The front of the building employed a single metal door with a wall-mounted security camera pointing down at a 45-degree angle. A spotlight illuminated the entire area. The place served its purpose—a virtual fortress.

“Harv, I’m going to pretend to light a cigarette. Stay behind me and take a look at the camera.”

Harv pulled a compact pair of field glasses from his front pocket and focused on the door.

Nathan lit a match and brought it up to his face.

Harv relayed what he saw. “The camera’s cable goes straight up the wall and disappears over the parapet. Looks like standard coaxial. There’s also some sort of doorbell button with an intercom speaker below it.”

“Do you see a security peephole?”

“No.”

“Let’s position you right there, at the southwest corner of the warehouse while I rig the video bypass. At a full sprint, you’re only five to six seconds from the front door. You can duck behind those recycle containers if you see anyone. Okay, let’s circle around to the opposite side of the warehouse and take a look.” They turned right at a narrow alley lined by bigger warehouses. “I don’t like the look of this alley. It’s too narrow. Ten yard separation.” Nathan continued while Harv and Grangeland stayed put.

“I’m on your six with Grangeland. I’ll wait between these white delivery vans before moving out.”

“Copy,” Nathan said. He smelled the air and didn’t detect any cigarette smoke, but on his left, there were dozens of butts in the alley below a small loading dock.

“I’m in motion,” Harv said.

He clicked his radio and kept moving down the alley. “After I turn the corner up here, I’m going to hold my position between the buildings until I see you.”

“Copy.”

“Grangeland, let Harv advance and cover his six. From there, he’ll cover your advance. Let us know if you see or hear any vehicles coming.”

“Copy.”

Fifteen seconds later, Nathan saw Harv round the corner. “I’ve got you. I’ll advance to the next alley and turn south. Grangeland, move up to Harv’s position. I’ll be holding at the fenced truck yard on the east side of our warehouse.”

“Copy,” Harv said. Grangeland also copied.

He didn’t like being under the streetlight for the brief trek into the alley, but didn’t think anyone would be out and about in this neighborhood. Still, the graffiti concerned him. Gang tags. No doubt this was claimed turf. He smelled the air again—nothing.

“Okay, I’m at the northwest corner of our target’s fenced yard. There’s an old fishing boat on blocks to my left.”

“I’ve got you.”