Daniel stood by the heavy oak doors, his submachine gun held low against his thigh.

He pulled the heavy brass bolt back and opened the door for me.

The cold Hudson Valley wind hit my face, smelling of pine, wet stone, and exhaust.

We stepped out onto the elevated stone terrace overlooking the courtyard.

Caleb stood near the rear bumper of his vehicle, his hand resting on his holster.

His three mercenaries stood in a tight triangle around him, their posture stiff.

They looked tense, their eyes darting to the high stone walls that hemmed them in.

“It is over, Caleb,” I called out.

My voice echoed off the cold stone foundations of the estate.

Caleb looked up, his eyes narrowing as he spotted me on the terrace.

“You think a locked gate will keep me here, Adrian?” he shouted back.

“My men will blow those hinges off in ten seconds.”

I held up my rugged mobile tablet, turning the screen toward him.

The display showed five active connection status lights, all glowing a steady green.

“Your men are paid with stolen money, Caleb,” I said.