When I reached the bottom I unslung my rifle and crouched behind Rodgers and Clarke. We were between two rows of shelves lined with tires that formed an alcove against one wall of the garage. Rodgers advanced to the end of the alcove with Clarke close enough behind him, that he kept one hand on his back. Clarke kept his muzzle pointed down, but brought it up to sweep to the right as Rodgers rounded the corner and turned left. As Clarke turned round to follow Rodgers I stepped behind him and faced right, watching our rear.

There was a door facing me, leading, I assumed, into the office part of the garage. I could see chairs and a coffee table with magazines scattered on it.

Rodgers halted and turned to face us. He held up five fingers. Then he held up two and pointed left and then three fingers and pointed right. Clarke and I nodded our understanding. Two terrorists to the left, three to the right. He silently mouthed the words, one, two, and on three we swept around the corner.