He should be able to see the residence. There… the perimeter wall. White stucco. Ten feet high. If his intel remained accurate, cameras would be mounted on opposite corners of its fifty-yard length. He slowed his pace to one step every five seconds. A cleared area followed the contour of the wall, similar to a castle’s moat, but without water. He saw what he needed to the east—a tree with several thick branches overhanging the wall. He worked his way over, focused his NV tight on the trunk, and circled it. Good, no ant columns. The smooth trunk didn’t offer an easy climb and the two Dobermans on the other side of the wall remained a concern. His movements weren’t detectable by humans, but they were to dogs.

He used the hollow knob of a broken branch as a foothold and boosted himself up. Hugging the trunk, he held perfectly still. Nothing stirred. The next hold was just out of reach. He needed to jump to his left and grab a branch forking out from the trunk with both hands. If he missed and fell to the ground.…  Again, he wasn’t worried about the bodyguards hearing him, only the dogs. He’d climbed dozens of trees, many of them tougher than this. He trusted his training and decided it was an acceptable risk.

Ramsland made the leap and grabbed the branch, but it shuddered more than he anticipated.

He hung for several seconds, listening for any indication the dogs had heard him. Nothing. He swung his leg over the branch and hauled himself up. The waist pack dug into his stomach, so he slid it to his right hip. Lying perfectly still, he scanned the rear yard and pool area. A lavish place, big money for sure. The house beyond was partially obscured behind a stand of mature trees. Several windows on the west wing glowed brightly, but he detected no movement inside. The rear yard looked deserted. Where were the bodyguards and dogs? No intel was ever perfect, but this development didn’t track. Ramsland used the lack of activity to inch his way forward along the branch until he was directly above the wall. The cameras at the corners of the wall were pointed outward and didn’t appear to have pivoting capability.

The dogs’ absence concerned him. He conducted a thermal scan in case they were obscured by the landscaping. Nothing. Where were they?

His answer arrived with the sound of laughter. He watched two men in shorts, T-shirts, and running shoes appear at the far end of the yard with the dogs on leashes. Both men carried handguns in waist holsters. He sized up their movements as they strolled over to the pool, sat down, and freed their companions. One of them lit a cigarette and waved a hand. He couldn’t make out what was said, but they laughed again. These two were sloppy, rank amateurs.