He followed the man in front, who knew exactly where to lead him, which was down the leftmost aisle, around behind the altar, to a stone stairway rising into darkness, blocked by a chain and yet another sign reading NO ENTRANCE/NO ENTRADA. He stepped over the chain, following the route upward into the dome, spiraling up its circumference as he climbed. He reached a higher catwalk that circled the base of the dome, followed it as it curled around until a ladder availed itself to him. Since he was strong, he had no difficulty, though he worried about the glazier, who might not be up for such an ordeal. But the glazier was a monkey, the Special Forces trooper with the load now strapped to his back was a gorilla, and all made it without oxygen debt.

They were now in a land of spiderwebs and darkness, illuminated every sixth of the way by radiance pouring through ancient windows set into the stone a century before. It smelled of coldness, perhaps of the tomb or maybe just cellar stuff, both moist from the stone and dry from the dust. Esteban put a headlamp on to show the way and led them halfway around the dome.

“Here!” he said in English.

They had reached a particular window, and Juba peeked out, saw that it afforded, over another roof, a clear angle to target: the parking lot and steps into the rear entrance to the federal courthouse at 4th Street and Market.

“Señor?” asked the glazier—meaning, I am here, let me do my job. Juba moved down the catwalk a bit to make room while the soldier set out to open and deploy the tripod.

The glazier’s work was highly professional. First, he affixed a large suction cup to the pane, then he took a Dremel tool, battery-powered, and drilled a smallish hole in the old glass to achieve purchase on the window’s edge for what came next. That was a glass-cutting key, and with strong, deft strokes, he inscribed the border of the pane without difficulty. A second later, with a little scraping sound to add to the drama, he gently eased the pane out, removed it fully, and stepped back. The window was cleared of glass.

The soldier hustled into position, quickly erecting the tripod. He opened its legs as wide as possible, for maximum stability, de-telescoped the shaft to its highest position, and, with a snap, locked it solid. Skillfully, he screwed a small flanged platform to its apex, upon which could be mounted a camera or a rifle. Juba chose a rifle.