Beneath the warning was the small, circular logo of Richards Global.

The gate was secured with a heavy iron chain and a digital keypad lock.

The green light on the keypad was active, indicating the system had power.

I stopped the vehicle fifty yards from the gate, hidden behind a clump of dry mesquite.

I turned off the engine.

The silence of the desert rushed in to fill the cabin.

“We wait here,” I said.

“Is that the place?” Eleanor asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“This is it,” I said.

Through the green display, I could see three long, low concrete structures built into the side of the hill.

They looked like bunkers from a distance, their flat roofs covered in gravel and weeds to blend into the landscape.

A single security light burned over the door of the middle building.

There were no guard towers, no visible patrols, and no signs of movement.

But the gravel driveway was clean.

There were fresh tire tracks in the dust, wide and deep, left by heavy transport trucks.

I reached down and checked the spare magazine in my pocket.