He didn't know why they were in Pine Creek. The ride to the Pine Creek Police Department was short, but it felt like an eternity inside the cramped back seat of the cruiser. The plexiglass divider was scratched and yellowed, a barrier between the dirty reality of the back seat and the air-conditioned authority of the front. Kendrick sat hunched over.
He was simply too big for the space. His knees were pressed against the cage, but he didn't complain. He breathed rhythmically, a technique he'd learned during hostage negotiation training at Quantico. Beside him, Serena was staring out the window, watching the familiar landmarks of the small town pass by.
The dilapidated gas station, the high school football field, the endless row of churches. Officer Riley, driving the car, kept glancing in the rearview mirror. He looked terrified. The confidence of the badge was evaporating with every mile.
"Bryce says they're fakes," Riley muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Got to be fakes. Who carries a badge like that in a glove box?" "Someone who doesn't want to flash it unless necessary," Kendrick said from the back.
His voice was deep, resonating through the divider.
"Officer Riley, I want you to think very carefully about your next few actions. You are currently an accessory to a federal kidnapping. If you process us, if you print us, you are cementing your role in this lawsuit." "Shut up!" Riley shouted, but his voice cracked.
"You don't talk back there." They pulled into the station's sally port. The heavy metal gate rattled shut behind them, sealing out the sunlight. Bryce Callahan was already there.
He had sped ahead, desperate to control the narrative before Kendrick and Serena arrived. He was standing by the booking desk, talking fast to the desk sergeant, a weary man named Sergeant Frank. "Drug runners," Bryce was saying loud enough for the whole room to hear.
"High-level stuff, Frank. Fancy car, concealed weapon, fake federal IDs, real professional counterfeits. I need them processed separate. Maximum security protocols. No calls until we verify their identities." Sergeant Frank looked up over his reading glasses, chewing on a toothpick.
"Feds, Bryce? You arrested feds?" "Fake feds." Bryce slammed his hand on the counter.
"Don't you get it? It's a cover. They think the badge scares us off. Not to me. I saw right through it." The door to the sally port opened, and Riley marched Kendrick and Serena in.
Kendrick walked with his head high despite the cuffs. Serena looked like she was walking into a boardroom, not a jail. "Empty your pockets," Bryce ordered, walking over to them. He grabbed Kendrick's arm to shove him toward the counter, but it was like shoving a brick wall.
Kendrick didn't budge until he chose to. "You have our wallets," Serena said coolly.
"You have our phones. You have our badges, which, by the way, Officer Callahan, you are legally required to verify immediately by calling the DOJ switchboard. Do you want the number, or do you know how to use Google?" "I don't need your numbers," Bryce sneered.
He leaned in close to her face. "I'm going to book you as Jane Doe until you give me your real name. You're going to sit in a holding cell with the meth heads and the hookers until you break." "My name is Serena Voss. I am a senior prosecutor for the Civil Rights Division," she repeated, enunciating every syllable.
"And you are currently violating Title 18, Section 242 of the United States Code, Deprivation of Rights Under Color of Law." Bryce laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound.
"You memorized the code, cute. Strip search them." The room went silent. Even Riley froze.
"Excuse me?" Sergeant Frank asked. "You heard me," Bryce said, his eyes manic.
"I suspect they are carrying narcotics internally. Standard procedure for drug trafficking suspects. Strip search both of them." "I'm not doing that," the female officer on duty, Officer Tara, said from the corner.
She stood up, crossing her arms. "I'm not stripping a woman in a blazer who sounds like a lawyer because you have a hunch." "This is insubordination," Bryce screamed, his face turning beet red.
"I am the arresting officer. I give the orders." "Actually," a new voice boomed from the hallway. "I give the orders." Chief Wade Garrick walked into the booking area.
Garrick was a relic of the old South, a man with skin like leather and a belly that hung over his belt buckle. He wasn't a good man, but he was a pragmatic one. He didn't like noise, and Bryce was making a lot of noise. "What is this circus, Callahan?" Garrick asked, eyeing the well-dressed couple in cuffs.
"Chief, I caught big fish," Bryce said, rushing over. "Drug runners, Range Rover, concealed weapon, and look at this." He tossed the badges onto the counter. "Fake federal IDs." Chief Garrick picked up Kendrick's badge.
He felt the weight of it. He ran his thumb over the engraving. He frowned. He'd seen fake badges before.
They were usually light, cheap metal with glued-on centerpieces. This badge was solid brass. The enamel was perfect, and it had a chip embedded in the back for secure building access. Garrick looked up at Kendrick.
He looked at the handcuffs. "Who are you?" Garrick asked quietly. "Special Agent in Charge Kendrick Voss," Kendrick said.
"FBI, Atlanta Field Office. And if you don't take these cuffs off me in the next few moments, Chief Garrick, I will personally ensure that this building is turned into a parking lot." Garrick looked at Bryce.
"Did you run the badge number?" "It's fake, Chief. Why would I run a fake number?" Bryce insisted, sweat pouring down his face.
"Now run it," Garrick ordered Frank. "I can't," Frank said, typing on his keyboard. "System slow." Garrick looked at the woman's ID, Voss.
Same last name. "You arrested a husband and wife?" Garrick asked.
"Siblings," Serena corrected, "and partners on the task force." "Task force?" Bryce scoffed.
"What task force? There's no task force in Pine Creek." Kendrick smiled. It was a terrifying smile.
"That's because you're the target, Callahan." The air left the room. "What did you say?" Bryce whispered.
"We aren't passing through," Kendrick said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "We've been tracking a money laundering scheme involving Langley's Personal Injury Law and kickbacks to local law enforcement for months. We were on our way to meet with our local informant when you pulled us over." Bryce's face went white.
The billboard. He sat under that billboard every day. He took cash envelopes from Langley every week to ignore certain DUIs. "He's lying," Bryce shrieked.
"He's trying to scare you. Chief, put them in the cell." Chief Garrick looked at the badges. He looked at Bryce, a liability he'd kept around too long.
And then he looked at the phone on the wall. "Uncuff them," Garrick said softly. "No," Bryce yelled. He drew his taser.
"Nobody touches them. They are my collars." "Bryce, put the taser down," Riley shouted, drawing his own gun. The station was in a standoff.
Police versus police. "This is it," Kendrick said calmly.