It sounded like the muffled popping of champagne corks in rapid succession, but no one opens bottles that fast.

The 'pops' reverberated from a foyer and through the open main door into the Washington Hilton ballroom, where I was sitting at one of the tables closest to the entrance.

With my dinner companions, I was in the middle of starting a sweepstake on how long President Trump would speak for and guessing which news outlet he would roast the most.

'I think he's going to speak for...' someone said, trailing off as the shots broke out.

We looked at the open doorway, wondering if it was going to be followed by a lunatic running through and unloading.

Diving for the floor, I squashed under the table with several other guests, sending what remained of our cheese salad starters flying.

Wine glasses went tumbling, a woman nearby lost her heels, chairs overturned, and half-drunk bottles rolled across the carpet.

For several moments, lying under the table, we looked at each other silently, asking the same question - would there be more shots?

Then, lifting a flap of the white tablecloth, I saw armed men come flying through the doorway.

They ran past our table and down the aisle, clambering over other tables and past prone dinner guests.

As they grabbed a man with gray hair, my first thought was that he must be the shooter, but he turned out to be a high-profile politician.

At the other end of the room, the President had by now been bundled out, pushed so hard by a Secret Service agent he almost fell over.

What appeared to be Secret Service agents in night goggles were now standing on the dais where he had been sitting, pointing their weapons in the direction of the diners.

An uneasy silence hung over the cavernous ballroom, with the odd head poking out from under tables nearby. Someone shouted 'USA' and tried to start a chant, but it fell flat.

I hesitated to get my phone out to start filming in case the agents thought it was a gun.

Instead, I walked to the main entrance door, through which the sound of the shots had come. It was now closed with a security guard, dressed in black, in front of it.

Mike Bell, the guard, told me: 'You can't go out, there's a man down out there on the other side of the door. I don't know if he's dead, Secret Service are cleaning it up. It's up one flight of steps where the magnetometers are.'

He went on: 'I heard the shots and got down. I don't know how many shots it was. After they came in, a Secret Service guy tapped me on the shoulder and told me to go lock this door.

'I got here, and I could smell the gunfire on the other side. I know what that smells like.

'I normally work the magnetometers, but the Secret Service took that over for this tonight. I don't know what side of the mag the shooter was on.'

Soon, agents were rushing Cabinet secretaries up the aisle, passing within a few feet of my table, and out another exit.

Pete Hegseth, the War Secretary, was among the first, striding out with a face like thunder.

Robert F Kennedy Jr, whose father was assassinated in a hotel, looked grim. Scott Bessent seemed determined, while Kash Patel looked calm amid the chaos.

In a room full of journalists, rumors immediately began spreading like wildfire.

Was it even gunshots at all? Some speculated it could have been a prank sounds from a tape recorder.

A Medal of Honor recipient, I was under a table when it sounded like a suppressor had been used.

Others had heard for sure it was an Iranian terrorist, while more pointed the finger of blame at noisy anti-war protesters stationed outside the hotel.

But soon, everyone was talking about the questions that would surely dominate the inquest into this latest assassination attempt - how was a gunman able to get so close?

There is no doubt that security at the event was sorely lacking.

I was amazed that I never had to show any form of ID to enter the venue.

All that was required was to flash a paper ticket in the vague direction of a security guard when walking into the parking lot.

Indeed, anyone staying at the hotel did not even need that, they simply had to show a room key card.

From the parking lot, I walked inside the hotel and did not have to show a ticket again until I reached an escalator, where one security person was attempting to check several tickets a second.

The first and only set of magnetometers was separated from the main ballroom entrance by one short flight of stairs leading down.

If he had gotten past the magnetometer, a gunman could have been into the ballroom in just a few seconds.

Presidential appearances at the White House Correspondents' Dinner go back many years, and the security operation should, by now, be a well-oiled machine.

Yet, during a time when America is at war with Iran, checks appeared minimal.

Both the President and Vice President were at the event, further begging the question of why security was not tighter.

When the event happens again in 30 days' time, it will have to be.