It was almost two in the morning.
Zack watched the screen for a while, trying to determine whether the camera had malfunctioned or been tampered with.
The picture had not disappeared, but intermittent wavy lines kept crossing it. It could have been a loose connection, or some nearby source of interference.
Something was wrong. Mr. Sterling's mansion used only the best equipment. There should not have been any inexplicable quality issues.
He drew his Glock 19, checked that a round was chambered, then engaged the safety and slid it into the quick-draw holster at his waist. With his other hand, he picked up a flashlight and tested the switch with his thumb.
"Charlie," he said quietly to his partner, who had just returned to the Monitoring Room, "there's a problem with camera three in the second-floor hallway. I'm going to take a look."
Charlie glanced at the corresponding screen and frowned. "Wait. I'll come with you."
"Watch the feeds. Call me immediately if you see anything unusual."
Zack pushed the door open and stepped outside. The hallway was quiet. He held his gun against the side of his right thigh, his flashlight raised in his left hand, his thumb resting on the switch. At every door, he turned sideways and quickly checked the gap underneath.
No light. No shadows.
When he reached the camera, he first aimed down both ends of the hallway. Only after confirming that no one was there did he look up to inspect it.
There was nothing around the camera. The cable at the connector merely seemed loose. He pushed it farther in, but his gaze immediately swept toward the door at the end of the hallway. A thin line of light shone beneath it.
There should have been a storage room inside. Zack raised his