The Estate’s security center was a bunker of screens and silent hums, a legacy of Alistair’s paranoia. The Head of Security, a former Mossad agent named Cohen, frowned at Monitor 4.
“Mrs. Croft,” Cohen radioed the main house. “We have a sensor trip in Sector North. The thermal cameras are picking up a heat signature near the perimeter wall.”
Victoria was in the nursery, supervising the installation of a massive floral arch for the ceremony. She tapped her earpiece. “Is it a vehicle?”
“No. It’s small. Erratic movement. It vanished into the blind spot behind the old gatehouse.”
“It’s likely a deer,” Victoria dismissed, checking her watch. “The fencing contractor said the storm weakened the mesh in that sector. Don’t sound the alarm, Cohen. I don’t want the staff panicked before the gala. Just send a patrol to patch the hole in the morning.”
Out in the darkness of Sector North, Melanie lowered her wire cutters. She watched the patrol car turn away, its lights sweeping past her hiding spot in the brush. She smiled. The “Fortress” had a blind spot, just as her research had predicted.