I thought you'd be at the memorial. Shut your mouth and listen to me very carefully. Because your life, your career, and the existence of your entire police department depend on the next 60 seconds, Hayes interrupted, his voice laced with venom. You have an officer holding a gun to the head of my wing commander on Route 9. A decorated combat veteran who commands $4 billion worth of military hardware.

Montgomery sat bolt upright, the remaining half of his donut tumbling onto his lap. The blood vanished from his face. "General, I I don't know what you're talking about. I am talking about Colonel David Henderson, Hayes roared, abandoning all military decorum. He is currently on his knees on the asphalt with a Fairview PD weapon against his skull.

If your officer's finger twitches, Hal, if the colonel gets a scratch on him, I will have the Department of Defense down your throat so fast you'll choke on federal indictments. I have three armored vehicles of military police converging on that location right now, and they are authorized to use lethal force to protect my officer. "Oh my god," Montgomery breathed, his eyes darting to the dispatch log monitor on his desk. He saw the active stop. "Officer Mitchell Briggs, Route 9, code six."

It was Briggs. Of course, it was Briggs. The man was a walking liability, a racist powder keg that Montgomery had ignored for years because Briggs brought in high ticket quotas. But he had finally gone too far. He had pulled over the wrong man.

"General, please call off the MPs. I'm going there right now. I will handle it," Montgomery pleaded, his voice cracking with sheer panic. "You have 4 minutes, Hal," Hayes said coldly. If my MPs get there first, your officer is leaving in a body bag.

The line went dead. Montgomery slammed the phone down, grabbed his radio, and sprinted out of his office, his heavy boots pounding against the lenolium. Dispatch, this is the chief. Get me Briggs on the radio now. Chief, Officer Briggs isn't responding.

The dispatcher's voice crackled back, tinged with confusion. I've been pinging him for 3 minutes. He's got his radio turned off. Montgomery burst through the double doors of the precinct. The oppressive summer heat hitting him like a wall.

He threw himself into his unmarked cruiser, his hands trembling violently as he jammed the keys into the ignition. He flicked on the sirens and tore out of the parking lot, the tires screeching as he sped toward Route 9, praying to a god he hadn't spoken to in years that Mitchell Briggs hadn't just signed all of their death warrants. The silence on Route 9 was suffocating. The ringing in Mitchell Briggs's ears had finally subsided, leaving behind only the aggressive chirp of the cicadas and the heavy, ragged sound of his own breathing. The jets had spooked him, but his ego refused to let him back down.

He was in too deep. The two teenagers across the highway were still recording, their phones held steady, capturing every agonizing second of the standoff. Briggs needed to end this on his terms. He needed to prove that he was the ultimate authority in Fair View. All right, playtime is over," Briggs growled, taking a step back and keeping the Glock aimed at David's chest.

With his free hand, he reached into his duty belt and pulled out a heavy pair of steel handcuffs. He tossed them onto the blistering asphalt next to David's knees. "Put them on. Fasten them behind your back. You're going to jail for resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, and whatever else I decide to write in the report."

David looked at the handcuffs glinting in the sun. He looked up at Briggs, his expression one of profound, almost pitying calm. "I will not," David said softly. Briggs's face turned a violent shade of purple. He took a step forward, raising the gun.

"I am giving you a lawful order. Put the damn cuffs on, boy, or I swear to God I will." He never got to finish his threat. From the north, the horizon suddenly erupted with a terrifying symphony of multi-tonon engines and blaring sirens. Briggs whipped his head around.

Tearing down the highway at over a 100 mph was a convoy straight out of a war zone. Leading the pack were two massive, heavily armored matte black SUVs belonging to the United States Air Force Security Forces. Flanking them were three dark blue State Trooper cruisers, their light bars flashing blindingly against the afternoon sun. Toby Miller, the rookie, began to hyperventilate, pressing his back against the police cruiser. "Briggs!

Briggs! What did you do?" "Shut up!" Briggs yelled, his confidence completely evaporating, replaced by a cold, sickening dread. He holstered his weapon, trying to make himself look less threatening, trying to regain control of a narrative that had just been nuked from orbit.

The convoy didn't just pull over. They swarmed the scene. The vehicles screeched to a halt, boxing in Briggs's police cruiser from all sides. The doors of the armored SUVs flew open before the vehicles had even fully stopped. A dozen heavily armed military police officers poured out clad in full tactical gear, Kevlar vests, and ballistic helmets.

They didn't have standard issue sidearms. They carried M4 carbines, and every single barrel was immediately leveled directly at Mitchell Briggs. "Hands in the air. Get your hands in the damn air right now," roared a towering MP left tenant, his voice booming over a megaphone. State troopers piled out of their vehicles, drawing their weapons and forming a secondary perimeter.

Briggs froze, his hands trembling as he slowly raised them above his head. He looked around in absolute disbelief. Whoa, whoa, "Friendly. I'm a police officer. I have a hostile suspect here."

He screamed, desperately, pointing at David, who was still kneeling calmly by the Mustang. A screech of tires announced the arrival of Chief Hal Montgomery. His unmarked cruiser slammed onto the gravel shoulder, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. Montgomery practically fell out of the car, his uniform drenched in sweat, his face pale with terror. Briggs saw him and felt a surge of desperate hope.

Chief, Chief, tell these guys to stand down. I was just making a routine stop on this. Shut your damn mouth, Mitchell. Montgomery screamed, his voice cracking with unprecedented fury. He didn't walk toward Briggs.

He sprinted, shoving past a state trooper. He grabbed Briggs by the collar of his uniform and violently slammed him against the side of his own cruiser. "Chief, what are you doing?" Briggs gasped, utterly bewildered. "You stupid, arrogant son of a [ __ ]."