Nothing unexpected hindered their advance. Step by step they went on. Slowly they snaked their way up side stairs to the floor where the governor was being guarded by a dozen militiamen manning barricades made of desks and haphazardly reinforced by sandbags. Nancy had considered rushing these people as she had done at the door but decided against that. There would be too much risk. The militiamen would be alert and they would have the drop on them. There was simply too much corridor to traverse and no place for the follow-on force to hide as they had done outside. Instead of stealth and cunning she would rely on a straight up assault aided by surprise and darkness.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Nancy stopped. Craning her neck, she looked over the top edge of the last stair. After checking her watch, she paused. They had two minutes before Sergeant Lightfoot was scheduled to hit the main circuit breaker. She had allotted him a five-minute window, from 0420 to 0425, to get set. If the later time had come and gone and the lights were still on, Nancy was prepared to fall back to her plan B, which was to pretend that she was delivering dispatches from the field. Since she had never done so at this hour, that option entailed greater risks. This was why it was plan B.

At 0419, Nancy turned and signaled the paratroopers behind her to lower their night vision goggles and turn them on. With her left hand, she removed her BDU cap, brought her night vision goggles up from around her neck where they had been dangling on a cord, and pulled them down over her eyes. Switching them on, she watched and waited.

No sooner had she gotten them in place than the bright, almost blinding green world before her suddenly dimmed to a tolerable level. Down the corridor and around the corner, she could hear voices babbling and confused shuffling about. It was 0420.

“Let’s go,” she commanded with a well practiced firmness and calm. Taking the last of the stairs two at a time, she went forward. The voices were growing louder, more distinct, and more frantic. Behind her the thump of rubber soled boots pounding the tile floor was deafening. To the end of the corridor she ran, never pausing or holding back as she neared the corner. They were committed. For better or for worse, no matter what lay around that corner they would have to take it on head first. There was no stopping, no turning back. Salvation and victory lay around that corner that was now mere meters away. Everything depended on what the paratrooper with her did in the next few seconds.

BOISE, IDAHO • 0440, NOVEMBER 12