Mercer hissed in David's ear as he unholstered his handcuffs. The metallic snicknick of the cuffs, ratcheting tightly around David Caldwell's wrists, echoed loudly in the desolate station. The steel bit sharply into his skin, instantly restricting his circulation. You're under arrest for obstruction of justice and resisting a peace officer, Mercer declared triumphantly, his chest puffed out as he patted David down roughly, searching his pockets. I did not resist, David said quietly, his cheek pressed against the wet glass.
And you have just committed false imprisonment and assault under the color of law. I am going to ask you one final time, officer. Think very carefully about what you are doing. Look in my wallet. Look at my identification.
Mercer reached into David's back pocket and yanked out his leather biffold wallet. Oh, I'll look at it, buddy. Right after your sitting in the cage. With a rough shove, Mercer marched the handcuffed governor through the rain, aggressively guiding him toward the back of the police cruiser. He opened the rear door and forcefully pushed David down into the hard molded plastic seat of the patrol car.
The door slammed shut, sealing David in the claustrophobic dark space. The smell of stale sweat and chemical cleaner overwhelming his senses. Mercer walked around to the front of his cruiser, whistling a tuneless melody under his breath. He was incredibly pleased with himself. He slid into the driver's seat, tossing David's wallet casually onto the passenger seat without even opening it.
He wasn't in a rush to process his new prisoner. He wanted to make the man sweat a little in the back. Let him stew in the reality of who was in charge. Mercer picked up his radio microphone. Dispatch, this is unit 4.
I have one adult male in custody. Transporting to the precinct shortly. Going to run a quick vehicle search on scene first. Copy that, unit 4. The bored voice of the local dispatcher crackled back.
Mercer turned around, smirking at David through the metal partition. Comfortable back there, professor. Sit tight. I'm going to go see what else you're hiding in that nice car of yours. As Mercer stepped back out into the rain to conduct an illegal, warrantless search of the governor's vehicle, David sat perfectly still in the darkness.
He felt a cold, terrifying fury burning in his chest, not just for himself, but for every single person who had ever sat in this exact seat, voiceless and vulnerable to the whims of a man with a badge and a brutal complex. But David Caldwell was not voiceless, and the trap Mercer had blindly walked into was about to snap shut with terrifying force. 80 mi away in the subterranean levels of the state capital building, the atmosphere inside the state police executive protection command center was usually one of quiet, disciplined boredom. Tonight, it was currently descending into highly focused chaos. Captain Arthur Pendleton, a 25-year veteran of the state police with a formidable reputation and a meticulously trimmed gray mustache, stood behind the primary monitoring console.
His eyes were locked on a large highdefinition digital map displaying the state's highways. A small pulsing blue dot representing the encrypted GPS signal emitting from Governor Caldwell's mobile phone was stationary. How long has he been stopped? Pendleton barked, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 14 minutes, sir, responded Sergeant Sarah Jenkins, her fingers flying across her keyboard.