The building was dark except for a single light above a long workbench across the cement floor. A man with his back to them sat on a stool working on something. The light was enough to cause a flare in Nir’s night vision, so he tilted his goggles up.

As his eyes adjusted, he took stock of the room. Two pickups and one box truck had been parked by a large rolling door, and a small armory was contained behind a chain-link fence to the left. Nir counted at least four rows of AK-47s, ten to a row. The man and the workbench were on the far wall, and to the right sat a series of shelves containing tools, auto repair supplies, and five bags that ranged in size from briefcase to steamer trunk.

Nir clicked his com four times.

Nicole quickly responded. “Wahed, are you sure? That gives you only three minutes.”

Nir clicked four times once again.

“Copy, wahed,” she responded, but Nir heard the concern in her voice.

Turning toward Imri, Nir pointed to his eyes and then to the man on the stool. Then he pointed to himself before walking two fingers in the direction of the man. Imri nodded, and Nir slipped his fixed blade knife from its sheath. Slowly moving between the two pickups, he drew closer and closer. Four meters, three meters, two meters.

A door opened to his right. A militia soldier walked in, and Nir’s eyes locked with his. The terrorist drew his sidearm, and Nir threw his knife, the blade catching him in the chest just as he pulled the trigger. Nir felt a searing pain on the side of his head as the gunshot echoed throughout the building. The man at the bench swiveled on his stool, only to drop to the floor as a round from Imri’s gun caught him under his eye.

“Get the cases,” Nir yelled to Imri. “Everyone bug out!”

“Where are you?” Dima called.

“We’re coming! Just go!” Nir was running toward the cases too. “Leave the trunk.”

“Wahed, you have two minutes,” Nicole said.

Reaching the cases, Nir quickly opened the briefcase, finding various components and wires. He slammed the case shut.

Imri snatched the two larger suitcases, leaving Nir the briefcase and a carry-on. They ran out the door the now-dead man had walked through, and just as they made it out, a door inside slammed.

“They’re going for the armory,” Imri said as he ran. The door had opened to the far side of the storage building, opposite the barracks. In front of them was the mess hall, and beyond that, open space.