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At the far end, there were two doors. Lachlan reached for the wrong door.

“No, wait.”

He turned.

“The other one.”

“What’s behind this?”

“Main kitchen corridor. It’s too open.”

I hurried to the smaller door beside a stack of empty coffee sacks.

“This one goes behind the laundry room.”

Lachlan gave me one quick look.

Approval.

Then he opened it and went through first.

The south utility corridor stretched ahead of us with no one in sight.

“Move,” Rafael whispered.

We hurried down the corridor, keeping our steps as quiet as possible.

Lachlan stayed close enough that I could hear the slight irregularity in his stride whenever his left foot hit the floor, but he never asked us to slow down.

At the first intersection, we heard fast-approaching footsteps.

I pointed toward a recessed doorway, and the three of us pressed into it.

A young guard ran past with an assault rifle clutched against his chest.

He never looked our way.

Rafael’s radio came alive again with the faint sound of a voice.

“Mateo has men at the west armory entrance.”

“Then fucking shoot them.”

“Who gave that order?”

“Rafael did.”

A pause.

He keyed the radio.

“Anyone still loyal to Ciro, detain Marcela Reyes.”

Someone cursed him.

Another man answered immediately.

“Understood.”