He didn't feel anger anymore. He just felt the cold, efficient machinery of justice clicking into place. "Strip them of their weapons and their badges," David ordered. "They are suspended as of this second. Throw them in the back of a transport van and take them to the federal building downtown.
They can wait in holding until I am ready to take their statements. " "Yes, sir. " Lawson nodded. He gestured to two tactical agents. "Disarm them. " The agents moved in swiftly. They didn't ask nicely. They stripped Miller and Collins of their gun belts, their radios, and their badges, leaving them standing on the side of the road, humiliated and powerless.
The very same side of the road where they had tried to humiliate David. As they were being led away to the back of an armored federal van, Miller looked back over his shoulder. "Director Caldwell! " Miller shouted, desperation choking his voice. "I was just doing my job! " David leaned against the hood of his Mercedes, crossing his arms. He didn't raise his voice, but in the silence of the subdued scene, his words carried perfectly.
"So am I, Officer Miller. " "So am I. " The Oakridge Police Department was housed in a pristine red-brick colonial building that looked more like a wealthy town hall than a precinct. It sat neatly in the center of the town square, surrounded by manicured hedges and a bronze statue of the town's founder. At 2:45 a.m., that quiet idyllic facade was violently shattered. Four black armored Bearcats and a dozen tactical SUVs jumped the curb, tearing through the pristine landscaping and forming a steel barricade around the building's perimeter. Heavily armed FBI agents flooded the lawn, their boots destroying the winter frost.
Inside the precinct, chaos reigned. Captain Robert Hayes, a 20-year veteran of the force who ran Oakridge like his own personal fiefdom, was standing in the dispatch center, his face flushed with rage and panic. He was desperately feeding a stack of Manila folders into a heavy-duty industrial shredder. The smell of burning motor coils and hot paper filled the air as the machine struggled to keep up with the volume of evidence being destroyed. "Captain, they breached the front doors. " A terrified desk sergeant yelled, backing away from the reinforced glass lobby doors as federal rams battered against them.
"Hold them off. Tell them we have local jurisdiction. " Hayes roared, pulling his service weapon from its holster and setting it on the desk next to the shredder. He grabbed the precinct's landline, furiously dialing the home number of District Attorney Michael O'Connor, a man who had looked the other way on Oakridge's creative policing for a decade. The phone rang endlessly. O'Connor wasn't picking up.
The lobby doors gave way with a deafening crash. Glass rained across the polished linoleum floor. "FBI, federal agents, hands in the air. Step away from the shredder. " Special Agent Richard Lawson barked, leading a wedge of tactical agents into the room. Red laser sights danced across Captain Hayes's chest.
Hayes froze, the phone still pressed to his ear. He looked at the laser sights, then at his weapon on the desk, weighing his options. "Don't even think about it, Robert. " A deep, calm voice echoed through the shattered doorway. The tactical agents parted, creating a path. Deputy Director David Caldwell walked into the precinct.
He had bypassed the field office to come directly to the scene, still wearing his charcoal gray suit, though his tie was now loosened. The red welts from Miller's handcuffs were still faintly visible on his wrists. Hayes stared at Caldwell, his eyes darting frantically. Caldwell, what the hell is the meaning of this? You're invading a sovereign municipal police department.