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tightened their protective ring around her, lifting her an inch off the floor and forcibly carrying her away.
    “Smoker Four,” Raghav said into his lapel. “Secure exit!”
    The freezing air outside on the school green slapped Sachs in the face. A dozen Green Berets wearing distinctive 1 st Special Forces headgear and holding M-16s guarded the Sikorsky S-70 Black Hawks, their rotors turning impatiently, screaming to lift off. But the commanding officer, a hulking, pock-faced presence in field uniform and jump boots, halted Special Agent Raghav and Sachs’ protective detail with a broad, flat hand.
    “I’m Colonel Kyle,” the officer said. “This chopper is reserved for Green Dove. We’ll take it from here.”
    Raghav flashed his ID. “Wherever she goes, I go.”
    “I’m not going anywhere without my daughter and until you tell me what’s going on,” she demanded, trying to veil her fear.
    Colonel Kyle looked like he was about to bark an order but seemed to change his mind when he noticed the sea of faces pressed against the gymnasium glass.
    “Green Dove and two agents board Black Hawk One,” he ordered. “The rest of the suits, inside Black Hawk Two.”
    Before Sachs could protest, Raghav shoved her hard into the eleven-seat chopper, then climbed in after her with five Green Berets so she couldn’t get out. Kyle was the last to board. He signaled the pilot to lift off.
    “This is Marine Six to base,” the pilot spoke into his radio. “Green Dove is airborne. Repeat. Green Dove is airborne. En route to DZ.”
    As the Black Hawk lifted off, a furious, helpless Sachs could see students and teachers below, noses pressed to the glass wall of the asium, waving good-bye.
    “I’m going to have it out with the president when I see him,” Sachs said. “If anything happens to my daughter…”
    “Don’t worry,” Colonel Kyle assured her. “We’ll get her.”

17

1200 Hours

    J ennifer and a thousand other students exploded out the front doors to the pandemonium in the pick-up lanes. An army of Range Rovers, Mercedes and BMWs jammed the snow-plowed street in front of the entrance. Mothers and a few fathers were screaming for their children.
    Jennifer slogged across the slushy parking lot as fast as she could. But now two Green Berets in field uniforms and M-16s were gaining on her, and a line of waiting cars stood in her way.
    The touch of a hard combat glove on her back prompted her to scream and leap head first across the icy hood of a Mercedes, sliding off into the snow.
    She barely had time to look up before she saw a Volvo careening toward her, brakes locked, skidding on the ice. She rolled away seconds before it crashed into the Mercedes.
    Getting up, she looked back to see the Marines on the other side of the cars, pointing at her. They split and came at her from both sides, stymied by the panic in the streets.
    She turned to run away when a silver minivan braked to a halt in front of her, stopping her cold. Jennifer held her breath as the door slid open automatically and the driver’s window rolled down at the same time.
    Behind the wheel was her prom date, Robbie, who had given her the red thong for the dance. “Get in!” he shouted.
    “What are you doing, Robbie?” she screamed. “You don’t have a license!”
    Robbie looked panic-stricken. “Quick!”
    Jennifer glanced back over her shoulder. The Marines had cleared the line of cars and were closing in fast. She opened the driver’s side door.
    “Move over!” she ordered, climbing inside. “I’m driving.”
    Robbie resisted. “What are you talking about?”
    “Your feet barely reach the pedal,” she said. “Move! Now!”
    She pushed Robbie into the passenger seat, closed her door, slipped behind the wheel and hit the accelerator.
    The minivan lurched backward, knocking the front corner of a sedan and kicking up slush into the windshields of the cars behind it.
    “Dang,” she said.
    “Dang?!” Robbie repeated,