Though she was angry, Nancy said nothing. Instead she gave the driver the nastiest look she could manage, pivoted about and started for the stairs. Looking over to the militiaman, the driver rolled his eyes as if to say, “women.” The militiaman returned the driver’s glance, but for a different reason. He was sizing up this new man, trying to determine his mettle. Though not nearly as physically imposing as the Indian, this new man had a sharp lean look that reminded the militiaman of a bird of prey.

With a nod, the driver in the National Guard uniform waved. “See you later.”

Once outside Nancy turned on her driver. “That was dumb,” she snapped. “I told you to stay put while I was in the governor’s office. The next time I give you an order,” she continued when they reached the Humvee, “I expect you to follow it. Is that clear?”

From the driver’s side Nathan Dixon looked through the open door of the Humvee at the peeved lieutenant colonel who had led him through the capitol building in order to familiarize him with it. “Colonel,” he stated with a plaintive tone of voice, “I had to see what was around the corner. I needed to know if there were more militiamen about.”

After throwing herself into her seat and crossing her arms, Nancy looked up at Nathan. “If you wanted to know that then you should have asked me, damn it!” After a moment her expression softened. “You get one ‘atta boy’ for initiative and one for thinking. But the ‘aw shit’ for not doing what you were told cancels both. Now, let’s get going. We have some people we need to pick up.”

Realizing that she wasn’t too upset, Nathan climbed into the Humvee and cranked it up. It was going to be a long night, and there was much that remained to be done.

As is often the case in military operations, kinks develop in the plan at the most unexpected and inopportune time. The plan that Nancy Kozak was in the process of pulling together was no different. After driving into the parking lot of the motel where Jan Fields and company were staying, she instructed Nathan to park the Humvee behind the building where the distinctive shape of the vehicle and rumble its diesel engine made would be less likely to be noticed. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to them than necessary. Dismounting, she made her way to the front of the building.

She was about to turn the corner when she saw a van, hand painted in a motley camouflage pattern, parked in front of the office. A militiaman with his rifle slung over his shoulder and his arms folded across his chest was leaning against the front of the vehicle. His head was bowed as if he were dozing. Drawing back, she watched as half a dozen thoughts began running through her mind.