His fingers brushed against cold metal and leather. He pulled it out. It was a tri-fold leather wallet. Collins flipped it open under the glow of the street light. The heavy, solid gold shield of the Federal Bureau of Investigation caught the light, gleaming brilliantly.
Beside it was a rigid Federal ID card. Collins read the card. His face went completely pale. All the color drained from his cheeks as if he had just seen a ghost. He looked up at David, then down at the badge, his hands trembling violently.
Read it. David commanded quietly. Collins swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. David David Caldwell Deputy Director Federal Bureau of Investigation. The silence that followed was absolute.
The only sound was the distant hum of the highway and the gentle idling of the Mercedes engine. Officer Greg Miller stared at the gold shield in his partner's trembling hands. The heavy Maglite slipped slightly in his grip. The arrogant sneer that had been plastered on his face for the last 20 minutes vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed expression of pure, unadulterated terror. It's It's fake, Miller stammered, though his voice lacked any conviction.
It has to be fake. Is it, Greg? David asked, his tone now conversational, almost pleasant, which made it infinitely more terrifying. Take a closer look at the holographic watermark on the ID card. Look at the serial number engraved on the shield.
Then, I want you to think very carefully about the last 20 minutes of your life. Miller slowly lowered his weapon and holstered it. He stepped closer to Collins, peering at the credentials. The watermark was there, shimmering in the ambient light. The badge was undeniably authentic.
It carried a weight and a precision that couldn't be faked by a street hustler. Oh my god, Collins whispered, taking a step back from David as if the man was suddenly radioactive. Take the cuffs off, Miller said, his voice cracking. Collins, get the cuffs off him. No, David said sharply.
Both officers froze. Leave them on, David instructed, turning around to face them, his hands still bound tightly behind his back. You placed me under arrest for suspicion of narcotics trafficking, Officer Miller. You conducted an illegal search of my vehicle. You assaulted me, detaining me without probable cause.
We are going to follow this through to the end. Director Caldwell, please, sir, Miller begged, raising his hands in a placating gesture. The transformation from an aggressive predator to a groveling subordinate was pathetic to witness. It was a misunderstanding. The lighting is bad, and we've had a lot of break-ins in this neighborhood.