Morrison had returned, moving fast for a man his size.
"Just some random guy you pulled over? Because I've got the Pentagon calling my personal cell phone, telling me to lock down this building and keep everyone away from your suspect."
The chief's door flew open with enough force to crack against the wall.
Captain Richard Voss emerged in wrinkled civilian clothes, his phone pressed to his ear, his face the color of old newspaper.
He'd clearly been called in from home, hadn't even taken the time to put on his uniform.
His eyes found Norman immediately, and the look in them made Norman's bowels turn to ice.
"I understand, General. Yes, sir. He's secured. No, sir. He hasn't been harmed beyond..."
Voss's eyes flicked to Norman, and his expression went from fear to fury.
"There was an altercation during the arrest. I'm looking at the officer responsible right now. Yes, sir. We'll have him ready for transfer. Twenty minutes. Understood."
He lowered the phone.
The silence that followed felt like standing in a vacuum.
Every officer in the building had stopped what they were doing.
The drunk had stopped singing.
Even the fluorescent lights seemed to hum quieter.
"Captain, I can explain," Norman started.
"Shut your mouth."
Voss's voice was barely above a whisper, which somehow made it more terrifying than if he'd shouted.
"You don't speak. You don't move. You don't breathe unless I tell you to."
He turned to Morrison.
"Where is he?"
"Booking room. Cuffed to the desk."
"Get him out of there. Put him in the conference room. Uncuff him. Get him whatever he needs. Water, coffee, a medic if he wants one."
Voss was moving as he spoke, heading toward the booking room.
"And someone tell me we didn't put him in the system."
"His prints are already uploaded," Hendricks said weakly. "That's what triggered the alert."
Voss stopped walking.
His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.
And when he turned back around, Norman saw something he'd never seen in his captain's face before.
Genuine fear.
"How bad is he hurt?"
"Some scrapes. Taser burns."
Norman's voice died as Voss's eyes locked onto him.
"You tased him?"
"He was resisting."
"He's a Delta Force commando, you goddamn idiot!"
Voss's composure shattered like glass.
"He could have killed you with his bare hands, and you tased him?"
The words hung in the air.
Delta Force.
Norman's knees actually buckled, and he had to grab the desk to stay upright.
Not a drug dealer.
Not a criminal.
A Delta Force commando.
The kind of operator who didn't exist in official records.
Who ran missions that would never be declassified.
Who had probably killed more people than Norman had arrested in his entire career.
"Oh God," Norman whispered.
"Yeah. Oh God."
Voss pushed past him into the booking room.
Through the doorway, Norman could see Taylor sitting exactly as he'd left him.
Still cuffed.
Still calm.
Voss approached him like he was defusing a bomb.