A flotilla of pleasure boats appeared one at a time from concealment behind the trees, first visible from about one hundred yards. Victoria didn’t know one boat from another, but these were a mishmash of watercraft of the sort you’d pay for by the hour at a midlevel resort. At first glance, Victoria saw that Luke’s estimates had been spot on. Fifty people, more or less, occupied exactly ten boats. While the watercraft were clearly civilian, the people on board appeared otherwise. The majority, if not all of them, wore green camouflage uniforms. Victoria had never seen so many firearms outside of a gun show.

“I don’t have a great feeling about this,” she mumbled. “I see a grenade launcher.”

“This could get interesting in all the wrong ways,” McCrea agreed. “Spread out a bit and be ready.”

Per the plan, Simmons and Abbott spread out to the flanks, taking positions at the far edges of the boat launch ramp. Victoria and McCrea stayed in the middle, but separated by twenty feet. At times like this, you never wanted to bunch up. It was much harder to harm individuals than it was to harm a group.

The occupants of the boats used oars—some real, some makeshift—to turn toward shore. When they closed within fifty yards or so and showed no sign of stopping, Victoria shouted, “Stay away from the shore!”

“Stop or be fired upon!” McCrea yelled.

A man in the lead boat with captain’s bars on the front tab of his uniform shirt called back, “I am Captain Roy Magill, of the Maryland National Guard. Put down your weapons or you will be arrested.” Midthirties, with leathery skin that clearly had seen no sunscreen, his high-and-tight haircut had grown out over his ears. He projected menace in a way that Victoria had seen in many cops and military officers.

McCrea shouldered his M4. “Last chance!”

Captain Magill brought his weapon to bear and Mc-Crea dropped to a knee. “We represent the United States Army!” the captain called. “Put down your weapons!”

“What is happening?” Victoria asked no one as she darted to her right toward a tree that might provide cover.

“Do not advance!” McCrea yelled. “Don’t turn this into—”

Victoria stepped forward and raised both hands into the air. She intended it as a gesture of mitigation, not surrender. “Stop this!” she yelled.

McCrea hissed, “Vicky, what are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. She stepped closer to the water’s edge. “Put your weapon down, Captain Magill. We’ve already had one war. We don’t need another.”

She sensed McCrea moving to her left, keeping his field of fire open. “You too, Major McCrea.”

Magill clearly didn’t know what to do. He broke his aim, but not by much.

“The next choice is yours, Captain,” Victoria said. “Trust me when I tell you there are many more guns leveled at you than you think.”