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Construction in DC was no surprise to me, but Slash fell unusually quiet and stared out the window. He’d become intensely alert. It wasn’t his brooding or worried look. He was in his professional mode, probably reassessing the attack of the previous evening, evaluating who might be behind it, and anticipating future threats. While the Secret Service was responsible for the president’s and first lady’s security, the attack on our event had made it personal to him. I could almost hear his internal dialogue weighing potential proactive actions against the attackers versus letting others do their job and being the best groom possible.

“Do you think they’ll attack us at the wedding?” I asked quietly.

He turned to look at me. “I do.”

My stomach sank. “What can we do? No one knows who’s behind this.”

He lifted a hand and then let it fall back to his lap. “I don’t know what we can do at this point. But I’m convinced whoever had the motive, resources, and skills to plan the last attack is not going to quit because their first attempt was foiled. While we’re waiting for more information, we need to be thinking ahead, anticipating vulnerable moments, and being hypervigilant and prepared.”

“Just happy and carefree like any other wedding couple, right?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Right. Just like any wedding couple who will be hosting the Holy Father and the president and first lady at their ceremony.”

I looked out my window toward the park that was approaching on the left. The park was crowded with people walking, chatting, sitting on the circular benches surrounding the central fountain, and enjoying the nice spring weather. We stopped at the signal, preparing to turn left onto K Street. A row of pretty oak trees lined the street on the long sides of the park that stretched away from my vantage. Their branches, even with the leaves just budding out, were dense enough to mostly obscure the view of the multistory office buildings on either side of the park. Those branches were swishing in the gusting breeze, but it wasn’t strong enough to deter a small group of Frisbee players tossing a disc under the trees.

Even though it was a workday, everyone in the park looked relaxed and outwardly happy. I wished I could feel the same. As I scanned the park, something in the air caught my eye.

Drones. Two of them. Large quadcopters hoisting a boxy payload. They had just lifted fifteen feet into the air from cardboard boxes near the center of the park and stopped, hovering. I wasn’t a drone expert, but these were clearly commercial ones, much bigger than a typical recreational drone. As the light turned green and our motorcade turned left, I watched as two more drones rose and climbed higher, passing the first two that were still hovering in place.

That was odd.

A shiver ran up my spine. I touched Slash’s arm. “Slash, check this out. There are some large drones in the park. They’re doing strange maneuvers.”

Slash leaned over to peer out my window.

“Someone’s going to get into big trouble,” the agent driving said, looking out his window. “Large commercial drones aren’t allowed within fifteen miles of the White House without special authorization. If a flight was approved, we would have been briefed about it this morning. Those operators will face a big fine if they’re caught.”

“Um…you can tell them yourself,” I said in growing alarm as the latter two drones separated slightly and headed toward our motorcade, rising to clear the trees. “They’re coming our way.”

“Stop the cars and get everyone out,” Slash abruptly ordered the agent. “They’re targeting the motorcade. Order it, now!”

The agent obviously agreed and yelled into his communication device, slamming on the brakes as we skidded to a stop. Before the car had even fully stopped moving, Slash opened the door, grabbed my hand, and hauled me out. My feet barely touched the pavement before he thrust me toward a parked car on the street.

“Hide,” he ordered sharply.

Diego joined me, shaking uncontrollably. He was probably sorry he’d ever agreed to cater our rehearsal dinner. Not that I blamed him.

Crouching beside the hood, I searched for the drones but no longer saw them. A quick glance to my right showed that our entire line of SUVs had now stopped, and everyone was bailing out, dodging the confused traffic going the opposite way. I noticed with alarm that our driver had the back of the SUV open and was pulling out the weapon cases I’d seen earlier.

“Scatter away from the cars but stay behind cover as much as possible,” our driver shouted at us. “Avoid grouping and making yourselves an easy target.”

Diego immediately bolted away from me to a different parked car, so I scrambled farther from the SUV. I took shelter behind the back of a parked white truck with a roll-up back door and a dented rear bumper that appeared to be a relic of an ancient fender bender.

Slash didn’t hide. Instead, he started helping the Secret Service agent unpack the weapons. To my surprise, the driver handed Slash what looked like a shotgun.

Holy firefight. Was Slash going to be involved in shooting?

I couldn’t worry about that now. I could see the drones again. They were hovering just above the tops of two trees to our right. They moved deliberately, as if they were surprised and confused at our scattered response. Or perhaps getting us out of the cars was the plan all along, and they were trying to pick out their specific target. They’d be disappointed, because the first lady wasn’t here. But I didn’t for intend for any of us to be their consolation prize, and I knew Slash was thinking the same thing.

I suspected the drones’ indecision was due to confusion. The entire street had erupted in chaos. All the other SUVs behind us had come to a halt, and our families and guests were piling out, while agents yelled at them to scatter and hide, all while watching the skies with handguns drawn. The drone operators were likely finding it very difficult to tell motorcade passengers apart from random people on the street. Behind the motorcade, another agent stopped traffic coming in the other direction and was shouting at people to abandon their cars.

The rest of the agents were either trying to get weapons out of their vehicles or directing people away from the area. They weren’t having much success. The action seemed to draw people to the scene—many had their phones out, filming the situation. Even a mother with two kids, one in a stroller, stood near the curb by me filming instead of ushering her kids to safety. I shouted to her to run, but she ignored me.

What the heck?

For split second, time seemed to freeze, and it was eerily silent. Slash and several other agents with guns were scanning the skies for the drones. From their angle, they couldn’t see them lurking just above the treetops.

“There they are,” I shouted, stepping out from behind the truck and pointing. “Above that tree.”