“How many?” Marcus asked, checking the magazine of his rifle.

“At least three,” Daniel said.

“They are coming from the main kitchen entrance.”

“They don’t know the basement layout,” I said.

“They think we are still trapped in the vault.”

I looked at the stone wall behind the explosive device.

There was a loose iron grate near the floor.

It led to the old coal chute beneath the carriage house.

“We go through the chute,” I said.

“Marcus, take Caleb.”

“If he makes a sound, silence him.”

Marcus nodded and grabbed Caleb by his jacket.

“Move,” Marcus growled.

Caleb scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking.

Daniel stood guard at the doorway, his eyes fixed on the corridor.

“They are at the bottom of the stairs,” Daniel whispered.

“I see their flashlights.”

“Go,” I told Daniel.

“I will cover the rear.”

I picked up the fallen mercenary’s rifle from the floor.

It was heavy, cold, and smelled of carbon.

I knew how to use it.

My father had taught me how to shoot on these very grounds when I was ten.