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S orola took immediate and evasive action. As he jerked the wheel hard to the left, one of the RPGs passed so close that it left burn marks across their windshield.

In front of and behind them, other RPGs found their targets, slamming into Secret Service vehicles and exploding.

Careening into the median, Sorola struggled to keep the armored Tahoe from flipping over. He swerved left and right to avoid the pieces of flaming wreckage that were raining down around them. There was smoke everywhere.

Seeing a hole up ahead, Sorola gunned the engine. There was only one course of action in this scenario and that was for the Secret Service to get away from the attack and get their protectees to safety.

But no sooner had Sorola thought he found a way out than he was forced to slam on the brakes.

Ahead of them was a massive pileup, and there was no way they could cut across the Metro lines and access the lanes of oncoming traffic.

They were trapped and there was no telling if their attackers had more punishment in store.

While Miller and Haugen frantically worked their radios, S?lvi assessed Ambassador Hansen, Prime Minister Stang, and her chief of staff, Oppen. None of them, thankfully, was injured.

Now she had a very dangerous decision to make. The three diplomats would be safe inside the vehicle, as long as it didn’t sustain a hit from a high-explosive antitank RPG “HEAT” round or come under a prolonged attack. Eventually the armor or bulletproof glass or both would fail.

The security team needed to get out and set up a defensive perimeter. One agent, though, needed to remain inside the Tahoe as a last line of defense and to drive away if an escape route made itself available. It had to be Sorola. Miller agreed.

After formulating a plan of action, Miller made sure Haugen and S?lvi were ready to move and then gave the “Go” command.

Bailing out of the Tahoe, S?lvi stayed low and ran forward as Haugen and Miller ran to the rear of the SUV.

The acrid smoke was thick and black. Burning cars were everywhere.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how many members of each delegation had been killed.

The armored Suburban carrying the Dutch Prime Minister had been destroyed and none of the Norwegian PST agents, including Bente, had responded to radio calls. It was a nightmare and not yet over.

Somewhere behind them, members of the Dutch delegation in a different vehicle were trapped and at risk of being burned alive. Desperate calls were going out over the Secret Service radios for help.

Miller relayed the situation and told S?lvi and Haugen to stay with the Tahoe. He would be back as soon as he could. Then, holstering his weapon, he prepared to heroically run back into the thick of the fire and the chaos.

But the moment he stepped out from behind the armored Tahoe, a shot was fired from a very high-powered, large-caliber rifle that went right through his head like it was an overripe watermelon, killing him instantly.

“Sniper!” Haugen yelled. “In the tree line!”

S?lvi knew better than to poke her head up above the hood to try to catch a glimpse of the shooter. That was undoubtedly what he wanted—to pick off survivors. And judging by the distance to the trees, whoever he was, he was very good at his job.

It was shades of Monday’s attack all over again. If they stayed where they were, it was only a matter of time before he got them too, as well as the Prime Minister and everyone else inside the vehicle. She had to figure out a way to get to him first.

With their high fences covered in razor wire, using the Metro tracks to get a safe distance away before crossing into the woods and doubling back was out of the question. So was the path that Miller had attempted.

That left moving in the opposite direction and heading toward the pileup of cars in front of the Tahoe.

In an ideal situation, Sorola would have put the SUV in gear and rolled slowly forward, providing a big, armored shield for her until she could get there.

Unfortunately, this was anything but an ideal situation.

The instant the Tahoe started moving, it would attract the attention of the sniper, who would start putting rounds on it. S?lvi was going to have to make a run for it. Haugen, however, could help provide cover.

The PST agent didn’t like her plan. He felt it was too dangerous. Surely the Secret Service and local police had reinforcements on the way. Their job was to stay put and protect the Prime Minister.

S?lvi had neither the time nor the inclination to explain herself to Haugen. Her agreement with Stang was to make sure that the Secret Service didn’t screw up and, if they did anyway, to fix it.

While an RPG attack on their motorcade, followed by a secondary attack via sniper, wasn’t technically a “screwup” by the Secret Service, S?lvi intended to fix it. Sorola and Haugen would have to hold down the fort. She was going to take the fight directly to the Indians.

Leaving no further room for argument, she got into a crouch at the front of the Tahoe and prepared to run. Over the radio, she counted down from five in Norwegian.

When she got to “one” she began sprinting as Haugen unleashed a barrage of pistol fire into the tree line.

She ran like she had never run before, sliding through a pile of broken glass and plastic as she arrived at the multicar pileup and grabbed the first piece of cover she could find.

From the woods, the sniper fired multiple rounds at Haugen, her, and the Tahoe itself.

Unwilling to sacrifice even a few seconds to catch her breath, S?lvi radioed the PST agent to lay down more cover fire. The moment he started shooting, she was off and running again.

She zigzagged through the sea of cars, leaping over hoods and bumpers where necessary, eventually making her way to the other side of the highway.

This time when S?lvi stopped, she was at a sufficient enough angle that the smoke and flames from the crippled motorcade helped conceal her.

Nevertheless, she took nothing for granted and quickly abandoned the position for something safer.

Her lungs burning and heaving for air, she finally allowed herself a few moments to catch her breath. She radioed Haugen that she had made it and told him to sit tight and wait for her signal. She was headed into the woods and would need him to help flush the sniper out for her.

After a few more deep breaths, S?lvi got herself together and headed into the trees. Taking out her phone, she pulled up her geolocating app and got a fix on her position.

What she was hoping to find was some sort of access road or parking area that the attackers had used to leave their vehicles.

They would want to be able to make a quick exit and that required having transport nearby.

If she could figure out where their cars were, she could better narrow the search area for the sniper.

Beyond the woods, however, there was nothing but apartment complexes, home associations, and office parks. Their vehicles could be anywhere.

S?lvi tried to remember exactly where she had seen the RPGs being fired from and, drawing her pistol, headed toward that spot.

The dense underbrush clawed at her feet and legs. It was like trying to march through miles of heavy steel cable. She had been at it for several hundred feet when suddenly the underbrush gave way to some sort of jogging or hiking trail that hadn’t appeared on her app.

If the motorcade’s attackers had found the tangled vines and bushes of the forest floor as disagreeable as she had, the chances were pretty good that they were using this same path to get as close as possible to where they had launched their ambush from.

Stepping onto the path, S?lvi began following it back toward where the attack had been launched.

The heavy tree cover made it difficult to get her exact position on her phone.

She also didn’t like having her attention divided.

Where there was a sniper, there very well could be someone watching the sniper’s back.

Any local suburbanite out for a run or walking their dog could have stumbled upon the attackers.

They would have needed a way to deal with that possibility.

S?lvi switched over to a mapping feature that relied on cell towers—along the Dulles Access Road there were undoubtedly many—got an approximate fix on her current position, and slid the phone back into her pocket.

She was much closer than she had thought.

As slowly and as soundlessly as possible, just as she had been trained, she moved forward.

The heat and humidity were beyond oppressive.

Instead of the bug-infested woods providing a little bit of shade and a lessening of the temperature, it seemed hotter, closer, and more difficult to breathe.

S?lvi’s body armor, not to mention her shirt and jacket, were stifling.

She could feel the sweat running straight down the middle of her back.

She was a long way from her days as a pampered fashion model.

This, however, was exactly what her army training had prepared her for.

The Norwegian government had agreed to the formation of an all-female special forces unit, but only if the selection standards were impossibly high and presented some of the most difficult training any military had ever imposed—even on its male recruits.

The newly formed “Hunter” unit, or Jegertropen , had been looking for women who wouldn’t quit. Then, once a highly select few had applied and been accepted, the Norwegian Army had done everything in their power to get them to drop out.

Many did quit, but S?lvi wasn’t one of them.

She had taken everything the instructors had thrown at her and had doubled down on her commitment to see it through.

In that crucible, she had been reborn a stronger, fiercer, more determined warrior.

A hot day and some rough terrain weren’t going to get in the way of her eliminating this threat.

Feeling she had to be almost on top of the sniper, she found a tree big enough to provide cover, stepped off the path, and quietly radioed Haugen to begin firing.

As soon as he did, she heard two shots fired from just up the path. Staying in the trees, she worked her way toward the sound, maintaining her situational awareness and keeping her eyes and ears open for the possibility of a spotter or some sort of security element.

When she had traveled as far as she dared, S?lvi took cover behind another tree and scanned the area around her, searching for the gunman, but to no avail.

In addition to being an exceptional shot, the sniper also appeared to be quite skilled when it came to camouflage—two traits that spoke to a high level of training, likely achieved in the military.

Where are you? she wondered, her pistol up and ready to engage.

S?lvi continued to slowly scan the wooded hillside looking for places she would have chosen had the task been given to her to establish a hide site from which to snipe the survivors of the motorcade.

Yet no matter how hard she focused, she couldn’t see a damn thing beyond leaves, branches, bushes, and vines.

It was like the guy was invisible, until all of a sudden she noticed something.

There was what looked like a dried-up pile of forest rot, which was interesting considering how verdant and overgrown everything else was. The pile was just long enough for a man to be lying prone underneath. But that wasn’t what convinced her that she’d found the sniper.

Protruding from the pile was what looked like a piece of MultiCam green nylon that had been wrapped around a Pringles can and secured with black elastic cordage. And while it may have looked like nylon, it was more than likely constructed of Kevlar or Nomex.

It was called a suppressor heat wrap and one of its key uses was to prevent heat waves from rising off a hot suppressor and creating a mirage effect that could disrupt a sniper’s magnified optics. With her target identified, S?lvi opened fire.

She riddled the pile with bullets, pumping round after round into it. Then, retreating behind the tree, she inserted a fresh magazine and paused.

There was no response, no fusillade of bullets sent her way. Taking a deep breath and applying pressure to her trigger, she stepped from behind the tree and moved in on the pile.

The closer she got, the more certain she became. Pumping six more rounds into it, she advanced the rest of the way. Checking her surroundings to make sure she was alone, she then reached down and pulled back what turned out to be a ghillie blanket.

Underneath was one dead sniper and an Accuracy International AXSR long-range rifle—complete with a heat wrap over its suppressor. There was no second person with him, no spotter.

S?lvi had just begun to pat him down when she heard a noise from the woods behind her.

Rasing her left elbow, she thrust her pistol under her arm and turned her head to look over her shoulder—the entire time applying more and more pressure to her trigger. It was muscle memory, instinct, and training all wrapped up in one.

At the moment she processed that there was indeed a threat, the first bullet was already leaving her gun. It was followed by two more in rapid succession.

Her would-be attacker fell to the ground dead, but before she could sweep the area for additional threats, there was another gunshot; a second attacker had come from the other direction.

But as S?lvi swung her pistol and was about to fire, the attacker dropped his weapon and collapsed.

Standing behind him, the smoke still rising from her Glock, was a bloodied and bruised Bente Bergstr?m.