She looked up and saw Evie signing with Dash. The boy looked troubled. Well, Delilah wasn’t the one who insisted he come.
Maya went to the computer and started in on the keyboard. “Need a password,” she said.
Larison looked at Larry. “Don’t make her ask twice.”
“Username is Kellerman,” Larry said. “Two Ls. Password is RatherBeFishing1139, capital R, capital B, capital F.”
Maya worked the keyboard. “I’m in,” she said.
“John,” Delilah said, watching the monitors. “There are two more. You see them? One closer to us, stationary in front of the teahouse. The other closer to you, walking north directly in front of the main residence.”
“We see them,” John said. “How long for you to engage the one at the teahouse?”
Delilah looked at Maya. Maya said, “Hang on, hang on . . . yes. I’m into the security system. And . . . as of now, the cameras are no longer recording. It’ll take me a little longer to delete and overwrite what they’ve already recorded and to switch the connection to my laptop so we can monitor the perimeter remotely.”
“Don’t forget the landline,” John said.
“Yes,” Maya said, “that’s right after the cameras. And Tom can intercept any cellphone calls with the Stingray.”
“Good,” John said. “Can you open the gate?”
Maya scrolled and clicked the mouse. “Done.”
“Okay,” John said. “Maya and Evie, stay there with Manus and Dash. Delilah, how long?”
“Three hundred meters to the teahouse,” Delilah said. “We’ll need to get back in the car . . . Give us two minutes.”
“Make it three,” John said. “It’ll take us that long to set up a pincer for the one in front of the residence.”
“Roger that,” Larison said, clicking a button on his watch. “Three-minute countdown in three, two, one.”
Delilah and Larison got in the Porsche. She started it up and rolled down the windows. “Tell me when we have ninety seconds remaining,” she said.
Larison nodded and looked at his watch.
Delilah had been able to lull Larry because he encountered her outside the gate, where visitors were by definition authorized. An inside guard would be a different story—he would be instantly suspicious to find someone on the property unannounced. And the teahouse, at the edge of the enormous pond, had no good approach other than the driveway, which beyond the gate was topped with gravel. Not only would the guard see them coming, he would hear them. But he wouldn’t immediately conclude they were there unannounced. Not at all. Because if there was one thing a racing yellow Porsche Cayman GT4 did, it was announce its own arrival.
“Okay,” Larison said. “Go.”
She put it in gear, and they rolled slowly forward, past the gate, and into the compound.
They came to a bend in the tree-lined drive and made a left. Over the soft growl of the engine, Delilah could hear the tires crunching on gravel. Larison had the Glock out, alongside his right thigh. Delilah’s was on her lap.
They crossed a stone bridge that arched above the pond. When they were over the crest, she saw the guard, forty meters ahead, walking away from them just past the teahouse. He must have heard them coming. He turned. He frowned, but Delilah saw no alarm in his expression, only mild confusion.
Fifteen meters. The guard keyed the mic attached to his jacket. Said something. Keyed the mic again.
Ten meters. The guard held up a hand to stop. But his frown still indicated no more than confusion. His free hand was loose at his side, not resting on his gun butt.