Chapter 4

Because what Officer Odum had not noticed, could not have known to look for, was the way Elaine's left thumb had moved in a small, deliberate pattern against the inside of her right wrist as he grabbed her wallet. Underneath the cuff of her blazer was a slim titanium band that looked to any untrained eye like an understated watch.It was not a watch. It was a biometric panic relay device issued to senior intelligence officials operating outside of secured facilities. Three short presses of the inset button on its face triggered a priority distress signal through a secured government satellite network to the CIA's Office of Security and the nearest FBI field office, transmitting her GPS coordinates, her biometric identity confirmation, and a status code that translated as: Senior official, hostile encounter, local law enforcement.She had pressed it the moment his hand came through her window."Step out of the vehicle," Odum said, tucking her credential folio into his breast pocket.Elaine calculated her options in approximately one second. Compliance was the only one that kept this from becoming physical."I am complying," she said.She pushed the heavy door open and stepped down onto the shoulder of Route 9, standing at her full height on the red clay gravel. She smoothed the front of her blazer.Odum moved her to the back of the Navigator with a sharp jerk of his head. "Hands on the trunk."She placed her hands flat on the cold metal. He conducted a pat-down that was rougher than necessary, more performance than procedure, designed to diminish. Elaine stared at the yellow center line on the asphalt and thought about nothing except the passage of time. Every second that elapsed was a second closer to the geometry of this situation inverting completely.Odum left her standing at the back of the vehicle and retreated to his cruiser to run her plates. Inside the warm cabin, he picked up his radio with the satisfied energy of a man who believed he had caught something significant."Dispatch, Unit 7," he said. "Need a 10-27 on a Georgia DL." He read off Elaine's information. "Also run the vehicle registration. Fleet lease commercial pool, I think.""Copy, Unit 7. Stand by."Odum drummed his fingers on the dashboard. He pulled the black folio from his pocket and held it in the flashlight beam again. The gold seal was extraordinarily detailed. The paper stock was heavy, almost rigid. A microchip symbol was visible in the lower right corner. He pushed the thought away: high-end counterfeit, had to be.The radio crackled. "Unit 7, I have a return on your DL, but I'm getting a federal restriction flag on the plate.""What kind of flag?""It's routing to a classified fleet pool. The system won't give me a registered owner; it's just throwing a code." A pause. "Garrett... this code is a federal contact indicator. It says: Do not detain. Contact federal agency liaison at this number."

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