Jethro Wilson could not be stirred from his spot. Even the snap of a twig not but five feet from him could get him to reveal his position. These men were not amatuers. Those .308 rifles with high-powered, night vision scopes were no laughing matter. They scanned the forest, looking for Jethro, but he was trained to become invisible. His years in the Marines as a scout/sniper allowed him to absorb into his surroundings. With his head barely high enough to peak out from under his ghillie suit, he looked like any other pile of pine needles here in his woods.

He saw them enter his house. He knew he was dealing with professionals when he saw the Pick-All enter his lock and open it in seconds. Minutes later, he heard the high pitch of his two stroke YZ 250 take off. He waited in the woods for a short while until he was sure they had disappeared.

"Damn," he thought "I had just bought those too."

He wasn't sure what they wanted, or even who they were, but he knew it all started with that damn email. He intended, however, to find out why these guys were after him, and what he had to do to stop them....