Free Arch Enemy by Leo J. Maloney

couple huddled against the cold who shrank from him as they passed, but otherwise the night was empty, crisp and clear.
    Morgan approached the apartment building, a five-story modern red brick, boxy and ugly.
    â€œYou’ve got a camera above the door on your left.”
    Morgan kept his face down, making a show to huddle against the cold. Standing at the door, he reached into the leather case and pulled out a keycard that connected remotely to Shepard’s digital lock pick, inserting it into the slot. The light above the reader flashed red.
    â€œReady for you to work your magic here,” said Morgan.
    â€œJust a second.” Morgan heard typing on Shepard’s end. “These things are a joke.”
    The light turned green.
    â€œAnd you’re in,” Shepard said.
    Morgan drew out the keycard and pushed the door open into the stale warm air of a drab hallway, tracking snow onto the worn carpet.
    â€œThere’s another camera on the ceiling on the left,” said Shepard. Morgan tilted his head down, as if to check something in his right pocket.
    â€œSecurity video should be relayed through a room that’ll be”—there was a pause as Shepard checked—“second door in the hallway to your right.”
    Morgan found the door and knelt to pick the lock, in full view of the hallway camera. This was the weakest point of the mission, unavoidable as it was. But if anyone was even looking at this feed, it would be a night security guard in a distant facility with a mosaic of who knew how many videos to keep watch on. Security cameras weren’t really for surveillance, but rather for deterrence and catching a criminal after the fact.
    The lock opened with a click and Morgan slipped into the room, pulling down the scarf and taking off the hat. He inhaled a fresh breath with relief, musty as the air was in the windowless space. He closed the door behind him and flicked the switch next to it. Dim light shone from a bulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire. The far wall held a panel of electricity meters for each apartment, and on the right was a mess of wires for phone and Internet service. A low electronic hum pervaded the space.
    A quick scan of the room revealed a box that looked like a large modem with a cluster of thin cables attached to it—the CCTV relay. Kneeling, he inserted a small device from Shepard’s case into the Ethernet port.
    â€œThe transmitter’s attached.”
    â€œI’m in,” Shepard said a few seconds later. “Video incoming. I’m going to freeze the images as you pass.”
    Morgan took his position at the door.
    â€œAll right, go.”
    He walked out, closing the door behind him, and down the hall, taking the stairs up to the third floor.
    â€œHallway’s clear,” said Shepard.
    He crouched at the door marked 3F and drew his lock-pick kit.
    â€œYou’re alone up there,” said Shepard. “Easy does it.”
    Breaking into the home of a man who had just died had its own particular dangers, not least of which that the police were liable to appear at any moment to search his things. But the lock was simple and the hour was late.
    Click .
    The door swung open.
    Morgan entered Watson’s living room and shut the door behind him, holding his right hand against the wood near the knob to stop it from making a sound. He found the light switch and flicked it, bathing the place in too-bright white light. The place looked like some kind of interior designer showroom. It was a clean, modern style, all chrome, white and black leather and mahogany.
    â€œAll right, what am I looking for?”
    â€œComputers, hard drives,” said Shepard. “Anything that stores data.”
    Morgan leafed through a pile of mail that sat on a buffet table. There were two credit card bills for different cards printed in menacing reds and yellows. It became obvious how he managed to afford all this. He didn’t.
    Watson’s