Nathan stopped and held his left hand up in a closed fist.

A string was stretched across the planks of the top step, its left side tied to the handrail’s post. The other end wrapped around the opposite post and turned the corner toward the front door. The string terminated at a platoon of empty beer bottles, their Miller labels clearly readable through his NV scope. If the trip wire had been triggered, it would’ve pulled the rear bottle through the others, knocking them all down, making a boatload of noise. It was a dirt-cheap and yet fairly reliable security mechanism, but it only worked against an unknowing intruder.

Nathan turned toward Harv, simulated pulling a string between his fingers, and pointed to the top step. Harv acknowledged with a nod. Nathan pulled his knife from its ankle sheath, carefully cut the string, and tossed the loose line over the side of the steps. He tested the first step with a few pounds of pressure under his boot. No creaking. He slowly transferred his weight until he was completely standing on the first step. Nothing. No sound at all. So far, so good. While Harv watched the windows, he repeated the same procedure for the next two steps. No creaking. Once atop the landing, he flattened himself against the wall between the left window and front door. The stack of bottles was on the opposite side of the door. He nodded to Harv, who navigated the steps with equal stealth.

Nathan pivoted and faced the front door. “Infrared on,” he whispered.

They reached up and turned knobs on their scopes. Small red dots could now be seen in the lower corners of their images, indicating the infrared spots were activated. The front door instantly brightened and Nathan’s device automatically lowered the image’s intensity to compensate.

Harv tucked in close behind him.

A smile touched his lips. Here he was again, Nathan McBride in his environment.

He reared up with his right foot and stomped.

The door burst open in a crash of splintered wood and dust.

In the green images of their night vision, they could see everything.

Two men were present, caught in mid-snore. The first lay back in an easy chair, the second in a fetal position on the couch. Simultaneously, both pairs of eyes snapped open. Nathan stepped forward to the easy chair and clubbed its occupant with the butt of his gun. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him unconscious, but it was hard enough to render him dazed and groggy.

Harv jammed the muzzle of his gun against the couch potato’s forehead and said, “Don’t move.”

The guy tried to sit up. “What the fu—”

Harv clocked him. With a grunt of pain, he slumped back into the stained fabric. With his free hand, Harv unzipped his waist pack and grabbed a roll of duct tape.