"And I'm the one with clearance you don't have the authorization to verify."
Norman barked out a laugh.
"Clearance? What, you got a top-secret briefcase full of alien technology? You watch too many movies, buddy."
"I'm not at liberty to discuss the contents of that case or my current operational status. What I can tell you is that detaining me will trigger a federal response that will end your career."
The threat landed like a punch.
Norman's vision tunneled, his hands curling into fists.
This son of a [ __ ] was actually threatening him.
Not with violence.
That would have been easier to handle.
But with some phantom federal boogeyman that probably didn't exist outside of this asshole's imagination.
"You know what I think?"
Norman stepped closer, his voice dropping to something dangerous.
"I think you're full of [ __ ]. I think you're a drug dealer with a good story, and you're betting I'm too scared to call your bluff."
"I'm not bluffing."
"Then prove it. Show me some ID that says you're James Bond. Show me a badge, a card, anything that makes you more than just another [ __ ] in an expensive truck."
"I can't do that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
Norman's hand shot out and grabbed Taylor's shoulder, spinning him around.
The man moved with the momentum, turning to face Norman with that same infuriating calm.
Up close, Norman could see the faint scars on Taylor's knuckles, the kind you got from breaching doors or breaking faces.
Could see the way his eyes tracked everything.
Norman's gun hand.
His stance.
The distance to the cruiser.
Processing threats with the speed of a computer.
"Last chance," Norman said, his voice shaking now with adrenaline and rage.
"Open the case, consent to the search, or I'm taking you in for obstruction."
Taylor's expression didn't change.
"Then you're making a choice you'll regret for the rest of your life."
"The only thing I'm going to regret is not doing this sooner."
Norman reached for his cuffs, his heart hammering, his mind already writing the report that would make him a hero.
He didn't see the way Taylor's jaw tightened.
Didn't notice the micro-expression of resignation that flickered across the man's face.
Didn't understand that he wasn't restraining a criminal.
He was compromising a national asset.
Norman's cuffs were halfway out of their pouch when his eyes drifted back to the G-Wagon's cargo area.
The briefcase in the back seat was one thing, but the real storage was in the rear.
That's where they always hid it.
The bulk product.
The cash bricks.
The guns.
He'd seen it a hundred times on those DEA raid videos.
The decoy in plain sight.
The real payload hidden where you needed a warrant to look.
"Open the trunk."
Taylor's expression finally shifted.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something closer to exhaustion.
"I can't do that."
"You mean you won't do that."
"I mean I am legally prohibited from doing that."