Calhoun straightened. "This is my scene. These women were stopped on suspicion of—"
"Captain," Merritt said it without inflection, "I need you to step to the rear of your vehicle and remain there."
"You don't have jurisdiction to—"
"We do. I'll show you the paperwork in a moment. Step to the rear of your vehicle."
The word "paperwork" landed the way it was designed to land. Calhoun looked at the agent. He looked at the vehicles: seven black Expeditions now, agents at each, radios clipped and active, moving with the specific rhythm of people executing a plan that had been prepared before this morning, before yesterday, possibly before this week.
He stepped to the rear of his Durango.
Nadia Voss stood near the front of her car. The interior was in pieces around her: three panels, the seat base, the trim from both rear doors. And the car had a dent across the rear quarter panel from the first crowbar strike, which was when this had all begun.
She looked at the vehicle for a long moment. The expression on her face was not grief exactly; it was something quieter: the recognition that objects can be replaced, and that the act of destroying them is, in the end, more revealing about the person who wielded the crowbar than about the person who owned the car.
She turned to Merritt. "The drive is in the case," she said. "Calhoun had it opened with bolt cutters. Chain of custody is unbroken on our end. Renata logged placement this morning at 0647."
Merritt nodded. "We'll take custody of the case and its contents. The module fragments go with chain documentation. Already bagged." He paused. "The secondary transmission completed at 0419. Quantico confirmed receipt at 0422. The data is intact."
Nadia looked at him. "Good." She said it the way a person says a word when the word is not a relief, but a confirmation of something they already knew. She had known it since the moment Calhoun's crowbar came down on the housing. The green light had gone red; the data had already left.
Priya Holden was standing near the rear of the Rolls-Royce when a federal agent approached her: young woman, late twenties, natural hair pinned back, blazer over dark slacks. The agent showed credentials. She asked quietly about Priya's secondary recording device.