“Excuse me,” he said. It wasn’t a question, it was a “you’ve got another think coming.”

On the theory that she might as well give herself a fighting chance, she unsnapped the purse. “What have you got for me?”

“I’m not authorized to release any of these vehicles.”

She pulled out her cred. “I’m authorizing you.”

He looked at it, foolishly bending his head down to do so. “This isn’t—”

“This is.” He had given her the moment she needed to get to her gun, which she thrust into his face. Reaching down, she drew his .45 out of his holster and hurled it away over his head. It slapped the floor, and she could hear bullets bouncing out of the magazine. “Your weapon wasn’t properly secured,” she said into the bulging, beetle-dumb eyes. “I’m gonna write you up on that.”

Then she drew back her hand and had the satisfying experience of slamming the guy in the side of the head hard enough to put him out for at least five minutes. For good measure, she ripped his communications cables out of the floor. This sure as hell was not going to turn into a car chase.

She rejected the row of VIP Escalades. They were strongly built, you could be sure, but their tall profile was going to make them iffy in that wind. Ditto a couple of civilian Hummers. Too bad there was no M1035, the military variety. That would work.

She saw a black Ford with siren horns visible behind its grill. No flashers, but at least there was a blue emergency light that could be set up on the dash. This car was low and powerful and in useful FBI livery, so she took it.

The kid was still slumped, and she was tempted to make sure he was breathing, but she hadn’t hit him that hard. He’d come around, report the theft, and eventually get some kind of annoyance rolling after her. If she could ever communicate with George again, she’d have a stop put to it.

For a person used to seeing the world in detail from above, she always found it curiously confining to leave her office, and this was triply so today. From her communications center, she could have mapped out a route for herself that would have avoided all traffic jams, downed trees, and other obstructions. There hadn’t been time, though, and in any case, everything would change by the minute in a storm this intense. As it was, she had to rely on radio traffic reports, and how reliable were they going to be in weather too heavy for helicopters, and no communications?

Her access level meant she had no trouble leaving. When the guard saw her vehicle come out of the motor pool, he decided not to risk leaving his trembling shack and simply opened the gate.