Molly adjusted the focus on the high-powered binoculars, leaning so far forward in the front seat of the van that her nose brushed against the windshield. "Target is stationary," she whispered, her voice tight with professional tension. "The asset has been moved to the folding table near the bouncy castle. It’s exposed." Bill sighed heavily, crumpling a greasy fast-food wrapper and tossing it into the cluttered footwell. "Molly, please don't call a stack of toys 'the asset.' It makes me feel pathetic." "Focus, Bill. Do you see the perimeter security?" "I see a golden retriever sleeping in a sunbeam," Bill said, glancing lazily out the side window. "And I see a clown making a balloon giraffe that looks suspiciously like a small intestine. That’s not security. That’s a suburban backyard birthday party." "That clown is a wild card," Molly snapped, lowering the binoculars to glare at him. "Look at his shoes. Oversized. Hard to run in. But the dog? That’s a biological alarm system with teeth. We go in during the cake cutting. The sugar rush creates a window of maximum distraction." "We are stealing from a six-year-old," Bill said, rubbing his temples. "I used to crack titanium safes, Molly. I once stole a diamond from a Parisian museum while dangling from a wire upside down. Now I’m plotting how to liberate a limited edition Lego Death Star from a kid named Timmy." "It’s the Ultimate Collector’s Series, Bill! Do you know the resale value on that? It’s untraceable currency. Plus, I heard from a reliable source that the parents got him the new gaming console. That’s sitting right next to the punch bowl. Unguarded." Bill squinted at the white picket fence. "What about the mother? She looks like a hoverer. The type who counts heads every three minutes and sanitizes hands aggressively." "I’ve profiled the mark," Molly assured him, tapping a leather notebook on the dashboard. "Karen Johnson. Three glasses of Chardonnay deep. She’s currently arguing with the caterer about the gluten content of the cupcakes. She’s blind to tactical insertions." "And the father?" "Grilling burgers. He’s obsessed with the internal temperature of the meat. He wouldn't notice a tactical nuke, let alone two professionals in stealth gear." Bill plucked self-consciously at his tight black turtleneck. "Is the stealth gear really necessary? It’s two in the afternoon in the middle of a cul-de-sac. We look like burglars from a bad cartoon." "Brand consistency is key," Molly said, checking her gloves. "Now, here's the plan. I breach the fence behind the hydrangeas. You provide overwatch. When they start singing 'Happy Birthday,' the audio cover will mask my approach. I grab the big boxes, toss them over the hedge to you, and we vanish." "What if the kid sees you?" "I have a contingency." Bill raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is the contingency chloroform? Because I draw the line at chloroforming a first grader, Molly." "No, you idiot. If I’m made, I start juggling." "Juggling?" "Distraction technique. I juggle three cupcakes, tell him I'm the backup entertainment, and backflip over the fence." "You can't backflip." "Adrenaline is a powerful thing. Now, eyes on the prize." Molly put the binoculars back to her eyes. "Movement. The clown is escalating. He’s bringing out the piñata." "Code Red?" Bill asked, checking his watch. "Worse. It’s a Donkey. The kids are gathering. They’re handing the bat to the alpha child. This is it. The sensory overload event we’ve been waiting for. Start the engine." "I feel dirty," Bill mumbled, turning the key. "You’ll feel better when we fence that Lego set. Go, go, go!"