Who carries a badge like that in a glove box?" "Someone who doesn't want to flash it unless necessary." Kendrick said from the back. His voice was deep, resonating through the divider. "Officer Riley, I want you to think very carefully about your next few actions.
You are currently an accessory to a federal kidnapping. If you process us, if you print us, you are cementing your role in this lawsuit." "Shut up!" Riley shouted, but his voice cracked. "You don't talk back there."
They pulled into the station's sally port. The heavy metal gate rattled shut behind them, sealing out the sunlight. Bryce Callahan was already there. He had sped ahead, desperate to control the narrative before Kendrick and Serena arrived. He was standing by the booking desk, talking fast to the desk sergeant, a weary man named Sergeant Frank.
"Drug runners." Bryce was saying loud enough for the whole room to hear. "High-level stuff, Frank. Fancy car, concealed weapon, fake federal IDs, real professional counterfeits. I need them processed separate.
Maximum security protocols. No calls until we verify their identities." Sergeant Frank looked up over his reading glasses, chewing on a toothpick. "Feds, "Bryce?" You arrested feds?"
"Fake feds." Bryce slammed his hand on the counter. "Don't you get it? It's a cover. They think the badge scares us off.
Not me. I saw right through it." The door to the sally port opened, and Riley marched Kendrick and Serena in. Kendrick walked with his head high despite the cuffs. Serena looked like she was walking into a boardroom, not a jail.
"Empty your pockets." Bryce ordered, walking over to them. He grabbed Kendrick's arm to shove him toward the counter, but it was like shoving a brick wall. Kendrick didn't budge until he chose to. "You have our wallets."
Serena said coolly. "You have our phones. You have our badges, which, by the way, Officer Callahan, you are legally required to verify immediately by calling the DOJ switchboard. Do you want the number, or do you know how to use Google?" "I don't need your numbers," Bryce sneered.
He leaned in close to her face. "I'm going to book you as Jane Doe until you give me your real name. You're going to sit in a holding cell with the meth heads and the hookers until you break." "My name is Serena Voss. I am a senior prosecutor for the Civil Rights Division," she repeated, enunciating every syllable.
"And you are currently violating Title 18, Section 242 of the United States Code, Deprivation of Rights Under Color of Law." Bryce laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. "You memorized the code. Cute.
Strip-search them." The room went silent. Even Riley froze. "Excuse me?" Sergeant Frank asked.
"You heard me," Bryce said, his eyes manic. "I suspect they are carrying narcotics internally. Standard procedure for drug trafficking suspects. Strip-search both of them." "I'm not doing that," the female officer on duty, Officer Tara, said from the corner.
She stood up, crossing her arms. "I'm not stripping a woman in a blazer who sounds like a lawyer because you have a hunch." "This is insubordination!" Bryce screamed, his face turning beet red. "I am the arresting officer.