Molly peered through the binoculars at the suburban house festooned with balloons and streamers. The bouncy castle in the backyard bobbed like a multicolored fortress. She lowered the binoculars and turned to Bill, who was studying a crude diagram drawn on a napkin. "You're absolutely certain about this?" she asked. "Trust me, those gift bags are loaded," Bill replied. Molly watched a clown waddle past the window carrying an armful of wrapped boxes. Her eye twitched. Twenty years of cracking safes, infiltrating museums, and outsmarting international law enforcement, and here she was, casing a six-year-old's birthday party. Bill pointed to his napkin masterpiece with enthusiasm. The "blueprint" appeared to be mostly ketchup stains and what might generously be called arrows. His previous career as a kindergarten teacher was showing. "We go in during pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey," he whispered. "That's your diversion?" "Kids get vicious. Total chaos." A mother emerged from the house carrying a three-tiered princess cake. Molly sighed and pulled on her rubber nose. The red wig itched terribly. Somewhere, her old crew was robbing banks in Monaco. She adjusted her oversized shoes and honked her horn twice to test it. Professional standards were slipping.