)()()()(

There was one rule in a team of thieves: never steal from each other.

Until now, Parker had always managed to observe this rule, even when they succeeded in lifting a lot cash, or when Sophie was wearing something particularly sparkly.

The only problem was, Nate's plan to retrieve Eliot involved a lot of razzle-dazzle and not a lot of rescuing, and Parker's plan ("go in there and steal Eliot") required information that was currently stored in Nate's safe.

Parker wasn't sure, but she was guessing that breaking into Nate's room and picking his safe could be construed as an act of war.

Nate had a cute little UFB2720 – the new model, very nice – which Parker estimated she could crack in approximately 28 seconds (she beat her own guess). Inside was a cardboard tube of papers, about $60,000 in cash, and a handgun.

She withdrew the blueprints of the condo development, studying Nate's notes with an experienced eye. The rooms colored in yellow highlighter were the ones where he thought Eliot might be kept – red was potential entrypoints, blue was for trouble spots. This was useful.

Just as she was about to close the door, Parker paused to look thoughtfully at the revolver. She didn't usually carry a weapon (maybe the occasional tazer) but she couldn't help thinking that it might be a useful thing to have. Maybe she could just – brandish it? She didn't need to actually shoot someone. It probably wasn't even loaded.

Somewhat tentatively, she drew out the magazine and checked the chamber. Okay, so it was loaded.

After a moment's indecision, she slid the safety on and tucked the gun into her waistband.

Then, to fully severe any ties she still held with Leverage, Inc., she left the door of the defiled safe hanging open.

Now she could never come back.

...

"Okay, I'm thinking," said Nate, starting to pace. "So obviously we don't have much to go on here. They know what we know about what they know . . ."

"Nate, think more quickly," ordered Sophie. "They've got Eliot."

At Eliot's apartment, they found a bag of organic vegetables spilled outside the door, as though they had been unexpectedly dropped. It was Hardison that found the dart, half-way hidden under the rug. Tranquilizer gun, said Nate, shaking his head. Used to sedate animals from a distance.

Parker swallowed. Animals like dogs.

Oh man, said Hardison – Eliot was at the back door at the warehouse the other day, they must have gotten an image from the camera there. They could have used it to track him down . . .

"Nate!"

"You know what, Sophie? Not. Helping. Okay, okay, okay, what do we know that they don't know? Let's see . . . they won't take Eliot to the warehouse, because we've already proven we can get in there," he speculated, rubbing his temples. "But they've got to take him somewhere, somewhere they feel safe, someplace they don't know we know about. Hardison – "

"Pull up a list of properties, I'm on it," the hacker finished his thought. "Okay, here's a list of what they own through shell companies, and here's private holdings through top individuals and their immediate family members. Anything under the CEO is in yellow, that's Aaron Davids."

"Two first names," murmured Sophie anxiously, "that's a bad sign."

Parker nodded. Everybody knew that rule.

Nate ignored them, intently scanning Hardison's list. "Okay, there," he said abruptly, "this one, is this residential?"

With a few keystrokes Hardison pulled up the aerial photos of the location. "It's a condo development," he reported, "apparently unfinished. Davids purchased it under his wife's name two years ago but production halted when the economy hit the skids."

"That's where they'd go," said Nate, talking half to himself. "It's remote and unoccupied and it's not on the company's roles. What we need is an inside man, someone they haven't seen yet – Hardison, you're going in on this one. You're going to be . . . a city inspector, renewing their building permits, and once you're in we'll set up the Double-Under with the Swedish twist. Or, maybe the Quarterback Snap. Then we'll flip the file in return for Eliot. Yeah, that could work. We'll have to play it by ear."

"Question," Parker raised her hand. "Why can't we just break in and bust him out?"

"Too risky," said Nate, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "We don't know what we're up against in there."

"But . . .we've got the blueprints and the satellite photos, what else do we need?"

"How about guard rotations, security measures – we don't even know the psychology here, the key players. Originally we were dealing with a public organization, but this is different, this is a small fringe group of principle actors, and we don't even know which ones."

"But – "

Nate put one hand on Parker's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "This is a good plan," he said, "this is going to work. We'll have Eliot back in no time, plus we'll finish our original job." He dropped his hand. "What we need is a uniform and an ID for Hardison – Let's move quickly on this, people, we don't have a lot of time for set-up. Sophie, you'll be the lancer and Parker, you're on cleanup."

In this plan, Parker was definitely the pinkie finger.

"But I can help."

"Parker," said Nate, too patiently; "you've only just recovered from the last time you went into the field. You can't go back again already."

"You don't know what I can do," said Parker. But too quietly for him to hear.

It was a good plan. There were only a couple problems from Parker's perspective. The most glaring one was that the plan left Eliot with the dog-people for at least 48 hours.

She watched wordlessly as Nate brooded over his print-outs of the building plans, scribbling his notes on the margin. Sophie was plotting with Hardison on the sofa, reminding him "not to oversell it" this time.

Very quietly, Parker edged away from the team.