Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GR2ARQQMQ471C3TQFCW88M

Molly lay on the roof of the van with her binoculars, while Bill crouched beside her holding a paper plate of sausage rolls he had liberated from the buffet table during the preliminary reconnaissance. He called it embedding with the locals. Molly called it snacking. Below them, in the back garden of number fourteen, eleven six-year-olds were screaming in a way that suggested either delight or a future legal settlement. A bouncy castle sagged in the corner. A clown twisted balloons into shapes that defied both physics and taste. And beneath the gazebo, piled on a trestle table like a dragon's hoard, sat the objective: twelve wrapped presents and one suspiciously large box. "Suspicious how?" asked Bill. "I want it. That's what suspicious means in this context," said Molly. She checked her watch, which she wore on the inside of her wrist, like a professional. "Target is Tommy Higgins, age six. Party commenced at fourteen hundred hours. We have ninety minutes before the cake." Molly had planned bank jobs, museum jobs, and one memorable aquarium job, and nothing had prepared her for the operational chaos of a children's party. Eleven hostiles with no discernible chain of command. A mother with a whistle who patrolled like a prison warden. And the clown. "The clown concerns me," she said. She trained the binoculars on him. Baggy trousers. Enormous shoes. Eyes that missed nothing. "Nobody with that much face paint is a civilian. He's been eyeing the present table since we arrived. He could be a rival crew." "He's making a poodle, Molly," said Bill. "That's exactly what a rival crew would make," said Molly. Bill let it go and studied her blueprint of the garden, which was technically a takeaway menu with a drawing on the back. But she had drawn it in blue ink, and blue ink conveyed authority. Approach through the side gate, she had decided. In and out in ninety seconds, before the sugar rush hit and the children turned feral. "What about the dog?" asked Bill. "Mr. Biscuits has been neutralized. I fed him four sausages. He's asleep in the wheelbarrow and loyal to me now," said Molly. Bill made a note never to trust the dog with anything important. Below, the mother blew her whistle, and the children stampeded toward the patio for party games. Musical statues. Molly smiled the smile she usually reserved for unguarded vaults. "You go in during musical statues. Everyone freezes for ninety seconds. You grab the presents, I bring the van to the gate, and we're gone before anyone unfreezes." Bill slid down from the roof and pulled his balaclava from his pocket. Then he paused. "Is it a bit much? The balaclava, at a children's party?" "Wear the novelty glasses, Bill. The ones with the nose. We're professionals." Bill put on the glasses. Below, the clown, who had been watching the van for some time, finally finished his poodle and, in a manner that could not legally be described as threatening, waved.