But his curiosity and Arthur's unnerving confidence got the better of him. He gestured to one of the backup officers. Pop the trunk. The officer carefully pried open the slightly warped rear hatch of the Roma. Inside, sitting neatly on the carpeted floor, was a black reinforced pelican case.
"Open it," Arthur said. Stanton stepped forward, a triumphant smirk returning to his face. "Told you, Sarge. Probably got a kilo of cocaine or bricks of cash in there." The officer unlatched the case and flipped the lid open.
There were no drugs. There was no cash. Resting in custom cut foam was a tactical Kevlar vest emlazed with massive yellow letters FBI. Next to it sat a bureau Sig Sauer M11, a one pistol, and a heavy gold federal badge encased in a leather folding wallet. The color instantly drained from Sergeant Okconor's face. The triumphant smirk vanished from Stanton's mouth, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror.
My name is Supervisory Special Agent Arthur Pendleton, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Arthur stated calmly from his knees, the handcuffs still binding his wrists. That vehicle belongs to the United States Department of Justice. And you, Officer Stanton, have just committed a federal offense. Okconor slowly turned his head to look at Stanton.
The silence that followed was deafening. Sergeant Okconor stared at the gold shield resting in the Pelican case as if it were a live grenade about to detonate. The polished metal caught the afternoon sun, reflecting a harsh reality that sent a cold sweat down the veteran officer's spine. For 15 seconds, the only sound on the manicured Oak Brook Street was the agonizing hiss of coolant bleeding from the ruined Ferrari Roma. Kemper, Okconor finally rasped, his voice entirely devoid of its previous bluster.
Take the handcuffs off the special agent right this second. Rookie Brian Kemper nearly tripped over his own boots as he scrambled forward, his hands shaking so violently he struggled to fit the small key into the metal cuffs. "Yes, Sarge. I'm sorry, sir. I'm so sorry," Kemper stammered, the distinct click of the unlocking mechanism sounding impossibly loud.
Arthur Pendleton rubbed his wrists slowly, feeling the indented red marks left by the tight steel. He did not immediately reach for his badge. Instead, he stood tall, towering over the local officers, his tailored charcoal suit dusted with the white residue of deployed airbags. He brushed a speck of debris from his lapel with agonizing slowness, letting the psychological weight of the moment crush whatever defiance remained in the patrolman. "Sergeant," Arthur began, his voice dangerously calm.
"Do you have any concept of what your officer just did? He, I, Agent Pendleton. There has been a massive misunderstanding, Okconor fumbled, physically stepping between Arthur and Stanton, who was now hyperventilating on the curb. My officer thought he had probable cause for a search. The vehicle accelerating.