“I’m talking to you, soldier,” McCrea said, his tone a little harsher. He pointed to the embroidered insignia on his own chest. “Take a look at the oak leaf. You owe me a few words and some eye contact at the very least.”

The kid’s eyes stayed focused on something distant, but he did say, “Sir, I am not the one to ask anything. My job is to keep people from busting through the line. Everything else is up to Mr. Johnson.”

“And who is Mr. Johnson?”

“He’d be the boss, sir.”

“Where can we find him?” Victoria asked. The sound of her voice startled McCrea.

“Somewhere nearby, ma’am,” the soldier said. “He tends not to share his whereabouts with me.”

McCrea leaned in closer, nearly nose to nose. “You think you’re funny?”

“Apparently not, sir,” the soldier said.

“Step aside and let me through,” McCrea said. “I’ll find him myself.”

As McCrea took a step forward to break through the line, the soldier took two steps back to open some distance and leveled the muzzle of his rifle at the bridge of McCrea’s nose. “Lethal force is authorized, Major. I’d prefer not to use it, but please don’t think I’d hesitate.”

The speed and decisiveness of the guard’s movement made McCrea flinch, but he recovered quickly. “Point that weapon elsewhere,” he said.

“I’d like nothing better, sir, but you need to step back behind the line. Another step forward and I’ll shoot you in the face. I have my orders.”

McCrea took a step back. He’d learned a long time ago that there was no more dangerous creature on the planet than an armed young man with standing orders to shoot. “Can you summon Mr. Johnson for me?”

“No need,” a voice called from behind the line. “I’m Johnson.” He approached from the bunker’s maw. “You’ve been causing quite a stir with your line jumping,” he said. “Gotta tell you, that’s not a harbinger of good things.”

When Johnson arrived at the cordon, he stood at parade rest, with his hands behind his back, as if deliberately avoiding a handshake. McCrea had been waiting for a salute, but when he didn’t get one, he pressed ahead. “I don’t understand the source of this delay,” he said.

“It takes time,” Johnson said. “We’ve got to process a lot of people and we’re not designed for high-volume entries like this.”

“How can that be?” Victoria blurted. “This is a bunker, for crying out loud. Did you plan for war to arrive slowly?”

Johnson shifted his head to address Victoria, but his shoulders remained squared to McCrea. “Who are you, ma’am?”

“I am Victoria Emerson, representative of—”