The two paramedics were joined by a woman who was the ambulance driver, and they sized up the situation very quickly.

One of the paramedics said to me, "Keep the pressure on."

The other paramedic got a breathing tube in Kate's throat, while the first guy took her blood pressure and checked her breathing, then started a saline drip in one arm and another drip in her other arm. The second guy attached a bag to the tube and began squeezing it to force air into her lungs.

They briefly discussed immobilizing her neck with a collar, but decided it was too risky with a severed carotid. The paramedics log-rolled Kate to her side and the ambulance driver slid a backboard under her, then they rolled her back and immobilized her with straps. They quickly transferred her and the backboard to a rolling stretcher and again strapped her down while I kept the pressure on her artery. The driver raised the lower part of the stretcher to elevate Kate's feet above her head.

The paramedic team wasn't sure I should ride with their patient unless I, too, was in need of hospital care. I flashed my creds and said, "Federal law enforcement. Let's get moving."

Within a minute we were all in the ambulance and it was moving as quickly as possible across the rough field. The paramedics, whose names were Pete and Ron, looked very grim, which confirmed my own prognosis.

I stood over Kate, my fingers pressed on her throat as the two paramedics cut away her jumpsuit and quickly examined her for other injuries, but found nothing external, though they wondered aloud about broken bones or internal injuries.

I've seen all or some of this performed many times in my twenty years as a cop, and I'd always maintained a detachment toward these desperate life-saving procedures-even when it was me lying in the street with three bullet wounds. But now… well, now my mind was focused on every breath that Kate took.

When the paramedics seemed satisfied that she was stable, they put EKG leads on her chest and turned on the monitor. Pete said to his partner, "Normal sinus rhythm… but tachycardia with a rate in the one-forties."

I didn't ask what that meant, but I did ask, "How far is the hospital?"

Pete replied, "We should be there in ten minutes."

Ron asked me, "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You hit hard." He suggested, "Why don't you take a break? I'll keep the pressure on."

"This is my wife."

"Okay."

I said to the medics, "In my wife's jumpsuit you will find her FBI credentials case, her gun, and maybe her cell phone. I need those items."

Pete went through the remnants of Kate's jumpsuit and retrieved her creds case, which he gave to me, saying, "There's no gun and no cell phone."

I put the creds case in my pocket. Maybe she hadn't been carrying her cell phone. But she was carrying her gun.

We crossed the field and got onto a farm road. The driver hit the lights and siren and we accelerated quickly.

I bent down and put my lips against Kate's forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy.

The driver was on the radio, and I could hear her saying, "Requesting trauma room." She added, "Real critical."

The paramedics monitored Kate's heart, blood pressure, and breathing, felt her pulse, and checked her temperature. I asked them for a sterile wipe, and I cleaned the blood off her face.

I looked at Kate.

She'd made a defensive move just as Khalil was cutting her throat, and he'd missed her jugular vein and other veins and arteries. And that had probably saved her life, because Mr. Asad Khalil was a very accomplished killer, and he rarely, if ever, left an intended victim alive.

Regardless if Kate lived or died, Asad Khalil still had some unfinished business-with me. And that was good, because he'd stick around at least long enough for me to finish my business with him.

Finally, I asked, "Prognosis?"

Neither man answered for a second, then Ron replied, "Her condition is very serious."

Pete asked me, "What the hell happened?"

I replied, "This is a knife wound."

Neither man replied.

I asked them, "Did you see the guy in the black jumpsuit who was hooked up to her?"

Ron replied, "Yeah… he steered his chute over on the other side of the woods." He added, "I couldn't figure that out… now I get it." He asked me, "Do you know who that was?"

Indeed, I did. This was our worst nightmare. The Lion has returned.

As the ambulance raced to the hospital, I used my cell phone to call 911. I identified myself to the 911 dispatcher as a retired NYPD homicide detective and a Federal law officer. I quickly explained that I was reporting the attempted murder of an MOS-member of the service-and I asked to be transferred to the State Police.

A few seconds later, I was speaking to a desk officer at the State Police station in Liberty, New York.

I described the incident to him and added, "I am also the husband of the victim, who is an FBI agent. The assailant is still at large." I gave him the location of the incident and said, "You should get some troopers over there to see if you can locate the assailant."

"Will do."

But I knew that Asad Khalil was not wandering around in his jumpsuit or repacking his parachute. He had a vehicle parked on the far side of the woods and he was long gone.

The desk officer asked me, "And you're now on the way to the Catskill Regional Medical Center?"

"Correct, and I'm requesting a police presence at the hospital, and I would also like a senior homicide investigator to meet me there."

The desk officer replied, "Let me transfer you to the back room."

"Thank you." The back room is where I used to work.

About thirty seconds later, a man came on the line and said, "This is Investigator Harris. My desk man has explained the situation and passed on your request for a police presence at the hospital."

We spoke, cop to cop, for a minute, and Investigator Harris said, "We've dispatched troopers to the scene to look for the perpetrator, and I'll send some troopers to the hospital. I'll see if I can locate a senior homicide investigator to meet you there."

"Thank you."

"How is your wife?"

I glanced at Kate and replied, "Critical."

"Sorry…" He asked, "Can you describe the perpetrator?"

"Yeah. He's a Libyan national, age about… thirty, name of Asad Khalil, tall, dark, hooked nose, armed and dangerous." I suggested, "Call the FBI duty officer at 26 Federal Plaza in New York, and they'll give you the particulars on this guy and e-mail you a photo." I informed him, "This man is wanted by the Justice Department for multiple murders in the U.S. He's an international terrorist, also wanted by INTERPOL and half the world."

There was a silence on the phone, then Investigator Harris said, "Okay… wow. Okay, I'll get hold of Senior Investigator Miller, who will meet you at the hospital."

"Thank you." I gave him my cell phone number, hung up, took a deep breath, and looked again at Kate. Her skin was chalky, and blood seeped around her breathing tube.

I looked at Ron and Pete and said to them, "You are not to repeat anything you just heard."

I kept my fingers pressed tight against Kate's artery, aware that by keeping her from bleeding to death, I was also reducing blood flow to her brain.

The paramedics had shone a penlight into her eyes a few times, and they seemed optimistic that there was still brain activity. I pushed back her eyelids and looked into Kate's blue eyes. I thought that the life in them was dimming.

We were still in a semi-rural area, and I was concerned that we were far from the hospital. But then I saw a white six-story building up ahead, and the red letters across the building said CATSKILL REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER.