“That’s the stupidest looking jail I’ve ever seen,” Boxers said, nailing Jonathan’s thoughts.

“Here’s to thin walls and lax security,” Jonathan quipped.

Despite their FBI cover, they parked in the pay lot, just like everybody else. Boxers seemed annoyed as Jonathan waited for him to fish through his pockets for three quarters to feed the meter. “The hell am I paying for?” Boxers grumped. “You’re the bajillionaire.”

Jonathan said nothing. As the man who signed Boxers’ paychecks, his heart did not bleed for the big guy. He also knew that he’d see these six bits on Boxers’ expense report.

“Any questions on the plan?” Jonathan asked as they closed to within fifty yards of the target.

“Not a one,” Boxers replied. His role was anything but complicated. He was to walk around the facility to identify the strengths and weaknesses of its physical security, and to plot the most effective escape route. Lethal force was not an option in this first phase, but if the therapeutic application of high explosives proved to be necessary, that would be Boxers’ responsibility as well.

“Are you with us, Mother Hen?” Jonathan asked, seemingly to the air.

The voice in their earbuds responded with crystal clarity. “Always.” The voice belonged to Venice Alexander (Ven-EE-chay, and don’t screw it up), the woman who kept Jonathan’s life afloat administratively, and whose special gift was to make the electrons of cyberspace dance to music of her choosing. She had left countless IT and security managers around the world wondering how their “unbreakable” databases had in fact been broken.

Venice continued, “I’ve got the entire camera grid on my screens, and I’ve been recording for nearly an hour. As soon as you step through the front door, I’ll be able to wave hello.”

Approaching the main entrance, Boxers held back to remain outside the viewing perimeter of the exterior cameras. “Good luck, Boss,” he said. “And nice nose.” He split off and began his stroll around the perimeter.