Centenarian oaks and pines lined the property, set inside an eight-foot perimeter wall constructed of pale gray granite slabs that each must’ve weighted as much as one of Mr. Bock’s patented reciprocating engines. The towering wrought iron gates at the front of the property stood open, admitting us to a curved cobblestone path leading to the house proper—a mansion in every sense of the word. Four stories of polished stone and beaten copper roofing, with rooms enough to house, feed, and pamper a small army, surrounded by grounds so meticulously manicured they’d make the curator at the municipal botanical gardens blush with envy—or suffer a more orgasmic response.A throng of officers milled outside the mansion’s front doors, including a handful standing at a table set between a pair of tall braziers that burned fiercely in the cool evening air. A mobile command center, if looks were any indication. A man, tall and lean, with a straight back and precisely trimmed black hair, leaned over the middle of the table staring at a map and giving orders.
