The micro-Taser embedded in her phone. If she could just reach into her briefcase…

“Is there a problem here?” A woman’s voice asked.

Pryce looked over, saw Noora standing there. She was tall, muscled, still half a head shorter than the brute who had her.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Jameson’s assistant rumbled.

“This man is restraining me against my will,” Pryce said.

Noora raised one eyebrow.

“The President wants to talk to her,” the assistant growled. “It’s none of your business.”

Pryce put all her authority into her voice. “I am the National Security Advisor. The ex-President is no authority over me. I am walking. Out. That. Door.” She pulled against the man’s grip again. “NOW!”

She felt his grip waver the tiniest bit.

Noora nodded her head towards Pryce. “I’d let her go, Troy. She can probably drone you in your sleep.”

The assistant named Troy made a low sound, nearly a growl. “You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?”

Noora chuckled. “Troy, forget about me. You really want to be on her shitlist?”

The drive to her car was interminable.

She hopped out as soon as the SUV stopped, bolted for the trunk of her car. Taggart got out of the driver’s seat.

“Nice to see you, Dr Pryce!” he yelled, a hand upraised. “Call ahead next time.”

By then Pryce had the gear bags out of the Tesla’s trunk, was shoving them into the open driver side door ahead of her, then following them in to the cabin of the car.

“Drive,” she told the car. “Darken windows.”

The car turned itself in the road, started back the way it had come. The windows and windshields all went dark. Internal lights came on.

“Drive faster,” she said.

“Driving at maximum legal speed,” the car responded in its silky tones.

Pryce pulled her phone out of her briefcase, pulled up a menu, made sure it was paired with the carcomp.

“National security override,” Pryce said. “Executive Branch, office of the National Security Advisor. Carolyn Pryce speaking. Ignore local traffic laws. Invoke law enforcement bypass. Reset safety margins to 5%. Execute.”

The acceleration shoved her back into her seat.

The bait’s on the move, she thought silently at Jameson. Are you going to bite?

“Place maximum security call,” she said aloud. “Video. Replace setting with backdrop: my office. Route call through my office. Record, all available spectra, maximum resolution. Activate physiological response monitors.”

She reached up and pressed her phone against the windshield in front of her until it adhered.

“Recording audio or video calls without the permission of all parties involved is prohibited by law,” the phone informed her. “As is the use of voice and visual stress cues to infer non-communicated information. Please seek permission of all parties before proceeding. Permission can be signified by pressing…”