The laughter died instantly on Hale’s lips. The heavy silence returned to the room, thicker and more suffocating than before. Officer Collins turned completely pale, his hands trembling slightly as he shoved them deep into his patrol trousers pockets. Hale stared hard at Malcolm, searching his unreadable face for any sign of bluffing or panic. Finding none, a cold seed of dread began to take root in the veteran captain’s stomach. He knew damn well that real federal investigators from Washington didn't panic when they were slapped in handcuffs; they simply gathered evidence and waited for the trap to snap shut on the other side. Before Hale could formulate a response, a sharp, urgent rapping echoed against the glass door of the interview room. Without waiting for permission, the heavy metal-framed door swung open. A breathless junior patrol officer stepped halfway into the room, holding a portable radio in one hand and a printed dispatch slip in the other. “Captain Hale, you need to come out to the front desk right now,” the young officer blurted out, ignoring protocol entirely. “What is it, Miller? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a major suspect interrogation?” Hale snapped, trying desperately to reassert his authority. “Sir, there are two black SUVs from the federal building parked right outside the restricted tarmac gate, and a team of armed federal agents just walked into the baggage services office demanding immediate custody of the prisoner and all related security files.” Hale’s head snapped back toward Malcolm. The color completely drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, mottled gray. Malcolm offered him a small, cold smile. “It appears your timeline just ran out, Captain.”
Within ninety seconds, the glass-walled interview room was flooded with federal agents wearing dark raid jackets stamped with bright yellow bold letters reading FBI. Agent Lena Morales, Malcolm’s direct operational lead on the Atlanta audit task force, led the team. She did not look at Captain Hale or Officer Collins; her sharp eyes locked immediately onto Malcolm standing calmly in the steel handcuffs. “Remove those restraints right now,” Morales ordered coldly, resting her hand near her service weapon. Hale stammered frantically, stepping forward with his hands raised. “Now hold on just a minute, Agent Morales! This man was caught red-handed with two kilos of narcotics in his personal baggage during a routine security sweep—” Morales cut him off with a single, slicing motion of her hand. “Captain Hale, you are currently holding a senior supervisory investigator of the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility on fabricated charges using tampered evidence. Unlock those handcuffs this exact second, or you will find yourself sharing a federal detention cell by sundown.” Officer Collins finally broke down completely under the crushing weight of the moment. He stumbled backward against the wall, sliding down until he sat flat on the tiled floor, his face buried in his hands. “I didn't know he was federal! They told me he was just a regular traveler carrying a dropped bag! They said plant the package and walk away!” Hale whirled around, his face purple with rage. “Shut your damn mouth, Collins!” Morales gestured sharply to two agents behind her. “Take Captain Hale’s service weapon, secure his radio, and bag every single communication device in this room as primary evidence of a conspiracy.”