Twelve-year-old Sarah Mae Wentworth did her best not to frown in concentration as she "brushed by" the target, a lifelike mannequin. Swiftly, her fingers reached into the pocket and extricated the mobile phone she suspected was contained therein, trying not to jostle the mannequin enough to set off any of the motion sensors sewn into its clothing. When no bell rang to alert her watchful father of a failure, Sarah internalized a sigh of relief and moved onto the next task.

Casually, her fingers dipped down inside an outer pocket of the mannequin's suit jacket, relieving her makeshift victim of a PDA. So far, so good, she thought and made the circuit of their seedy apartment returning to pick the right pocket.

Her left hand snared a satellite phone. Sarah turned and approached her target from the rear, aware of what appeared to be a slim wallet outlined by the mannequin's derriere. Slowly, deliberately, Sarah retrieved the items her father had hidden in various places of the mannequin's clothing.

Eventually, all ten pockets were emptied of the mannequin's worldly goods; a business card box, a money clip, a personal uplink server, phone, wallet, watch, PDA, money belt, even a pair of cufflinks. All of the standard businessman accessories of this past-ultra, postmodern age eventually found their way into Sarah's possession, until her father declared her efforts successful.

She handed her cache over with pride, knowing she'd never need to do that particular exercise again, except perhaps to teach another her tricks one day. This was the School of Ten Bells and Sarah had graduated to become a professional sneak.

Her father enveloped her in a hug, not bothering hiding his proud smile. "Well done, Sarah. That's ten times you've been silent the whole way. You did it, Kiddo." Slippery Sam secured his daughter in an embrace.

"Thanks, Sam." Sarah allowed herself a moment to relax in the celebratory hug before she stepped back.

He released her and disappeared around an island that separated the kitchen from the living room, returning with a paper bag. "You graduated, so I got you a present." Sam's eyes were misted over and Sarah knew something momentous was about to happen. He handed her a gift-wrapped box from the paper bag.

Sarah's eyes widened. The box had been professionally wrapped by an expensive shop; whose name was on the tag. It was a first in Sarah's life. Up until this point, all of their gifts to each other had been relieved from someone else and modified by the giver.

Slippery Sam had been 'home schooling' his daughter since she'd turned four, teaching her to pick locks and work electronics, to pick pockets and steal briefcases. Just like that, eight years later, she'd graduated? Suddenly nervous and excited, her fingers shook as she carefully opened the box, trying not to ruin the wrapper.

"Oh, open it, Sarah. This is your day." Intent on her box, Sarah didn't look up but Sam's voice was impatient and nervous, a rare thing for the man who made his living, his life, waiting for opportunities. Ordinarily, Slippery Sam exuded calm, confident patience. He was the epitome of charm and grace.

Obediently, Sarah opened the box and withdrew a black velveteen pouch. She tipped it, spilling the contents into her palm to reveal a silver colored object, imprinted with the word SWITZMAN. Underneath was a line of ten tiny bells and an engraved inscription.

"To my daughter on the occasion of her graduation," Sarah read aloud. "You have been given the tools to make the best life possible for yourself. Use them well." She looked up at the man who raised her, his moist eyes in sharp contrast to the grin on his face. "Sam, this must have cost a fortune. Thank you!"

"Open it up," Sam prodded, "I made it just for you, Baby-cakes." She opened up the tool to reveal the usual tools built into one side of the pair of all-in-one pliers, screw drivers, small scissors, rasp and so on. Sam had modified the other side however. He'd added removable lock picks, an electronic soldering iron and several other specialized 'tools of the trade'.

Sarah beamed. "It's perfect, Dad. Thanks." Indeed, the all-in-one was a real work of art. She folded the tool and slipped it into her breast-pocket. The weight dragged her shirt to an awkward position, so Sarah stuck it in her hip pocket. This time, the weight seemed more natural, almost comfortable.

Sam nodded an acknowledgment and went to grab an apple from the fruit bowl sitting at the end of the island. He tossed one to his daughter. Sarah caught it effortlessly. They'd been playing catch for years . . . just not with a ball. "Now you need to earn a name, Baby-cakes," he said, almost thoughtfully around a bite of fruit.

As if Sarah hadn't been mulling over that very thing since the day that she found out that 'Slippery Sam' was a street name for Elworth Johnson! She palmed her new all-in-one and studied the engraving. "Ten bells," she murmured, her apple forgotten.

"Aw, that'll never do," scoffed her father. "You trying to mark yourself as a thief? Come on, think! Girl, what have I been teaching you all these years?"

Sarah thought back over her life with him. Once, a long time ago, he'd watched a desperate young woman dive over the side of an overpass to her death, leaving her screaming toddler there on the walking bridge, strapped into her stroller. No passing car had slowed to investigate and none of the other passers-by had even taken a second look at the screaming tot or the accident below. It was a scene too often repeated in that city and everyone just assumed that someone else would stop to help.

Like everyone else, Sam had walked by too, at first. He'd been intent on a mark, but he couldn't stop thinking about the crying toddler and eventually gone back, after the mark's pockets were lightened considerably. Despite the passage of several hours' time, the child was still there and Sam had taken her home with him.

He would have given her his own surname, but the little girl knew her name very well and insisted on keeping it. It was as good a name as any other and they both knew that Sarah was likely to change her name several times throughout her life anyway.

Sam had never lied to Sarah. A child was a useful tool to a sneak thief and his days had been considerably more profitable with Sarah along. Unlike most people in his profession though, Sam had taken responsibility for Sarah's upbringing and taught her the best he knew how. He did a good job raising his 'adopted' daughter, keeping her clean, fed and warm while he taught her his trade.

Sarah was literate and fluent in several languages, was well-versed in history, could make minor repairs and adjustments to just about any electronic gizmo on the market, could read and create binary code, could tell the difference between real and copy jewelry and had passed a college-level computer course in math. She could work ball or track percentages and compound interest rates in her head, could figure the ohms and joules for any alarm system in the country.

Their 'vacations' had been to the Capitol to see the constitution and various museums. They'd read the entire history section of the library and gotten through most of the science section as well. They'd even learned first aid together.

Of course, having no documentation meant that Sarah could never put her skills to work in the mainstream; but everything that she knew could keep her quite comfortable 'in the shadows', if she played her cards right. "Rely on yourself." Sam told her, an oft-repeated mantra. "I won't be here to look after you forever, Doll, and no one else will do it either."

"You choose for me, Dad," Sarah begged.

"There's no one to stop you now," Sam told her. "You can go anywhere, take anything and do whatever you want. Just be careful, Sarah."

Sarah understood what he was trying to tell her. She'd learned everything Sam could teach her and Sam thought it was time she made her own way in the world. Trying to lighten the moment, Sarah grinned at him. "You too, huh? You're not getting any younger, you know."

Sam refused to take the bait. "I know and that's what worries me. Look." He held out his hands and Sarah could see that they weren't as steady as they once were. Sam was nearly sixty years old and those years hadn't been kind to him. "I'll probably end up retiring soon, if the state has anything to say about it." He grinned, mocking himself.

"These tools probably won't pick the locks upstate, Sam."

"Now, don't you be doing anything stupid on my account, Sarah," Sam ordered her. "If I get nabbed, I'd like to live out my days knowing you can outsmart them. There's nothing to tie you to me and I'd be far more comfortable keeping it that way. That way, if you choose to get yourself out of the shadows, you can."

"Is that what you want?" Sarah asked cautiously, "for me to get papers?"

"Only if that's what you want for yourself," Sam returned. "You'll be able to do far more things with papers than here in the shadows; but if you do get papers, you'll end up with the government looking over your shoulder every minute, even if the papers are forged."

"And there's the politics to consider too," reminded Sarah. "I have no intention of fighting the government's war, and that's just what will happen if these tensions blow after I paper myself."

"That's up to you," Sam maintained. "I don't care enough to know what's going on outside the city. Don't have papers myself, so I never needed to worry about the draft."

"I only know what I see in the news or on the headlines." Sarah shrugged casually. She was lying to appease Sam of course, but she suspected that Sam knew as much. Sarah was far too smart- and curious- not to know exactly what was going on in world politics.

The United Americas- North and South America now under one government- had all but gone to war with the EU over an unpaid debt. The Eurasian Union, made up of what had once been Europe and Russia, refused to pay a national debt incurred by a member nation before that member nation had joined the EU. That refusal to pay sparked a kind of "cold war" of tension and deceptions, of spies and saboteurs.

Southeast Asia, the Polynesian Confederation and Africa refused to become involved in the tension but traded freely with both sides. Both American coasts were built with missile silos pointed at the EU, which had returned the American's regard in a like manner. Both sides regularly sent agents abroad to infiltrate the opposing side, to damage certain structures or learn which home structures might be targeted next. Sarah likened it to a giant chess match, in which there could be no winner.

Sam laughed, not fooled in the least. He knew Sarah almost as well as she knew herself. "I don't doubt you know far more than that, Sarah, but come on. Let's get lunch somewhere. Got anything in mind?"

Sarah grinned too. "If you give me an hour, I can make it my treat."

"I know you can. Tell you what, I'll get lunch, you buy dinner. What do you say?"

"Deal!" Sarah reached up to hug him, taking comfort in the musky scent of his dark skin. Sam's black hair was showing more white strands than she cared to notice, but his face had far fewer wrinkles than a person would expect of someone Sam's age. She slipped her new pliers into her pocket and grabbed her bag. Sarah had picked few pockets in her life, but she was quite sure that was about to change.

~~~

Sarah's life changed slowly, at first. She spent each morning with Sam as she had for most of her life but this time, rather than spending the time on her lessons, Sarah partnered with him in some escapade that one or the other of them had planned the evening before. Invariably the two of them would split up in the afternoons and meet again in their apartment sometime in the late evening hours.

Sam had not raised his daughter to take part in the debauched lifestyle that seemed to permeate the late-night hours, nor did he wish to associate with those who did. Sarah had seen enough homeless people who'd started out reveling in that lifestyle that she didn't feel any need to experience it for herself. Knowing his daughter's innate curiosity, Sam worried that she would feel the need to investigate the clubs and pubs for herself, but he didn't forbid it and he never asked where she'd been on nights she got home late.

By sixteen, Sarah was at that most glorious age of all women, fully woman but still childlike in her dependence on her father, and Sam loved every minute of it. Sarah was a bit taller than Sam, with a fair complexion and hair that resembled white gold. Sam was proud of this child he'd raised, loved her as if she'd been his from the very start rather than a foundling raised outside the normal structure of government.

Somehow, he'd managed to find a dentist and a doctor that didn't ask questions about the racial difference between Sam and his daughter, and somehow, his little girl had managed to go through her entire life without serious illness or injury.

The two of them made enough of a living to be comfortable, to buy food in advance and to squirrel away some funds. They had a place, hidden in the kitchen, where they would save up toward such lean times as police crack-downs or the odd occasional illness. Apart from the emergency fund, both Sam and Sarah had their own places to hide a bit, each pretending not to know the other's hiding place as they saved funds apart.

For two years, Sarah and Sam continued on as they had, gradually spending less time together during the day until they each went their separate ways until night, when they would meet at home for dinner to discuss their days. Sometimes one or the other would be late but not often.

The government had begun to crack down on those living in the shadows of society, so it was well understood that if either of them were arrested, the other would be left alone permanently.

In an effort to discourage crime, everyone found without papers was arrested and everyone arrested had their faces plastered over the airwaves of the local news. Because of this, both Sarah and Sam were very careful in their dealings.

"Hey, look at that!" Sam exclaimed over his newspaper one evening. Sarah looked up without saying anything and waited for him to continue. "The president is in town this week. It seems he's going to throw a reception down in Central Park for the mayor and a few hundred of his best friends."

Knowing what he was thinking already, Sarah grinned at him. "It would be a marvelous opportunity for someone dressed appropriately."

"Yes, it would," agreed Sam. "It's a good thing you took all the bells out of my tux, but what about you?"

Sarah shook her head. "Too rich for my blood; besides, I don't have anything to wear." She grinned ruefully.

Formal wear wasn't exactly something a person could pickpocket, and these days it was very difficult to buy anything beyond groceries with cash. Using a stolen credit card had become next to impossible after the card companies had figured out how to embed genetic sensors directly in the card. Unless you were stealing from your identical twin, using a stolen credit card was like begging to be put in jail. As soon as a thief tried to use a stolen bank card, a computer chip in the card itself would set off store alarms.

"You're going to have to do something about that, one day," Sam replied with a grin that belied the shadows of doubt in his eyes.

Sarah nodded thoughtfully. "It bears some thought, I guess. In the meantime, we have to get you ready." She went to the screen and began typing, watching the flashing images intently. "You're going to need some sort of invitation to get in, I would guess. It's just a matter of getting one."

"Stealing from a mailbox will get you arrested for sure," warned Sam unnecessarily.

"Who said anything about stealing from the mailbox?" countered Sarah with a shrug. "We wait to see who gets invited and steal the invitation after it's opened. Government can't control what happens to the mail after it gets delivered to the end recipient, after all. We just need to be smart about which people will get invited, and that's easy enough."

She grinned at his dubious look. "Sam, they're inviting several hundred people. All I have to do is cross reference the party rolls with last season's campaign disclosures and see who donated the most." Sarah's fingers flew over the touch screen for a few more moments until an organized list appeared on the set.

Sam grinned. "Sheer brilliance! Good job, Sarah. Now all we have to do is figure out which ones will be easiest to steal."

"Again, no problem; if I cross reference that list with our favorite home security company and . . ." Sarah pressed one final key with flair, reducing the list to just five names. "We take our pick," she finished.

"That one," Sam decided, pointing at a specific name. "I recognize the address, been in that house before. The owner keeps a detailed PDA, or at least he did a few months ago."

"Old habits die hard. Will he recognize you if you bump into him again?"

"Most likely but his wife takes her kid to the park every afternoon in nice weather. All you'll need is a jogging suit and a fairly new pair of sneakers. She likes to read the mail while the kid digs in the sandbox, so get there before they reach the south side of the park."

"And you know all this how?" Sarah asked curiously. None of the information he had provided seemed like it belonged in an executive's electronic Day-Timer.

Sam just grinned. "I also took his phone. She likes to text her husband while the kid climbs the monkey bars."

Just over a week later, Sarah started her jog around the park. She felt uncomfortable in her new sneakers and jogging suit but the need to blend in overrode her personal preferences, so Sarah ignored the tight feel of her foot wear and the sway of her hair and concentrated on looking as if she weren't looking where she was going.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Sarah had collided with a young mother, scattering possessions everywhere. "Here, let me help you with that."

Swiftly, Sarah bent and gathered the haphazard pile of mail, managing to slip a specific envelope out of sight as the other woman concentrated on retrieving the contents of her oversized purse. Distracted by her child, the other woman accepted her pile of mail and thanked Sarah.

After apologizing again to her victim, Sarah jogged away, eager to take her prize to Sam. Together, Sarah and Sam pressed Sam's suit and finalized plans for his great adventure. Sarah was to watch through a telescope from the top of a nearby building.

~~~

The big day came and Sam was eager for the caper. He knew that the pickings at this particular function were more than he would likely see for an entire year, and he was rather confident that he would be the only sneak thief in the park. Security would be tight at the entrance but once inside, Sam would be almost completely free to ply his trade. He handed his invitation to the guard at the gate and waited for the computer to verify the authenticity of the document.

"Have a nice time, Sir," the guard said by rote even as he reached for the next invitation.

Sam couldn't help himself. He smiled and nodded politely. "Oh, I will. Thanks," he replied before walking away. A waiter walked passed with champagne and Sam helped himself to a glass. Merely gaining entrance to a party of this magnitude was enough to celebrate, but Sam knew he was there for a reason. When another waiter passed, Sam put his half-empty glass on the tray and went to mingle with the crowd.

The president arrived with the usual fanfare and Sam allowed himself to be caught up in the press to shake the 'first hand'. He had about four watches up each arm under his sleeves, three digital assistants in his pockets and several wallets, so it was no great feat to slip the president's watch from his wrist when Sam shook the man's hand. He was rather surprised, however, when the president gave Sam an exuberant hug.

"Charlie! How are you? I haven't seen you since Chicago. How are you?" The president obviously had Sam confused with another person, but Sam wasn't about to pass up the opportunity.

"Same as always, I guess. And you?" Sam replied to the president's greeting as he lifted a digital notebook from the man's pants pocket.

"Good, good. Hey, I'll have my secretary call and set something up, we'll do lunch!" The president released Sam and went on to the next supporter.

Sam grinned and nodded. "I'd like that," he agreed and melted into the crowd. Not long after that, the president realized that the first watch was missing and felt for his wallet. A quick word to his security detail and a tracking device embedded in his watch was activated.

Seeing the scanners held by the presidential security team, Sam realized that the president was wise to his losses. Quickly, he dropped the first watch into someone's handbag and looked for a safe place to stash the first wallet as the security guards waited for an elderly woman to explain why she had the president's watch in her purse.

Seeing the old woman's hands shake with fear and sweat beading on her brow, Sam realized she was close to cardiac arrest. He was a thief by trade but Sam knew that if the woman died, it would make him a murderer. He grabbed an agent by the arm. "Leave her alone, Boy." Sam ordered. "She didn't do anything."

"Stay out of it unless you want us to arrest you for interfering," the agent barked, jerking his arm free.

"Oh, you will end up arresting me," Sam retorted. "So I'm telling you right now to save this woman from having a heart attack, she didn't steal anything."

"And just how do you know?" the other agent demanded without really caring what Sam had to say.

Sam knew he wouldn't ever see his home again, maybe never see his daughter either, but he couldn't back down. "Because I put the watch in her bag." The woman stared at Sam and the agents let go of her arm. Sam put his cards on the table.

"I can prove it, if you really need me to." He smiled ruefully in Sarah's direction and pulled out the first wallet. "Tell the president that my name's Sam, not Charlie. And Ma'am," he added, addressing the elderly woman, "you might want to see a doctor about your heart. I'm sorry about scaring you like that." He ignored her indignant retort as he allowed himself to be taken into custody.

~~~

Up on the roof, Sarah watched in horror as Sam was arrested. What was he thinking? Despite her dismay, Sarah knew that the president was just too good a mark to pass up. She probably would have done the same thing in his shoes, right down to owning up to it.

Of course, he'd had to confess! How else would everyone know that Sam was the greatest sneak thief in the United Americas if he didn't give himself up? All the same, Sarah felt abandoned by the only father she'd ever known.

She wasn't sure she was ready for him not to come home at night to their apartment. With Sam under arrest, Sarah felt as if she'd witnessed his death. Even knowing he was still alive and not killed by the Secret Service, Sarah felt he might just as well be dead since she would probably never see him again.

Sadly, Sarah slipped off the roof of the building and returned home. That night, with footage of Sam's arrest plastered over the evening news of every channel, Sarah saw the expression on his face and grinned. He looked so pleased with himself! Suddenly, Sarah realized that Sam had gone to that party with every intention of getting caught.

She slipped the tools of her trade from her pocket and studied the engraving on the handle, remembering how his hands shook when Sam had given her the gift. Federal prisons were reserved for federal crimes, most of which were committed by people who were wealthy to begin with, earning the federal prison a reputation for comfort and ease among the inhabitants. Sam had made sure his retirement was the best possible. With this thought, Sarah had to laugh.

With Sam in prison, Sarah was completely on her own for the first time in her life. Independence brought only small changes at first; having to get used to only herself for company or eating on her own after buying food and other necessities of life, earning enough by herself to pay the rent and the bribe that let her stay in her apartment without the proper rental papers. Slowly though, changes happened.