Cursing himself for his hesitation before, Jonathan would not make the same mistake with a second chance. With the shooter in the open, Jonathan stopped running and readied his aim. This time, there’d be no “Freeze!” someone yelled from behind. “Federal officer! Don’t move!”

Jonathan froze, even as his mind screamed for him to take the shot. The opportunity lost, he broke his aim and raised his weapon to the sky. He knew all too well that when a federal office yells “Don’t move!”-whether FBI, ATF, DEA or any of the other alphabet agencies-the command was to be taken literally. Another trait common to federal officers: they were all very good shots.

“Hold your hands up high, where I can see them,” the voice commanded.

A step ahead of you, Jonathan thought. He didn’t move. The officer would figure it out.

“Drop your weapon!”

Now, here was a potential problem. “No!” Jonathan yelled back. “I’m a good guy, not a bad guy, and this is a three-thousand-dollar pistol. I will not drop it, but I will lay it on the ground.” Former Unit member and renowned gunsmith Barry Vance had customized this weapon for him, and he’d be damned if he was going to ruin genuine artistry. Moving slowly and keeping his back to the cop so as not to spook him, Jonathan sank to his knees.

“I said drop the weapon,” the officer demanded. “Drop it, or I will shoot you.”

Jonathan assessed it as a bluff. If this guy hadn’t already pulled the trigger, he wasn’t going to now that Jonathan was clearly not a threat. That’s what he told himself, anyway. The next five seconds proved him to be correct. He gently placed his weapon on the ground and raised his arms again. On the opposite span, panic had begun in earnest. People screamed as realization washed over them.

And the shooter was getting away.

“Get on your face!” the officer yelled. His voice cracked from the strain. “Arms out to the side!”