Ed showed a ghost of a smile. He patted the barrel. This old thing? We go way back. He wore yellow-tinted shooting glasses. A pair of ear muffs were perched on top of his head. He slid out the cargo door until he was perched on the outboard bench. He strapped himself in.

They watched as the SUVs caught up to the convoy. It all happened within a few miles. The Range Rovers and the big Navigator saw the dashboard lights coming up and moved over to the soft shoulder of the highway. The SRT vehicles pulled in behind them. Civilian traffic roared by three feet to their right.

That was easy, Newsam shouted from outside.

Yeah, Luke said. Too easy.

The chopper came down. Soon, it was fifty feet in the air, hovering thirty yards ahead of the lead car.

Swann, we dont want anybody but Nassar. If hes in that Navigator, just have your guys extract him and drive away.

Got it, Luke.

Two SRT men walked up the line of cars on either side. They moved fast with sidearms drawn. They moved to the middle car, the black Lincoln. The man on the shoulder side banged on the door. There was a delay. No one came out.

Luke tapped Ed. Put your weapon on that! I dont like it. Two men arent enough.

Newsam lifted the gun and sighted. Got it.

Swann! Give me two more men on that car.

Without warning, the rear door of the lead Range Rover swung open. A man popped out, machine gun firing. Luke could hear the ugly blat of the Uzi from all that way. The first SRT man went down in a hail of gunfire. The second SRT agent ducked and ran back toward the agency cars.

Man down! Swann shouted. Man down! Jesus. Trudy, call 911. We need an ambulance out there. Holy shit.

The man from the Range Rover walked calmly toward the injured agent. He pushed his Uzi aside. It hung on his back from its shoulder strap. He pulled a handgun from inside his light jacket and pointed it at the agents head.

Ed! Luke said. Dont let that happen.

The sudden roar of the M4 was earth shattering next to Lukes head. He ducked away, ears ringing instantly. Newsam rode the recoil, muscles bulging, his face a blank mask.

He was dialed in. A line of bullets strafed the Range Rover. The front left tire exploded and the windshield shattered. The man with the gun jittered for no more than a second, then collapsed to the ground next to the man he was about to kill. The agent, wounded but alive, began to crawl away downhill into a drainage ditch.

Your mans moving, Swann. Hes alive. Get somebody out there to cover him.