“Evening, Jon. Alright?”
“All good, Lopez. Off soon?”
“Fifteen. DK’s running late.”
“Fair enough. Once more round the loop?”
Lopez set off again, heading northwest along the fence. Gravel crunched underfoot. His breath hung in the air. He imagined his lounge, warming his feet by the fire, sipping a coffee while he watched the snooker.
He turned into Compound C, boots rapping on the metal floor. A door ahead opened; these doors never opened. Two men hurried out, keyed in the lock codes behind them. Lopez sped up.
A roar shook the earth. Blinding light. Then nothing.