by Jeffrey Snell
As they cruised into the dim morning, I lowered my mini-binoculars and circled stealthily behind the boxwood hedge to the taupe two-story house, small backpack bouncing. Peering inside, all was deathly silent and dark, except the blinking LED on the foyer's security panel.
Mom had always told me I possessed a "God-given gift" for electronics. The stuff just came naturally. Who cared how I got my skills--for a college-dropout, they were providing quite a lifestyle at twenty-five!
I discovered the Cale home through a knowledgeable associate. For ten days, I had noted every detail of the Cales' movements, discretely photographed the combination to their bedroom safe, even watched as they repainted their front door. Most importantly, I researched their new security system of electronic locks.
Risky daylight rising, a familiar rush charged my limbs into motion and my gaze intensified with a burdened blackness. Time for my "gift" to pay off. A grey tunic blended my body into the front door like a chameleon in the low light. I studied schematics of the alarm controls. Positioning a small black metal case near the door jamb and holding my breath, I flipped a switch. The case's light flashed green for four seconds then went solid with a click. Alarm disabled, door open. With one last glance at the neighborhood, I entered....
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