The old pickup rattled down a dirt road and, rounding a corner, came to a wire stretched across its path. It stopped short, and a man of average height and stocky build, dressed in a dirty sweatshirt and jeans, jumped out and clipped the wire with a big set of metal clippers. The truck rolled on down a long driveway and stopped in front of a cottage, rustic by design, but well kept and adorned with decorative weather vane and backyard sauna. Out came the clippers again, and the lock on the door was snipped and flung carelessly into the grass. The door was kicked open, and the two men from the truck pushed into the house, eyes adjusting to the dark. Curtains were pulled back as they scanned the room. Then, methodically, they stripped the room of anything of value and loaded it all into the covered back of the pick up truck.

It took just over two hours. When they were done, they closed the door and drove away. It would be June before the owners came up and knew they’d been robbed. By then the pair would have cleaned out every summerhouse in the area. They laughed as they drove away, already calculating what they could get for some of the antiques they’d nabbed. They didn’t notice the figure standing in the trees by the wire they’d clipped at the end of the driveway.

Short, dressed in jeans and wool jacket, the hiker shifted weight from one foot to the other, recognizing the truck, and nodding contemplatively. Knowledge was indeed power. This piece of information would be used to fulfill a need.  The need had always been there. Only using information at the precise moment to extract the most pain would make it worthwhile.