More than the money.
More than the baton.
More than the invented violation.
It contained the whole system.
Rourke believed credibility belonged to the badge.
Marcus slowly opened his work jacket.
The federal shield clipped inside caught the Oklahoma sun.
Rourke stopped breathing for what seemed like several seconds.
Eli went pale.
Marcus’s voice remained calm.
“Special Agent Marcus Hale.”
Rourke stared at the badge.
“No.”
“Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Fake.”
Marcus opened the truck door farther.
Mounted behind the driver’s seat was a federal communications panel Rourke had never noticed.
A camera.
Encrypted radio.
Identification markings.
Marcus touched the transmitter beneath his sleeve.
“Move.”
Rourke frowned.
Then he heard engines.
Two black SUVs appeared from the east.
A third federal vehicle came from the west.
The utility van accelerated out from beyond the overpass.
Oklahoma Highway Patrol units blocked the exit.
Agents poured onto the shoulder.
“Hands where we can see them!” Dana Cho shouted.
Eli raised both arms immediately.
Rourke did not.
He looked toward his cruiser.
Then toward the guardrail.
Then toward Marcus.
For a fraction of a second, his right hand seemed to drift toward his service weapon.
Eli whispered, “Don’t.”
Rourke turned on him.
“Shut up.”
Dana moved closer.
“Sergeant Rourke, hands on your head.”
Rourke suddenly grabbed Eli by the shoulder.
His other hand dropped toward Eli’s holster.
Marcus moved before anybody else reached them.
He caught Rourke’s wrist against the Kenworth door while Dana and two agents closed the distance. Seconds later, the sergeant was facedown on gravel with three federal officers securing his arms.
“You set me up!” Rourke shouted.