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money on the table, it was an entirely safe maneuver after all, but he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself.  Low profile was the key.  The amounts he invested each time were consistent with his investment history and reasonable for someone with his assets.  He also put $100K into a company he knew would be going down, but it would lose only a few percent in the next few weeks.  It was the third such losing investment he’d made this year.  He felt it wise to have a few “bad” investments on his record along with the good.  Nobody was perfect, and he would stand out if his own investment record were nothing but a series of successes.
    As the computer went into its shutdown cycle he sighed and pushed himself away from the desk.  He’d been looking forward to finishing up the project he’d spent the last months on, but this was far more important.  He threw the empty soft drink can in the trash and headed out of the room and headed down the hall toward his room where he packed a couple of bags with items he would need for the trip.  Then he headed toward the large garage where he worked on his cars and parts of his plane during spare time.
    Jake lived just outside of Sparks on Highway 80.  He was a few miles east of where the city petered out, and roughly two miles north of the freeway.  His was a large place with a six-car garage.  Three vehicles were parked inside.  One, a two-year old Chevy 250 Silverado, was his main vehicle.  It had a large enough bed that he could carry parts of his plane to and from the airfield when he wanted to work on it.  In the far slot was a sporty red BMW 520i that he really liked to drive.  The last was a two-year old Toyota Camry which he used for certain tasks.  It was his, but the official records and registration indicated otherwise.  He took the pair of bags and placed them in the trunk of the sedan.
    The garage was a mechanic’s paradise.  Tools and work pits were in three of the positions, with a bridge crane on the ceiling over one of the pits and another above one of the positions without a pit.  The cranes were motor driven with a cross-drive arrangement in the ceiling and could be moved in any direction to access much of the large interior of the garage.  A set of stairs led upward along one wall to the roof-mounted telescope.  He'd long had an interest in astronomy, although he'd been too busy of late to spend much time at it.  He stepped past two of the auto work positions, then climbed down the stairs into the bottom of the pit that was currently surrounded by parts of an engine.  He walked to the far end of the concrete slot and knelt down.
    The hidden safe that he accessed could be found with the proper degree of diligence, but it was hidden well enough that Jake didn’t think it was likely anything short of a complete careful search would uncover the hideaway.  He had another safe inside in the library which held his “official” collection of firearms.  He shot regularly and was a member of a shooting club based out near Pyramid Lake.  Those guns were all registered and would not be used for the task ahead of him.  He worked through the hidden safe’s combination, then pulled open the heavy door and scanned the interior.  He selected the 9mm Sig-Sauer 226 and the commercial suppressor that was sitting next to it.  He also grabbed a half dozen loaded magazines.  Finally he selected the tiny Colt Mustang in its ankle holster.  The Mustang wasn’t much of a gun, even loaded with the 90 grain Hornady Critical Defense loads, but under certain conditions it could make all the difference.  It was small enough that it was comfortable to wear on the ankle, and he found it easy to shoot despite its diminutive size.
    There were other pistols, and a half dozen rifles and two shotguns, as well as an assortment of knives to choose from.  Nothing in the safe was registered to him.  He had a permit for the suppressor, or at least one like