I could see the front door over the first few stairs. As it opened, I eased back into a dark nook in the wall that looked like it used to be a linen closet. Like the rest of the house, there hadn’t been much renovation there. The door had been taken off the hinges and a few shelves removed. But I felt secure, at least for the moment.

I could barely see the front door as it opened. There was a hesitation as Tharpe stood in the doorway and tried to figure out if he had left the light on in the kitchen. I could see the Marine in him as he surveyed the front room and took a step toward the stairs to get a better view.

My heart was racing as I ran through the options in my head. In that moment, I was a burglar, but if I did much more I’d be considered a home invader. Neither looked good on a résumé. But at least I’d have my brother to talk to in jail.

Tharpe peeked into the kitchen and must’ve seen the back door busted open. That made him reach with his right hand and draw his service weapon, a Glock semiautomatic. He held it up in his right hand and pointed it up the stairs.

I knew what he was doing. I would’ve done the same thing. He was listening. He wanted to hear a footstep upstairs or the creaking of a door. He put his back against the wall and let his eyes scan all around the house.

Then I saw my chance. He stepped away from the wall and was about to turn and climb the stairs. I made a decision and acted. That’s what the SEALs taught me to do. I stepped from my hiding place and swung my right hand hard, catching him in the side of the head. The blow knocked him off balance and his face hit the side of the stairs as he went down hard.

I immediately grabbed his gun, which had tumbled to the floor. I pulled the magazine and ejected the round left in the chamber. Then I stuck the magazine back into the gun and laid it on the floor near Tharpe’s unconscious body. At least he wouldn’t be able to pick it up and fire it without racking another round into the chamber.

I rolled Tharpe over to make sure he was breathing and realized I may have been searching in the wrong place. If I had something portable and important, I’d keep it on me. First, I rummaged through his coat pockets, then I felt his front right pocket. At the bottom, securely in place, was a single flat metal key. I pulled it out and immediately recognized it as the same kind of safety-deposit key I took from Alton Beatty. It had the number 68 etched in it.