Two large shepherds trained to tear into a stranger. Antonia reached into her coat and pulled out a package of fresh meat heavily dosed with sleeping pills. She tossed it over the fence.
The dogs forgot their training and lunged for the food. Within five minutes, the kennel area was quiet. The guards on the far side noticed nothing; the wind was in her favor.
Now came the main phase—the ventilation system. Antonia crept to the back wall of the house, where the intake grate sat dark against the foundation. A perfect delivery route.
She took out her homemade canisters. Her lighter flared. The fuses hissed. Antonia shoved the smoking canisters into the duct and covered the grate with a piece of canvas.
A minute later, the medicine began to work. First came the sharp, choking smell of sulfur and smoke, filling the basement and climbing into the first floor. Then thick yellow-white smoke started pouring through the vents.
It slid from the grates like a poisonous snake. Panic broke out inside the house. “Fire! Fire!” a housekeeper screamed.
The indoor security men started stumbling around half blind. The smoke burned their eyes, seized their throats, and cut visibility to almost nothing.
“Everybody out!” the head of security shouted, trying through tears to find the front door. The front doors flew open, and coughing people spilled onto the porch.
The county boss himself came out in a robe, followed by his wife and the household staff. “Where’s Victor?” his mother cried, trying to rush back inside. “He locked himself in! Break the door!” his father shouted.
Two guards ran back into the house. But the smoke was so thick, the confusion so complete, that nobody noticed the shadow moving not toward the exit, but deeper inside. Antonia had put on an old gauze mask soaked in vinegar.
She moved through the choking haze calmly, because she knew the layout. Up the stairs. Down the hall. The heavy oak door at the end. Behind it she could hear coughing and panicked sobbing.
Victor Rankin would not open up. He thought the fire was a trick. “I’m not coming out!” he shouted, choking on smoke and pressing a wet towel to his face. In his hand was the pistol.
He felt as if hell had already found him. Then the lock clicked softly. No one had smashed it. It had simply opened. Victor raised the gun.
In the white smoke stood a figure in a dark work coat and mask. Cold eyes looked back at him without blinking. “Mom? Is that you?” Victor babbled.
“No, Victor,” came the muffled reply. “I’m the doctor.” Victor pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired. He hurled it at the figure and missed.
Antonia kept coming, slow and certain. Victor tried to run, but fell to the carpet and started crawling. “Please,” he gasped. “I’ll give you anything…”
