“What’s going on?” Harper shouted from the porch, her voice climbing to a sharp squeak.

“Arthur, who are these people?”

Arthur stepped out onto the porch steps, folding his newspaper twice until the edges lined up.

He stared at the military plates on the front bumper of the lead truck.

“Some sort of local training exercise,” Arthur said.

“Julian, tell them to move.

You’ve got an eight o’clock meeting in Richmond.”

Julian didn’t budge.