Page 34

A s the Secret Service agent in charge, Miller wasn’t crazy about S?lvi changing up his roster, but he had been given specific instructions to cooperate with her and the Norwegians. As long as they didn’t present any unreasonable requests, his job was to comply.

An hour before the PM’s flight was due to land, Ambassador Hansen and a handful of key embassy staff arrived at the FBO. S?lvi introduced them to the Secret Service detail and then led them into the private suite that had been set up for Stang and the Norwegian delegation.

In addition to coffee, tea, bottled water, and soft drinks, there was a full bar and catered food. A protocol officer from the State Department had definitely been hovering somewhere over the Secret Service’s shoulder.

“This all looks very good,” said Hansen. “So take me through what will happen when the Prime Minister arrives.”

“I will be on the jet bridge,” said S?lvi, “along with Special Agent Miller when the door to the aircraft opens. Prime Minister Stang and her PST detail will deplane first, followed by the rest of her team.

“We will then take the exterior jet-bridge stairs down to the tarmac, where three Secret Service vehicles will be waiting. Once we have everyone loaded, we will head back here where you can officially greet the Prime Minister. The FBO has a red carpet they will be putting outside the main entrance. That’s where you and your staff will receive Prime Minister Stang. ”

“And you will text me to let me know when you have the Prime Minister and are on your way back here?”

S?lvi nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”

“Okay then,” Hansen replied, eyeing the catering. “I think I may grab a cookie, a cup of tea, and return some emails while we wait for the Prime Minister’s plane to land.”

With the Ambassador and her staff taken care of, S?lvi exited the suite and found Agent Miller standing in the FBO’s lobby with the rest of his team.

“Everything good?” he asked.

She nodded. “How’s traffic going to be on the way back?”

“We’re going to have a police escort, plus we’ll be traveling in the opposite direction of all the rush-hour commuters, so it shouldn’t be too bad. But you never know. It could still take a while.”

“I’ll make sure the Ambassador encourages them to eat something. Just in case.”

“Good thinking,” said Miller. “By the way, you still want to do a walk-through of the convention center tomorrow, right?”

“Yes,” S?lvi replied. “Ideally, while the Prime Minister is in her meetings at the embassy.”

“Just let me know. Whenever you’re ready to go, we can head down there.”

“Great. I should have a better handle on her schedule in the morning.”

Miller nodded and the team dispersed in search of seats—a last chance to rest before the PM’s flight landed.

S?lvi located a chair and repositioned it so that she had a clear view of the door to the private suite. If the Ambassador needed her and stuck her head out, it was the professional thing to do to be positioned close by.

All the agents either flipped through magazines or scrolled their phones to kill time, but soon enough the flights from Oslo and Amsterdam were on the ground and it was time to move.

An airport police car led one phalanx of Secret Service vehicles to the KLM gate to meet the Dutch Prime Minister and another to meet the Norwegian PM.

Agents were posted at the top of the jet bridge as well as on the tarmac at the bottom of the stairs to make sure that there were no unwanted surprises.

When the gate agent opened the large blue and white forward door, S?lvi saw a flight attendant, followed by two muscular PST agents, and immediately behind them Anita Stang herself.

As the Prime Minister stepped onto the jet bridge, followed by three more protection agents, she walked right up to S?lvi and extended her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

“It is my honor, Madame Prime Minister,” S?lvi responded, shaking hands with her. Then, stepping aside, she said, “This is Special Agent Jonathan Miller of the Secret Service. We have cars waiting for you down on the tarmac.”

Miller led the way and S?lvi mentally checked off each member of the PM’s team as they deplaned. Bringing up the rear was her redheaded, freckled ass-kicker of a friend, Bente.

They indulged in a smile and a very quick hug, after which Bente handed over to S?lvi a large, hard-sided plastic case.

“I brought everything you asked for,” she said. “Including that last-minute item.”

“You put it in there with my body armor?”

“It’s vacuum-sealed and I wrapped it in three trash bags. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you. I love you. And Scot’s going to hate us for this. But we’ll have a good laugh.”

Pointing toward the door, S?lvi showed Bente to the jet-bridge stairs and they descended to the tarmac together as S?lvi texted Ambassador Hansen.

After S?lvi climbed into the lead vehicle with Bente, the two of them waited for everyone to be loaded into their respective SUVs and then they all rolled to the FBO.

Upon arrival, Ambassador Hansen was standing at the red carpet with her staff, waiting to greet the PM. Stang climbed out of the SUV, shook hands with Hansen, and then wrapped her arms around her, commending her for how brave she had been and consoling her over the loss of her two security agents.

They stood there like that for a moment before separating. Hansen led Prime Minister Stang inside to the private suite, where the PST and Secret Service agents were switched on, their heads on swivels.

While they got settled in and awaited the customs official who would take care of their passports and organize the retrieval of their luggage, S?lvi took her hard-sided case into one of the private shower rooms and locked the door behind her.

Taking off her jacket, she hung it on a peg and opened the case. In addition to everything she had asked for, Bente had included an encrypted PST radio with a fully charged battery, backup batteries, a charger, an earpiece, and a microphone.

Fishing out the last-minute item she had requested, she raised it to her nose and took a deep breath in. Thankfully, Bente had been right. She couldn’t smell a thing.

Taking off her shirt, she strapped the soft armor, which had been cut for her body, over her jog bra and then put her shirt back on, tucking it into her pants.

After stripping and reassembling her 9mm CZ tactical pistol, which one of her armorers had cleaned and lubricated for her, she seated a round in the weapon’s chamber and set it aside.

Threading her gun belt through her holster and belt loops, she clipped on two additional magazine holders with two nineteen-round mags in each, and returned the CZ to the holster.

All told, she was now carrying ninety-six rounds of ammunition.

The last thing she did was set up her radio and turn it on. After a quick comms check with the team, she closed her case and exited the shower room.

On her way to the private suite, Miller caught up with her and let her know that the Dutch had touched down. S?lvi thanked him and went to brief the Ambassador and the Prime Minister.

Forty-five minutes later, once the passports for both delegations had been processed, their luggage brought to the FBO and loaded into their respective Secret Service vehicles, and the police escort was in place, it was time to head for D.C.

The combined Norwegian–Dutch motorcade consisted of eight SUVs. The Dutch Prime Minister rode in the armored Suburban with the Dutch Ambassador to the U.S., the PM’s chief of staff, as well as a mixture of Secret Service agents and the PM’s Dutch bodyguards.

The Norwegians were distributed similarly in the armored Tahoe.

Sorola was behind the wheel, and as the Secret Service agent in charge, Miller rode shotgun.

In the two captain’s chairs behind them sat the Ambassador and the Prime Minister.

In the third row sat the head of the PM’s PST detail, Svend Haugen; the PM’s chief of staff, Henrik Oppen; and finally, S?lvi.

Bente and the remaining PST agents, as well as the rest of the Norwegian delegation, rode in the other Secret Service vehicles, while the embassy personnel returned in their own vehicle, separate from the motorcade.

It was wonderful for S?lvi to hear her mother tongue being spoken—especially with how boring and unattractive the drive was.

As they drove, she listened to the Ambassador and the Prime Minister discussing the events that had happened at the residence, as well as what they were expecting at the summit, not the least of which was the reluctance of the French and the Italians to sign on to the Sky Shield initiative.

The representatives of those two countries, as well as those of Spain and Poland—who were also holdouts—would be a major focus of the PM while she was in D.C.

Not only did Stang consider it a serious cornerstone of European security and a significant deterrent against Russian aggression, but it was also a matter of national pride for Norway to shepherd the remaining NATO members into the Sky Shield fold.

S?lvi appreciated that the two women were circumspect in their discussions, knowing full well they were in an American government vehicle and that their conversation, while in Norwegian, might be recorded—even by an ally.

Glancing out the passenger-side window, she watched as another section of dingy sound-attenuation wall, choked with vines, flashed by. It was followed by a stretch of overgrown woods.

The motorcade had just drawn even with it when she saw a flash and she shouted to Sorola and Miller, before repeating the same over her radio, “Contact right! Contact right! RPG!”