He knew the lethal misunderstandings that occurred on dark roads. He wasn't about to become a tragic statistic. Miller sneered, keeping the flashlight trained on David's face. "Slowly. No sudden movements.
Or we're going to have a serious problem. " On the passenger side, Officer Brian Collins, a younger, nervous-looking cop, rested his hand pointedly on the butt of his holstered sidearm. David reached slowly into his suit jacket, retrieving his leather wallet. He deliberately bypassed the gleaming gold shield and federal credentials tucked deeply inside the inner flap, instead pulling out his standard Illinois State driver's license. He handed it through the window along with the rental and insurance documents from the glove box. Miller snatched the cards.
He shone the light on the license, then back at David. David Caldwell. That your real name? It's on the license, officer. David said, his voice dropping a fraction of an octave, hinting at the steel beneath his calm exterior.
Don't get smart with me, Caldwell. Miller snapped. Whose car is this? It is a fleet vehicle provided by my employer. Your employer?
Miller repeated, a sarcastic smirk audible in his voice. And what kind of employer gives a guy like you a brand new S-Class? You dealing pharmaceuticals, David? The microaggression was so blatant, it was almost comical. But David didn't laugh.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly. I work for the government. Yeah. Which branch? The DMV.
Miller laughed at his own joke, glancing over the roof of the car to Collins, who offered a weak chuckle. Sit tight, David. Keep your hands on the wheel. Miller walked back to the cruiser to run the license. David sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead into the darkness.
He knew what would happen next. His civilian driver's license was flagged in the national database. It was designed to alert law enforcement that the individual was high-ranking federal law enforcement. But due to a recent system migration within the Department of Justice, the flag sometimes prompted a call to verify classified holding, rather than openly displaying his title. It was a security measure to prevent local cops from leaking federal undercover identities.
To an arrogant, poorly trained officer looking for an excuse, a classified holding flag didn't mean federal agent. It meant suspicious. 5 minutes passed. The tension in the cold November air thickened. David took a slow, deep breath.
The trap was set, and Officer Greg Miller was walking right into it. The heavy boots crunched on the gravel again, but this time the pace was faster, more aggressive. Miller stepped up to the window, his hand now resting squarely on his weapon. The flashlight was back in David's eyes, but this time it was pressed closer to the glass. "Step out of the vehicle, David. " Miller commanded.