My entire crisis team is watching the feed in the boardroom. We have the drop gear on multiple camera angles complete with thermal imaging. Now listen to me carefully. Do not let those men touch that vehicle again. Kesler finally found his voice a desperate raspy growl.
Listen here, counselor. We had probable cause, the smell of save it for the grand jury, Sergeant Mitchell interrupted, his tone dripping with absolute disdain. I don't care about your fabricated probable cause. 15 minutes ago, while you were taking a cordless drill to a $300,000 asset, I bypassed your local precinct and woke up Gregory Pierce, the special agent in charge of the FBI's Portland field office. I also contacted Captain Rebecca Davis of the Oregon State Police.
They are converging on your location right now. If you attempt to leave or if you touch my client, it will be classified as a federal flight risk." Hayes let out a muffled sob. He turned away, bending over the highway barrier, and threw up into the dark brush. Riker slowly raised his hands, palms outward, backing away from the vehicle as if it were radioactive.
I I was just following orders. Sarge told me to pull the trim. He said he had a warrant exception. You broke it, Riker. You own it, Kesler spat venomously, the brotherhood of the badge dissolving instantly in the face of federal prison time.
10 excruciating minutes passed. The highway remained deserted. An isolated bubble of shattered fiberglass and shattered lives. Then the distinct high-pitched whale of European style sirens pierced the night. Three Oregon State Police cruisers descended on the scene, boxing in Kesler and Riker's vehicles.
Before the cruisers even fully parked, heavily armed state troopers poured out. Leading them was Captain Rebecca Davis, a tall, uncompromising woman who despised the reputation dirty cops gave her state. "Hands away from your weapons. Step away from the vehicle," Davis commanded over her cruiser's PA system. For the first time in his career, David Kesler found himself staring down the barrel of a fellow officer's sidearm.
"Slowly, mechanically, he unclipped his duty belt, letting his Glock, his taser, and his radio fall to the gravel. Riker and Hayes quickly followed suit. Right behind the state troopers, two unmarked black Chevrolet Suburbans skidded onto the shoulder. Special agent Gregory Pierce stepped out wearing a windbreaker with FBI emblazoned in bold yellow letters on the back. He walked straight past the surrendered cops and approached near.
"Miss Caldwell?" Agent Pierce asked, pulling out his badge. "I'm agent Pierce. We have your attorneys on an open line. We've secured the AWS server data.