“I'm not resisting,” he said loudly.
“Shut up.”
“I am complying under protest.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“You approached me without evidence of criminal conduct.”
“I said shut up.”
Mercer locked one cuff around Isaiah's wrist.
A white man in a camel-colored coat stepped closer from the walking path.
“Officer, he wasn't doing anything,” the man said.
Mercer turned sharply.
“Back away.”
“He was just sitting there.”
“I said back away.”
The man lifted both hands but did not stop recording.
Mercer forced Isaiah's second wrist behind him.
Because of Isaiah's compact build and the bulk of the parka, the angle was uncomfortable immediately. Mercer pulled the cuffs tighter than necessary, then gave them another click. Isaiah inhaled slowly through his nose.
“Too tight,” he said.
“You'll survive.”
Isaiah looked at him over his shoulder.
“Yes,” he said. “I will.”
Something in the way he said it should have made Mercer stop.
It didn't.
Voss and the man in gray were now moving in opposite directions.
The operation continued.
Federal agents followed.
Isaiah remained beside the bench with his wrists cuffed behind him.
Mercer reached toward the front of Isaiah's coat.
“I'm searching you for weapons.”
“I do not consent to a search.”
“I don't need your consent.”
Mercer patted the outside of the parka aggressively.
Isaiah had been prepared for ordinary surveillance contact, not a full search by local police. His service weapon was secured in a concealed holster beneath the coat, positioned high enough that Mercer's hand was only seconds from finding it. More dangerous than the weapon, however, was the credential wallet secured in an interior pocket.
If Mercer pulled out an FBI badge in full view of Voss's scout, the covert operation would be exposed.
Isaiah turned his head slightly.
“Do not open my coat.”
Mercer smiled.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
“Listen to me.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Do not open my coat.”
Mercer's hand reached toward the zipper.
Isaiah made his decision.
“The temperature is dropping,” he said clearly.
To Mercer, the sentence meant nothing.
To the surveillance team, it was the emergency compromise phrase.
Inside the gray van, Grant Keller pushed the door open.
“Move.”
The park changed in less than five seconds.
The gray utility van opened on both sides.
Two unmarked SUVs pulled away from opposite curbs.
Men and women in ordinary winter clothes suddenly stopped looking ordinary when they moved with coordinated purpose toward the bench.
Mercer heard footsteps behind him.
He turned.
“Stay back!”
Keller was approaching fastest, coat open enough to reveal the badge clipped at his belt.
“Officer, take your hands off him.”
Mercer immediately put one hand near his holster.
“I said stay back.”