Klay knelt beside Hungry and put his arm around her shoulders. She seemed not to know he was there.

“Hungry,” he said.

She responded as if he had electrocuted her. “GET—AWAY—FROM—ME,” she hissed.

Across the room Tenchant’s blue jacket hung on the back of his chair. Klay crossed the room and picked it up. Tenchant’s wallet was in the pocket. The dozen or so armed commandos ignored him as they went about their work. He glanced inside Hungry’s office. Her desk lay on its side, legs out stiff, like a dead cow. Its drawers and papers lay strewn across the room. The bookshelves had been stripped. Two men and a woman were still at it. They stuffed armfuls of files into black garbage bags, and yanked cables from the devices.

A bloody smear ran down the hallway toward the bathroom. Two men in tactical gear were talking outside the bathroom door. The blood trail ran between their boots and disappeared inside. As Klay started down the hall, the men stepped toward him and shook their heads, their weapons nosing up.

“Stay in the main room, please,” a voice said from behind him. Klay turned. This man was medium height, lean, with a bush-creased face and sandy hair. He was dressed in the same black tactical gear, including a pistol on his web belt. “Touch anything you like, Mr. Klay. Be my guest.” He pointed to a pair of computers and said, “Hurry up with those!”

“Yes, General.”

Klay returned to Hungry. She was still on her hands and knees beside Sehlalo’s body, holding the dead man’s hand, weeping. Blood covered Sehlalo’s face and chest. Hungry was red with it now. It covered her hands and her blouse. It was in her pearls. Klay gently laid Tenchant’s blue windbreaker over Sehlalo’s boots. “Hungry,” he whispered, lifting the jacket to show her what he wanted to do. She gave him some room. He pulled the jacket like a blanket over Sehlalo’s lower body and felt an ankle holster.

“Gen-er-al!” a voice called.

It was a familiar voice, and yet not familiar. Everyone stopped and looked toward the bathroom. Tenchant emerged from the hallway shirtless, a hand on his belly, the other carrying a pistol. Strips of T-shirt were tied around his abdomen to staunch his bleeding. Blood dripped from the bottom of his pant leg over his boot.

“General Visser. Take your men out!” Tenchant ordered.

“But—”

Tenchant waved the pistol. “Out, General! All of you!”

Visser hesitated, then nodded to his people. Garbage bags dropped and hard drives got one last kick toward a pile in the room’s center.

“Close the door behind you,” Tenchant said.

The general glanced at Klay. “We still have work to do here.”

“Close the door, General,” Tenchant said.