Miller handed Joe her black satellite phone and her DOJ credentials which he had already retrieved from the desk sergeant's bin. Joe clipped her badge to her belt and slid her phone into her pocket. The transition was instantaneous. She was no longer a civilian at the mercy of a corrupt cop. She was the tip of the federal spear.
"Where is Captain Walsh? " she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Detained in his office," Miller replied. "Bring him and the arresting officer Hayes, to the bullpen. It's time they understand exactly what they've done. " Joe walked down the hallway. the boots of federal agents parting to make way for her. The bullpen was a surreal sight.
The officers of the 12th precinct were lined up against the wall, stripped of their weapons and badges, sitting on the cold linoleum floor in zip ties. The arrogant swagger they possessed an hour ago had completely evaporated. Two marshals dragged Officer Hayes and Captain Walsh to the center of the room, forcing them to stand before Joe. Hayes looked like he was going to be sick. Walsh's face was a mask of sheer terror.
Captain Walsh. Officer Hayes, Joe began, her voice carrying across the silent, tense room. 30 minutes ago, I informed you that you were interfering with a federal operation. I gave you every opportunity to de-escalate. You chose poorly, Miss Carter.
Please, Walsh begged, his voice trembling so violently he could barely form the words. I tried to release you. I tried to let you go. I didn't tear that warrant. He did.
He aggressively jerked his chin toward Hayes. Hayes shot a betrayed, panicked look at his captain. He told me to wipe the booking logs. He ordered the desk sergeant to erase her name. "Shut up, both of you," Joe barked, the sudden volume making both men flinch.
She stepped closer to Hayes. "You thought ripping up a piece of paper would make your problems disappear, Officer Hayes. You thought you were just destroying some sovereign citizens homework," Joe signaled to Deputy Marshal Miller, who handed her a sleek electronic tablet. Let me explain how the Department of Justice handles high-risk asset transport, Joe said coldly. She tapped the screen and the tablet lit up.
The warrant you destroyed was merely a physical courtesy copy, a formality. The real evidence wasn't in that envelope. It was in my vehicle. Joe turned the tablet around so Hayes and Walsh could see the screen. It displayed a highly complex satellite tracking interface overlaid with a live-streamed video feed.
"My vehicle is heavily modified," Officer Hayes, Joe explained, her tone dripping with surgical precision. The moment you activated your emergency lights and pulled me over, my car's onboard telemetry system automatically linked with a DOJ surveillance satellite. Everything that happened on Route 9, every word you said, every physical assault, and the exact moment you destroyed a federally sealed document was live-streamed in high-definition directly to the attorney general's crisis center in Washington, D. C.. Hayes's jaw dropped.