The roadblock appears out of nowhere―two Caprice Classics aligned nose to nose across three lanes of backcountry asphalt. I have two options: Ram through the cars (and risk wrecking my own in the process) or spin around and speed away. I decide on the latter, just in time to see a third Caprice pull up alongside me. Its driver grins wickedly from behind the barrel of a Glock 9mm. I slap the transmission into reverse, stand on the accelerator pedal, and turn the wheel hard to the right. Rubber burns and tires squeal as my car careens into a 18o-degree spin. The terrorist opens fire, painting my car, and then me, with bullets. I'm dead before my car ever stops rotating. That moment's hesitation, in which I evaluated my options like a rookie quarterback checking off receivers in the face of an oncoming pass rush, got me killed. But it's far better to make such a mistake at the hands of an instructor wielding a faux Glock than in an environment where attackers employ very real AK-47S. That's why almost every U.S. government agency and military branch―including the FBI, CIA, U.S. Marshals, Department of Defense and Marines―as well as foreign governments and private companies, send their drivers to Bill Scott Racing's anti-terrorist driving school in Summit Point, West Virginia, before stationing them abroad. Here, the automobile becomes both a weapon and a lifeline, and for the next two days, my classmates from the U.S. Army and the Hong Kong Police Department and I will learn how to put it to use against terrorist attacks ranging from carjackings to all-out assassination attempts.
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