard slept.

 

That would take a bit of exploring. It would take a bit of risk. But he had no

other options.

 

He scaled the wall on the north side of the compound and dropped lightly to the

ground inside. He kept low for a few moments, scanning all compass points before

heading toward the main house.

 

The doors, he was sure, were armed. The grounds, he knew, were under video

surveillance.

 

He had seen the camera positioning and spotted a narrow lane of invisibility