There's a flurry of activity along the road.

Police cars and foundation vehicles mingle as men and women in uniform run here and there,

trying to get a handle in the situation.

I'm forced to drive slowly in my Ford Interceptor sedan,

even though there's really no time to waste.

A couple of cops stopped me at the intersection of 183 and Thomas Street. Beyond the

official vehicles on the shoulder to my right, there's nothing but a wall of lush Pennsylvania

greenery. To my left, past the intersection, I can see a couple of single-family homes.

The mid-morning sun is dull thanks to cloud cover, and the forecast calls for rain in the

next couple of hours.

If something like this had to happen, I'm glad it happened during the day.

Darkness just makes things that much harder.

The street cops are carrying semi-automatic weapons, which doesn't bode well for this situation.

Clearly, emotions are running high, which only make my job harder. What a mess. I roll down my window

as one of the cops, a kid barely out of high school, approaches.

Who are you? He says. Before I can jump into a long spiel about how he's probably never heard of my rank or organization, a woman in a foundation uniform runs up.

Sorry, sir, she says, taking over.

You can go through. I nodded her and roll my window up. The young cop

glares at her as she turns and talks to him. She gestures at the unmarked foundation vehicles

all around, explaining how this is our show, not theirs. And then she tells him to get out of the

way. Rolling through the impromptu roadblock, I travel about 300 feet before coming to another one.

Only this one is more serious.

...