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the way!”
    From that point forward, Ben felt as if time went into slow motion. He had been taught in school that time was relative, and for the first time, he believed it. From the shots to the time he was inside Cadillac One, he later realized that barely thirty seconds had elapsed. But it seemed an eternity.
    The president had stopped speaking and there were at least half a dozen men racing toward the podium. Ben knew they were running as fast as possible but to him it seemed as if they were moving unbearably slowly, like on
The Six Million Dollar Man.
    The Secret Service agents finally reached the presidential podium. Two of them tackled the president and quite literally knocked him to the ground.
    When the leader of the free world hit the floor, panic ensued. The people at the front of the rope line surged forward, pushed against their will by the teeming mass behind them. The police officers guarding the line attempted to hold them back—but there were a lot more people in the crowd than there were police officers. People buried in the middle tried to race off to the sides and break free, creating even more turmoil and confusion.
    The shots continued, faster and louder.
    “Get down!” Ben heard Agent Zimmer shout, lunging toward him. He thought the man was protecting him, but of course he was actually guarding the first lady. He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, careful to position his body between Emily Blake and the line of fire. He placed his hands under her arms and lifted her off the ground. As he carried her toward the back of the raised platform, her face showed that she knew she was in danger, but to her credit, she remained quiet and cooperative.
    “Tell me about Samson!” Zimmer barked into his sleeve, even as he carried the first lady away. “Is Samson down?”
    Ben waited for an answer, but before he heard one, two plainclothesmen approached and began herding his group to the side of the stage.
    “Man down!” he heard someone shout, but he didn’t know whom they were talking about. One of the Secret Service agents standing by the presidential podium dropped, obviously wounded. Blood saturated his neck and shirt with astonishing speed.
Aren’t they wearing Kevlar?
Ben wondered. Another agent to his right fell.
How many shooters are there? How many bullets? How many people are dead already?
    The remaining Secret Service agents formed a circle and pulled the president to his feet, careful to keep him surrounded at all times. Another round of shots rang out and another agent dropped. The remaining four instantly closed the circle, keeping the president covered. Another line of agents went down on one knee, aiming their weapons into the distance.
    Pop! Pop! Pop pop pop!
    Even from the side of the stage, Ben could see a war was taking place. Four more Secret Service agents crouched on the sides of the stage, weapons out, pointed above the heads of the crowd. He knew the problem. They couldn’t find the target.
    “Nest One!” the agent standing in front of him shouted. “Where is Nest One? Come in, Nest One!”
    Ten more agents came out of nowhere and formed a protective perimeter. The four circling the president moved backward as quickly as possible.
    Agent Gatwick raced by, shouting, “Cadillac One. Now!”
    The agent in charge of herding Ben’s group nodded and steered Ben, Mike, and Tidwell in the same general direction that the president was moving.
    “Cadillac One?” Ben whispered under his breath.
    He heard Mike grunt a reply, talking as he moved. “Right now, it’s probably the safest place in the city.”
    Before they reached the steps at the rear of the stage, Ben saw three more Secret Service agents drop to the ground. The two men moving his entourage forward continued to plow ahead as if oblivious to the death and carnage.
    Outside the stage, the crowd had advanced from panicked to frenzied. The police tried to restrain them, without success. People were climbing walls,