PROLOGUE

They moved through the night with stealth and speed.

Eight figures, dressed in dark clothes, jockeyed the desks, boxes and filing cabinets through the loading area into waiting trucks. No one spoke; there was no need. They were orchestrating a plan just as a pro football team runs a play—every player knowing exactly what to do the moment the ball is snapped. And this was one play the team knew very well.

The boxes and filing cabinets they were removing from the offices were light. They should be. They were mostly empty. Paper of any sort was heavy, and it left incriminating evidence, even after it was shredded. Most of the letters and memos that had been in the offices, and that was a very small amount, had been removed over the past few days. When they were finished, not one sheet of paper would remain. In fact, there would not be one desk or telephone or garbage can left. The work area, five hours earlier a fully functional office, would be stripped clean. It was Friday night and the building was deserted. No one would notice the barren space until Monday morning.

The solitary wall-mounted security camera aimed at the loading dock was disconnected, the wire dangling beneath the lens. When they had picked the office space for their San Francisco operation eight months ago, part of their decision to sign this lease was the lax security in this section of the building. Everything thought out. Nothing to chance.

It’s the details that will trip you up.

When they were finished loading the unmarked vehicles, they closed and bolted the rear doors, and the four trucks pulled out onto the dark side street, single file and moving at exactly the speed limit. Four of the eight drove the trucks; the other four remained in the building. They returned to the empty offices and wiped down every surface that might have contained a fingerprint. It took them less than ten minutes.

Three of the remaining four headed directly to a black Lincoln Navigator parked in the shadows a block north of the building. The fourth returned to the loading dock, reconnected the security camera and dialed a number on his cell phone. He let it ring twice, then hit End. The vibrating phone on the other end of the line was the signal that they were finished on the loading dock. Their accomplice, whose job it was to distract the security guard, could wrap things up and leave. The man who dialed the number joined the other three in the SUV. When they were a mile from the building, one of the two in the backseat finally broke the silence.

“That went well,” he said.

“Was there ever any doubt?” the man in the front passenger seat asked. His name was Edward Brand, and this was his operation.

All three laughed. The kind of laugh that comes easily once a dangerous job is finished and the adrenaline surge begins to subside.

“Not for a moment,” the first man said.

They reached an unmarked intersection where two narrow back streets met, and the driver pulled over to the curb. He switched off the ignition. Parked at the curb were three identical, nondescript cars. Brand turned in his seat so the men could see his face, dimly lit by a streetlight half a block up the road.

“Everyone knows exactly what to do,” he said, and all three nodded silently. “There is no deviation from the plan. None whatsoever. Understood?” Again, all three nodded. “Then that’s it. We meet again when and where it’s arranged. Until then, be cool.”

He extended his hand, and they all shook. The driver stayed in the Navigator and Edward Brand and the others walked up the deserted street to their vehicles. One at a time, they started the motors and pulled away from the curb, each heading in a different direction. Brand’s car was the last to leave. As he pulled onto the deserted street, he allowed himself a smile. Christ, were they going to be shocked.

They always were. They never saw it coming.

Never.