We needed a plan.
We sat there, the four of us, weighing our options. They were ridiculous, for sure. But we had a mission. We would not be stopped.
“We could sneak past the alarm on the main floor,” Paula said with determination and her sweet English accent (not British. Never British.). “Then, we head out the back door and come back in through the kitchen.”
“Too complicated,” I said.
“I could fake epilepsy,” Zach offered. “I’ve done it before.”
“Asthma,” I nearly shouted. “I could do asthma.”
I demonstrated the strained and harsh breathing. Again, I wasn’t sure what this was going to do for us. Faking an illness of some sort leads to hospitals and such. Using it as a diversion in our mission seemed a bit ludicrous, but so much about this situation was.