«What the hell is going on?» Halloway yelled over the noise.
Suddenly, the phone on the desk rang again. Then the dispatch radio. Then the fax machine started whirring.
«Sheriff!» The dispatcher screamed from the other room. «State troopers are calling. They say the highway is shut down. A convoy is coming in. They say they have federal jurisdiction.»
Miller grabbed his hat. «Everyone out front, now, bring the shotguns.»
«Sheriff, maybe we shouldn’t,» Cletus stammered.
«I said move!»
Miller, Halloway, and four other deputies spilled out onto the front steps of the sheriff’s station. They leveled their shotguns and service pistols, unsure of what they were aiming at, but ready to defend their territory.
The helicopters had pulled back, circling like vultures, but coming down Main Street was a sight that made Miller’s blood turn to ice. It was a convoy, but not just any convoy.
Leading the pack were four black SUVs with government plates, red and blue strobe lights flashing in the grills. Behind them was a massive armored troop carrier, and flanking them were two military Humvees with gunners in the turrets. Though the guns were pointed low, the threat was implicit.
The convoy screeched to a halt right in front of the station. The lead SUV’s door flew open before the wheels had even stopped rolling.
A man stepped out. He was wearing a navy dress blue uniform, immaculate and sharp. The gold stripes on his sleeve went all the way up. An admiral.
He was followed immediately by six men in full tactical gear. Helmets, body armor, automatic rifles held at the low ready. They didn’t have police patches. They had tridents. SEALs.
Halloway’s shotgun shook in his hands. «Sheriff, who are they?»
«Put the guns down,» Miller whispered, his voice cracking. «Put them down right now.»
The admiral marched up the steps, ignoring the weapons pointed in his general direction. He stopped three feet from Miller. He was an older man, gray-haired, with a face that looked like it had been chiseled from granite and resentment.
«I am Admiral Creighton,» he barked. «Who is the commanding officer of this facility?»
«I am,» Miller stammered, holstering his weapon. «Sheriff Buford Miller. Now look here. You can’t just land choppers in my town and—»
«Shut your mouth,» Creighton said. It wasn’t a shout. It was a command. «You are currently holding a Tier One asset of the United States government. Master Chief Marcus Sterling. You have ten seconds to produce him, or I will authorize these men to dismantle this building brick by brick to find him.»
Halloway stepped forward, trying to regain some bravado. «Now hold on a minute. That man is a criminal. He assaulted an officer. He’s being held for…»
Creighton turned his gaze to Halloway. He looked at the nameplate. He looked at the poorly fitted uniform. He looked at the fear behind the arrogance.
«Officer Halloway, I presume?» Creighton asked softly.
«Yeah, that’s me.»
«The one who kicks handcuffed men?»
Halloway froze. «I… how do you…»
«We know everything,» Creighton said. He turned to the tactical team leader behind him. «Lieutenant, secure the perimeter. No one leaves. I want federal warrants served on every computer and file cabinet in this building. If anyone resists, neutralize them.»
«Aye, sir,» the lieutenant replied.
The team moved with terrifying speed, sweeping past the stunned deputies and into the station.
«Where is he?» Creighton demanded, stepping into Miller’s personal space.
«Cell… cell four,» Miller squeaked. «Back hallway.»
«Lead the way,» Creighton ordered, «and pray he’s in one piece, because if he has so much as a scratch on him that wasn’t there when he entered this county, your life as a free man is over.»
They marched through the station. The local deputies were pushed against the walls, disarmed and zip-tied by the SEAL team with efficient, silent movements. The power dynamic had shifted so violently that Miller felt like he was in a dream.
They reached cell four. Marcus was standing by the bars, leaning casually. He looked tired and his jaw was swollen, but he was upright. When he saw the admiral, he straightened his posture, snapping to attention despite the pain in his ribs.
«Master Chief,» Creighton nodded, his eyes scanning Marcus for injuries. He saw the bruise, and his jaw tightened.
«Admiral,» Marcus replied. «Sorry to interrupt your week, sir.»
«You didn’t interrupt it, son. You made it interesting.» Creighton turned to the deputy holding the keys, a trembling kid named Cletus. «Open it.»
Cletus fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice before finally unlocking the door. Marcus stepped out. He didn’t look at the sheriff. He walked straight to Halloway, who was being held by two SEAL operators.
Halloway looked small now. The bully had vanished, replaced by a terrified child realizing the consequences of his actions.
«Officer Halloway,» Marcus said quietly.
«I… I didn’t know,» Halloway whispered. «I didn’t know who you were.»
«It shouldn’t have mattered,» Marcus said. «It shouldn’t matter who I am. You took an oath. You disgraced it.»
Marcus turned to Creighton. «Sir, I request permission to retrieve my personal effects. Specifically, a letter regarding the ceremony.»
«The letter he threw away?» Creighton asked, glaring at Halloway.
«The same.»
«Tear the place apart,» Creighton ordered his men. «Find it.»
As the station turned into a whirlwind of federal activity, the front doors opened again. A man in a sharp black suit walked in, carrying a briefcase. He looked like a shark in human skin.
«Admiral,» the suit said. «I’m with the JAG Corps. We just served the electronic warrant on the dashcam footage from Halloway’s cruiser. It seems the system error they claimed erased the footage was easily bypassed by our tech team.»
Miller gasped. «We… we deleted that.»
«Not well enough.» The lawyer smiled thinly. «We have the audio. We have the video of the stop. No swerving. No resistance. Just Officer Halloway escalating a situation and falsifying an arrest.»
He turned to Miller and Halloway. «Gentlemen, you are under arrest for deprivation of rights under color of law, kidnapping, assault on a federal officer, and conspiracy. And since this involves a military asset, you will be processed in federal court, not your cozy county setup.»
Halloway’s knees gave out. He slumped against the wall.
Marcus watched them. He felt the ache in his ribs, but the pain was distant now. He looked at the admiral.
«Sir, there’s one more thing,» Marcus said. «The judge.»
Creighton smiled, a cold, hard expression. «Don’t worry, Master Chief. We saved the best for last. Get in the SUV. We’re going to the courthouse.»
Judge Reynolds sat high on his mahogany bench, feeling particularly satisfied. The air conditioning in the courtroom was humming, struggling against the Alabama humidity. But Reynolds felt cool.
He had just sentenced a local mechanic to ninety days for unpaid parking tickets, a sentence that would conveniently force the mechanic to sell his shop to Reynolds’ silent business partner for pennies on the dollar.
This was how Oak Haven worked. It was a well-oiled machine of misery and profit, and Reynolds was the operator. He looked down at the docket.
«Next case,» he grunted.
Sarah Jenkins sat at the defense table, her hands folded tight. She had returned to the courtroom as instructed, but she was terrifyingly alone. She hadn’t heard from the general since the call. Had they abandoned her? Had Halloway found out? Every time the bailiff looked at her, she flinched.
«State vs. Timothy Ruggles,» the bailiff announced.
«Wait,» Reynolds interrupted, peering over his glasses. «Where is Officer Halloway? He’s the witnessing officer for this one.»
The bailiff checked his radio. «Dispatch isn’t answering, Your Honor. Probably out on a call. Maybe the Sterling guy caused more trouble.»
Reynolds chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. «Probably fell down the stairs on his way to transport. Shame. Well, we’ll proceed without—»
BOOM!
The double doors at the back of the courtroom didn’t just open. They were thrown wide with such force that one of them cracked against the plaster wall. Every head in the gallery turned.
Judge Reynolds stood up, his face flushing with outrage. «Order! Order in this court! Who dares?»
His voice died in his throat. Marching down the center aisle was not a lawyer nor a local deputy. It was a phalanx of six Navy SEALs in full tactical rattle, rifles slung, helmets on, faces obscured by ballistic eyewear. They moved with a fluid, terrifying synchronization, clearing the aisle like a plow moving through snow.
In the center of the formation walked Admiral Creighton, his dress blues stark against the tactical gear of his men. And beside him, walking freely, was Marcus Sterling.
Marcus had cleaned up. He had washed the blood off his face in the station bathroom. He held his head high, his eyes locking instantly onto Reynolds.
«What is the meaning of this?» Reynolds shrieked, banging his gavel. «Bailiff! Arrest these men! This is a court of law!»
The bailiff, an overweight man named Carl, looked at the SEALs. He looked at the automatic rifles. He looked at his own holstered taser. He slowly raised his hands and stepped away from the bench.
«I ain’t doing that, Judge.»
Admiral Creighton stopped at the bar, the wooden railing that separated the gallery from the legal proceedings.
«Judge Jeremiah Reynolds,» Creighton’s voice boomed, filling the room without the need for a microphone. «I am Admiral Thomas Creighton, United States Navy. You are currently presiding over a criminal enterprise disguised as a court of justice.»
«You have no jurisdiction here,» Reynolds spat, though his hands were shaking. «This is Oakhaven County. Get out before I hold you in contempt.»
«I don’t think you understand the chain of command, Jeremiah,» a smooth voice cut in.
From behind the SEALs, the JAG lawyer, Commander Vance—no relation to the general but equally sharp—stepped forward. He placed a heavy black pelican case on the defense table next to a stunned Sarah Jenkins.