He looked down and saw a guard pass by. But the man’s gaze never moved up.

Rogers’s fingers slipped under the wood and gently pushed up. The window, well

oiled, slid open quietly.

 

In a flash Rogers was through it and inside.

 

He surveyed the darkness. He was not in a bedroom. It looked set up as a home

office. Desk, shelves, a small conference table, several seating areas.

 

He spotted the door at the other end of the room.

 

In his head he visualized how the house must be set up internally.

 

The door to his left had to empty out into the corridor. The door at the end of

the room must open into an adjoining room. A bedroom?

 

He moved toward the door and noted the motorized wheelchair with a cane leaning

next to it. This had to be Ballard’s room.

 

He eased the door open. The bed was set against the far wall. A man was lying in

the bed.

 

Rogers zeroed in on the face. Even in the darkness his eyes were able to see

precisely what was there. And then his mind was able to whittle away three