“Nothing.”
“Who's that?”
“I don't know.”
“You sure seem interested.”
Isaiah forced himself to look away.
The situation had become almost absurd. One of the most important targets in a federal corruption investigation was now walking through the park, and the biggest immediate threat to the operation was not an armed criminal or a counter-surveillance team. It was a patrol officer determined to prove that a Black man on a bench belonged under his control.
“Officer,” Isaiah said quietly, “I strongly recommend that you continue your patrol.”
Mercer's eyebrows rose.
“You recommend?”
“Yes.”
“That's cute.”
Isaiah's voice dropped another degree. “There are circumstances here you do not understand.”
Mercer laughed.
“Oh, I understand plenty.”
“No,” Isaiah said. “You really don't.”
Through the corner of his eye, Isaiah saw Voss approach the fountain.
Another man was coming from the opposite path.
Gray coat.
Leather gloves.
That had to be the recipient.
The entire case was converging less than seventy yards away.
“Cole,” Keller whispered urgently, “we need your angle.”
Mercer heard the faintest sound.
His eyes sharpened.
“What was that?”
Isaiah said nothing.
“You wearing an earpiece?”
The officer stepped forward.
Isaiah rose from the bench.
At full height, he came only to Mercer's upper chest, and the difference seemed to reinforce whatever assumption the officer had already made about power. Mercer straightened even more, towering above him, while Isaiah kept his hands visible beside his coat. A few snowflakes landed on Isaiah's knit cap.
“Don't touch me,” Isaiah said.
Mercer smirked. “Why? You carrying something?”
“I'm telling you not to touch me.”
“Hands on the bench.”
“No.”
The smirk disappeared.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
The word hung between them.
Across the park, Voss stopped near the fountain.
The man in the gray coat stopped too.
Isaiah's entire team was waiting for visual confirmation of the exchange.
Mercer reached for Isaiah's arm.
Isaiah shifted half a step backward.
It was not aggressive, but it was enough.
Mercer's voice shot upward.
“Stop resisting.”
“I am not resisting.”
“Hands where I can see them.”
“They are where you can see them.”
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because you're being detained.”
“For what?”
Mercer hesitated.
One second.
Two.
Long enough for everyone nearby to hear that he had no answer.