Scott Henry rides the subway. He is wearing a black suit and carrying a shovel. A soldier going to war, a Navy SEAL on a rescue mission. People look at him with disinterest. A man in a suit carrying heavy tools is hardly the weirdest thing they’ve seen today. He has a black messenger bag across his back, slung over his shoulders. There is a pair of wire cutters inside, a set of work gloves. It is ten o’clock in the morning. He has two hours before the memorial. Two hours to penetrate the perimeter fence, to enter his old backyard, find the spot and dig.