She felt a pain in her hand, opened it, and realized that she had dug her own fingernails into her palm. Cursing under her breath, she wiped it with a Kleenex.

Now, the main question—how was she going to get out of Washington in weather this heavy? The air force had a squadron of hurricane-penetrating aircraft and so did NOAA, and they were certainly active right now, but not out of bases under the storm. In fact, every air base or airport of any kind was battened down. The airports had closed last night. This morning, Amtrak had announced that all trains were shut down.

Her only option would be to drive until she could find an open air base or airport. She could commandeer anything, even an airliner, if she had to.

She threw on her raincoat and the floppy canvas rain hat that had been bought mostly for the way it framed her face. She was not equipped at all for anything like this. Even her satphone was not working.

Outside her office, water was on the floor. With the building running on its own generators, the hallway lighting was dim and the elevators weren’t operating, so she had to take the stairs down to the lobby and sign out manually rather than swipe her finger.

“Many folks still on duty?” the desk officer asked.

“Seems quiet.”

He looked up at her. “You be careful out there. It’s gusting past a hundred and forecast to go higher.”

He’d probably like to get home, too, if there was any reasonable possibility of doing that.

She went across the wide lobby, past the columns, her sneakers quiet on the marble floor. Down here, things were surprisingly orderly. Unlike the upstairs, no water was on this floor. The doors ahead of her were facing away from the main force of the storm, too, so she could have made it to the outside parking lot and her own car. But her destination was the motor pool in the basement. She’d need some sort of official-looking car, something powerful and tough, preferably with at least some red and blue flashers. Otherwise, this was not going to work. If she could reach the interstate, she thought she might make it, unless she ran into flooding.

She took the auxiliary stairs down. Her hope that she wouldn’t have to deal with any security personnel ended when she found the guard station was manned, and by a man who looked about eighteen. A kid. The worst.

“I need a pool vehicle capable of doing the storm,” she said. “I want any kind of official markings, with siren and lights.”

He looked up at her. The brain-dead defiance in his eyes made her consider just blowing him away. He was sidearmed, though, and you couldn’t beat a holster if you had to open a purse, so that was no-go.