"Director," a sharp, professional voice answered. It was Special Agent Christian Hayes, head of Roland's protective detail, sitting inside a black armored Suburban at the perimeter of the estate.
"Christian," Roland said, his voice eerily calm. "I have encountered a situation."
Hayes sat up instantly. "Sir, is there a threat?"
"I have been detained by a local patrol officer," Roland continued, ignoring Jenkins, who leaned against the desk smirking. "I am currently at the Fourth District County Precinct."
Hayes' blood ran cold. "You were arrested? Sir, we are two minutes away."
"Stand down on any tactical breach, Christian," Roland ordered smoothly. "But bring the detail to the station, and patch in Deputy Director David Croft. Tell him to scramble a Civil Rights Division response team from the Washington Field Office. Tell them the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation is currently handcuffed to a booking desk."
Jenkins, close enough to hear Roland's side of the call, burst out laughing. "Director of the FBI? Are you out of your mind, Tommy? This guy is a total nutjob. Put him in psych."
But Sergeant O'Malley was not laughing. While Roland had been speaking, O'Malley had already pressed Roland's right index finger onto the digital biometric scanner to begin the booking process. The computer beeped. It did not pull up a local rap sheet. The screen flashed solid red. A high-level warning banner appeared—a system override connected directly to the National Crime Information Center and the federal database:
CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET / SENSITIVE COMPARTMENTED INFORMATION
AGENCY: FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION