He said yes twice. He said, "I have the situation under control." He ended the call. He stood for a moment with his back to the scene. Then he turned and walked back toward his Durango.
He passed Sharp. He passed Okafor. He passed the broken remnants of the module on the roof of the car. He said to Sharp without stopping, "We need to talk about the report." Sharp nodded.
Nadia Voss stood with her wrists cuffed behind her beside a car that had cost $1.5 million and was now missing three panels of interior trim, a rear seat base, and a module that had transmitted its data to Quantico 4 hours before anyone tried to destroy it. Her expression had not changed since the moment the lights came on behind her on State Road 2 at 28. Her breathing was steady, her spine was straight. Ranata stood beside her, no longer held by Okafor. He'd stepped away.
Portfolio returned to her after Sharp extracted and photographed its contents. She had her pen now. She was making notes in a small spiralbound pad she'd produced from her coat pocket. While Sharp was occupied with the door panel, she was writing down names, badge numbers, times, exact words as she recalled them with quotation marks. She had done this before, many times in many different rooms.
She did not appear to be in distress. On the opposite shoulder second video to the personal cell number written on the piece of paper. The attorney who received it was sitting in his office on Beach Boulevard. He watched the video. He watched it again.
He picked up his desk phone. He called a number he rarely called before 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. The person who answered was a federal court clerk. Back at the scene, a truck had turned off the highway and was pulling onto the shoulder 300 yd south. It was a Black Ford Expedition.
Then another, then four more, moving in tight convoy formation, their windows blacked out, their speed precisely controlled. The specific speed of vehicles being driven by people who know exactly where they are going and exactly how long it will take to get there. They were not from the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office. Their plates were not Florida plates. Calhoun saw them from the door of his Durango.
He took one slow step forward, then another. He watched the convoy approach. He watched it slow. He watched the lead expedition pull to a stop 20 ft behind the patrol cars, blocking the scene without touching it. The rear door of the lead vehicle opened.
A man in a dark suit stepped out. He did not look at Calhoun. He looked at the two women at the roadside. His expression shifted, a particular shift, visible even from 30 ft away, from professional neutrality to something that was not quite alarm, but was very close to it. He straightened his jacket.