Page 68 of Edge of Honor

“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.

Sølvi 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 theirphones 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, Sølvi 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 Sølvi and extended her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

“It is my honor, Madame Prime Minister,” Sølvi 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 Sølvi 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 Sølvi 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, Sølvi showed Bente to the jet-bridge stairs and they descended to the tarmac together as Sølvi texted Ambassador Hansen.

After Sølvi 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, Sølvi 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. Sølvi 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, Sølvi.

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