PROJECT SPARTA

CHAPTER 21

The Compound

2010

Xander stood with a cup of coffee at his window, peering from behind the drapes as the other Spartans walked to the classroom for their Military History class. He was careful not to be seen as he played the assumptions of his fellow Spartans against them. Knowing they would still think he was in the Infirmary, he had planned this day for setting up surveillance in Fiona's house. As the classroom door closed with all the students behind it, he smiled and finished his coffee. Moments later, a refreshed and relaxed Xander walked out of his front door, wearing his usual jean jacket and a bag slung over his shoulder.

He strutted a confident stroll over to the white house next door. He let himself in through the white picket fence and approached the front doorknob.

It stopped after a slight rotation – locked.

He produced a small leather case from his pack and unrolled it on Fiona's doormat. A variety of lock picking tools was laid out before him. He grabbed a couple of picks and a tension wrench and went to work. Xander surgically maneuvered the picks like chop sticks digging into the bottom of a bowl. He heard a click and froze. He had bypassed the first pin of the lock. From his rehearsal the previous night, he knew he had four pins left to pick.

Fiona's front lock clicked again. He had spent hours learning the art of lock picking in the middle of the night on his own front door. Things were progressing smoothly.

One more to go.

And then he heard it.

Not the final click of the knob, rather a traveling band of Spartans headed his way. Explanations rattled through is head, sending shakes into his operating fingers tips. His hand slipped on the pick. His palms had begun to sweat under the pressure.

The chatter of the Spartans grew louder.

What the hell? Hardy canceled class?

He repositioned his stance - pressed the pick again, hoping to slide it under the last lock pin inside the door. Xander felt his pick bend to a dangerous arch - almost snapping inside the lock. The mission would be a failure.

He closed his eyes, anticipating defeat.

He rested his head on the door.

Seamus had just cracked a joke, the laughter of the group roared down the avenue.

They had reached the street a little quicker than usual on account of the jovial hop in their step. He stopped altogether and counted to three through deep, slow exhales. His eyes opened, his hands calmed. With one final attempt, Xander twitched his fingers and heard the last click. He bolted through the door with his lock picks and bag just as the recruits turned the corner and came into view.

Fiona stood an extra couple of seconds at her front step as she shared parting words with Seamus. This gave Xander enough time to find cover on the other side of the door. Fiona grabbed the knob, inserted her key and noticed it had a looser resistance than usual. After a moment of aimless speculation, she proceeded into her living room passing the wedged intruder behind the open hallway closet door. Fiona continued into the kitchen.

Xander made his move. He withdrew a hardcover book from his bag and found the same one on Fiona's bookshelf, swapping them with a silent slight of hand. Xander's finger swiped over the small, unnoticeable slit in the book's spine for his camera's eye to peek through. He felt the pinch on his fingertip from when he punctured it with the sewing needle during his preparations the previous night. He determined that the bookshelf provided a good angle on the rest of the room. Xander deduced that each house's layout was identical so he performed a trial run on his own house. His late night rehearsal, though, was rendered pointless by the unexpected return of the Spartans to their barracks. He would have to improvise.