In order to get a better view of the entry gates, Tom drove the van across the street and a short way up a fire road that artfully screened him from sight behind a thick clump of oleanders. Although obscured from the road, his position afforded him clear scrutiny of the driveway.

His breathing slowly returned to normal, but his acid reflux continued to churn. He pulled a bottle of Maalox from his glove box and took a swig, then another, and forced himself to relax.

Tom put the bottle back and removed a small handgun. He knew it was loaded, but checked again anyway. So much for the dog. He tucked it in his pocket and gazed around. There had to be a way to get onto the estate. Once he figured that out, the woman was his. The question was how.

The sound of engines climbing the hill grabbed his attention and he slid lower in the seat. Amazed, he watched a black Lincoln Towne car crest the hill and follow a little BMW convertible to the turnaround on the adjacent property. He shivered as they parked in the spot he'd just vacated.

"Shit," he whispered. "Ten minutes earlier and they'd have caught me parked right where they are now." He shivered and reached for the Maalox again.

Had that happened, they would be witnesses and his plans would be ruined. They'd send him back and he'd never see her again; he couldn't let that happen.

The small art deco sign on the BMW's door said Bel Air Realty. A woman in her mid-fifties hopped out, clipboard in hand and proceeded to point in a variety of directions, including the Baker estate. She made a beckoning motion with her finger and led them down the length of the dividing fence, disappearing from Tom's view for a short while.

The men, dressed in business suits, made their way back up the trail in a gingerly fashion, trying to avoid snagging their clothing on the weeds and plant tops. They nodded periodically at the woman, glancing in whatever direction she pointed.

They walked back up the trail, snatches of conversation floating across the road to Tom.

Before long, one of the men reached into his pocket, wrote on a slip of paper and handed it to the woman. Smile wide, she extended her hand, shook with both men, pulled the 'for sale' sign out of the ground and put it in her trunk.

Moments later, the little car turned around and drove back down the hill.

The men gazed at the Baker property, checking out the area. They talked for a bit, then returned to the trunk, raised the lid and pulled black-striped overalls from a large black bag. They stepped into the protective uniforms and went back to the fence.


Mystified, Tom watched them disappear down the fenceline. 'What the hell is going on? Okay, they bought the property and now they're inspecting it. But they already checked that path. Why are they only interested in the fence? What are they looking for? Why not check out the far section of the property?'

While Tom mulled over that quandry, he heard the distinctive sound of a diesel engine climbing the hill. 'Good God, it's like flippin' Grand Central Station!'

The same white truck and horse trailer that had left earlier this morning, swung wide to the left side of the road and then stopped by the gate. An arm reached out, pressed four numbers and the gate started to open.

Left with no time to think, Tom exited the van, scooted across the road and stood right behind the middle of the horse trailer. Thus invisible to either the driver or the camera that filmed the entrance, he moved along behind the trailer. The moment he came even with the gate, he darted into the heavy shrubbery that lined the interior fence and disappeared. He never saw the men crest the rise, but they saw him.


"What the hell was that?" Dimitri Kosaloff shrugged at his companion, Anton Cheseky. "Do my eyes deceive, or did someone just run in behind that horse carrier?"

"I saw that also. What do you make of it? Do we have competition already? How many people can know of the breakthrough this quickly?"

"If that is the case, Anton, it does not bode well for us. We must get the formula at all costs."

Dimitri pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed, then waited a moment. Speaking in rapid Russian and nodding several times, he grimaced and made a fist. He closed the cell with a flick and slipped it back into his pocket.

"So far, there is no buzz. Control maintains we are only country aware of the imminence of the breakthrough."

"Then what did we just see? A man sneaks onto estate and immediately hides in shrubbery? What is that?"

"I'm not sure, Anton. I know what we saw, but its significance, who can say; these crazy Americans do many strange things."

"This was more than strange," the older man said. "I have feeling Control might be wrong. We take him out before he messes up our plans, or do we watch and see what he does?"

"It must be clean, no mistakes, no police. For moment, we watch. Should things get...." Anton pointed at his temple, made quick circles then pulled the imaginary trigger.

Dimitri nodded. They turned and walked back to the car. Once inside Dimitri unlocked the glove box, removed two handguns and two silencers and an unusual remote control device.

Anton reached beneath the passenger seat and pulled out a pair of wire cutters and heavy gloves and stuffed them in his pocket.

Their plan: cut through the fence where the foliage grew thick but passable. They tucked their guns into their holsters and got out of the car.

Now the role of happy new landowners became the cover. They strolled to the corner of the fence, gesturing at the shrubs, deciding which trees to keep, what type of house to build. When the occasion required, they lapsed into Russian.

"This stretch here may be best. Those shrubs with red flowers have long thorns, very sharp. These, no; we could cut fence next to post and not be seen inside estate or from road. Is good place."

Anton nodded. "True. And still close enough to car for escape."

"Then is agreed. Tonight, when dark comes, we do it. What about man in front bushes?"

Anton patted his holster.