"Colonel Taylor, I'm Captain Richard Voss. I'm the commanding officer of this precinct, and I want to apologize for..."
"Save it."
Taylor's voice was tired.
"Just get these cuffs off me and clear the building. The response team won't wait for explanations."
Voss fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking as he unlocked the cuffs.
Taylor pulled his wrists free, rubbing the red marks where the metal had bitten into skin.
He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders.
And even that simple movement carried a lethal grace that made everyone in the room take an involuntary step back.
"How long?" Voss asked.
Taylor checked his watch.
"Eighteen minutes. Maybe less if they pushed it."
"What do we need to do?"
"Clear your parking lot. Have your officers holster their weapons and keep their hands visible. When they arrive, do not approach the vehicles. Do not speak unless spoken to. And for God's sake..."
Taylor's eyes found Norman through the doorway.
"Keep him away from me."
That's when Norman heard it.
A sound like distant thunder growing louder.
Not thunder.
Rotors.
Multiple helicopters inbound, moving fast.
"They're early," Taylor said quietly as the front windows of the precinct suddenly blazed with light.
Not the red and blue of police vehicles.
The harsh white of tactical floods.
Norman stumbled to the window and looked out, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing.
The parking lot was surrounded.
Black SUVs with government plates.
Armored Humvees.
And at least a dozen soldiers in full tactical gear, their rifles held at low ready.
They'd materialized like ghosts, forming a perimeter so tight a mouse couldn't have escaped.
The front doors burst open without warning.
No knock.
No announcement.
Six operators in multicam fatigues and plate carriers flooded in, their weapons up, their movements synchronized like a choreographed dance.
The lead man's eyes swept the room, assessed the threat level in a microsecond, and his rifle lowered fractionally.
"Building secure," he said into his radio. "Package located."
A figure stepped through the door behind them, and Norman felt what was left of his world crumble.
The man wore an Army dress uniform with stars on his shoulders.
Not one star.
Not two.
Three stars.
A lieutenant general, flanked by two men in dark suits who had federal agent written all over them.
The general's eyes found Taylor immediately.
"Colonel, are you injured?"
"Nothing that won't heal, sir."
Taylor moved toward him, and the operators parted like water.
The general's gaze shifted to Voss, then to Norman.
And the temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees.
"Which one of you is responsible for this [ __ ]?"
Every eye in the precinct turned to Norman.
And he felt his bladder threaten to let go.
The cavalry had arrived.
And Norman was no longer the arresting officer.
He was the suspect.