Privacy Code (Shatterproof) Read Online Free PDF

six-pack of water. An empty bottle, if I drank too much of the water. Fake ID and registration for the car. And, of course, my gun, a Bersa Thunder 380 with backup cartridges, just in case.
    It was dark by 8 p.m. and it was clear to me that, as I expected from previous surveillance, nobody was home. I got out of my car, tucking my pistol under the belt on the backside of my jeans.
    As a precaution, I walked up the driveway, down the short walkway to the porch, up to the front door and rang the doorbell. I didn’t wear a disguise, but I did have a phony story ready. I always did. It changed with the seasons and the months, and this time I was going to say I was surveying the neighborhood, following up on the Census.
    No answer. I rang it again, waited thirty seconds with no answer, and figured I had the all-clear.
    I made my way around to the back of the house, climbed over the fence and approached the back door. With the help of a lock -pick set, I was inside within twenty seconds.
    The house reeked of lamb and cabbage, two of my least favorite foods. I picked up a glass container from the counter, took the top off, and smelled it. Kalmyck tea. Disgusting.
    The only thing in there I considered even halfway appetizing was polenta, but that was in a pot in the sink with dishwater mixed in. Considering who lived here, none of these items came as a surprise.
    The den was sparsely furnished, with two futons on opposite walls. In the corner, an old style RCA television was perched on a plastic crate.
    I looked in the bedrooms. More futons. These guys were really roughing it.
    I wasn’t there to steal jewelry, TVs, or game consoles. I wasn’t there to do anything other than cloning their laptop hard-drives.
    While in there, though, I took advantage of the opportunity to snoop around a little more. There was nothing of interest in the closet by the front door and nothing in the closet in the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
    I checked each of them, and found nothing to make note of. Back in the hallway, I noticed the attic door, pulled it down and climbed up the stairs. The first thing I noticed was the mouse shit all over the place, and a quick sweep of my flashlight revealed the mice themselves, scattering into the corners of the attic.
    Nice place.
    I continued up, stepping on the thin wood planks that covered the insulation. I found boxes of different kinds of keyless entry car remotes, some with the capability of starting the car from a distance.
    Beside those boxes sat three containers of black powder, several boxes of small nails, ball bearings, and I counted a dozen pressure cookers.
    Any doubt about the intent of the occupants of the house was erased. Not that I had any to begin with.
    After leaving the attic, I found two laptops, copied them to an external drive, and was out of the house minutes later, hoping the odor of lamb and cabbage hadn’t seeped into my clothes. I was going to throw them away anyway, but I didn’t want to smell that for the next half hour or so, and I didn’t want my car to stink like it, either.
    On the way home, I used a cheap prepaid phone to send a text to my contact person: Soup is ready.
    Moments later, he responded: I’ll pick up leftovers tomorrow.
    When I turned on one of the back roads of Laurel, Maryland, where there was little traffic, I tossed the prepaid phone out the window, far enough into a ditch that it wouldn’t be immediately recognizable.
    With my work for the evening done, I went home and responded to Catherine’s email.
     
    To: Catherine
    From: Watts
    Subj : Re: Meet
    I had a b usy day. Just now relaxing at home.
    I was happy to get your answer earlier and spent the afternoon planning our evening together. You’re going to love the place I have chosen. Since I already know that your nights are usually open, there’s no reason for delay. We should meet tomorrow night. I will email you tomorrow afternoon with a time and place.
    Two final thoughts for now. One, you