The new tunnel curved round in a bend. I could make out a light outlining a silhouette. I ran up to Miriam and tapped her shoulder. She looked at me quickly and gestured forward. About ten yards down, through the gloom, I could make out another light source. Looked like it was on the ground, which might mean that Miriam had hit her target.

I ran down the tunnel, bent at the waist. Weapon up and ready. I approached the shape of a person, sprawled out on the tunnel floor. It was a guy. He was alive. He was trying to figure out what had happened to him. What had happened was a tight pattern of 9mm parabelum rounds stitching up from the belly to the chest. A Glock 17 lay by his hip. I kicked it away. He looked up at me in confusion. I thumbed for single and put a round into his face, then flipped back to triple burst. I picked up his flashlight. Two strips of duct tape torn off my tactical vest secured the light to my gun. Better.

Miriam was right behind me. I turned and gently pushed her against the wall. Spoke quietly, with respect. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Run away without me. That was dangerous.”

A man’s voice called out questioningly, from up ahead around a curve, “Sam?”

I switched off the light and crab-walked towards the voice. Looked back and Miriam had done the same. She was just off my right shoulder. The guy called out again, “Sami, you ok?” The tunnel turned slightly and the guy was visible, standing at a door, half open to a dimly lit room. Low lighting for a room, bright as day in a cave. Beginning at the other side of that door, the tunnel was lit with wall sconces distributed down its length.

The guy was a silhouette in the doorway. “Sami, stop fucking around.”

From behind him there was laughter. Another male said, “Look at this.”

To which a third guy responded, “You’re an idiot.”

The first guy was still looking into the dark for his friend. I raised the pitch of my voice some and said, “Come here.”

The guy took a step. “Sami?”

Soon as he stepped out of the door I put three rounds into his chest.

I was there before he hit the ground, guiding the body down. I stepped over him, and into the doorway. The room looked like a computer graphics studio, but carved out of solid limestone. Desks lined three walls, with big screens and discreet lighting drawing attention to the stone walls, like some form of interior decoration. These guys were artistic types, sensitive to the way things looked.