Sergeant Miller, an older, tired-looking desk sergeant, looked up from his paperwork. He took one look at the impeccably dressed, distinguished older man in cuffs, and then looked at Bennett's flushed, sweating face. Miller frowned.
"What do we have here, Bennett?" Miller asked, his tone skeptical.
"Refusal to ID. Resisting. Disorderly," Bennett rattled off, shoving Marcus toward the booking counter. "Caught him casing the Miller Creek Bridge with a telephoto lens. Started acting like a sovereign citizen when I asked for his license."
Marcus stood tall, ignoring Bennett. He locked eyes with the desk sergeant.
"Sergeant," Marcus said, his baritone cutting through the hum of the precinct. "My name is Marcus Thorne. I am a Senior Field Auditor with the DHS Office of Inspector General. Inside my left breast pocket are my federal credentials. Your officer illegally detained me, unlawfully searched me, ignored my declaration of federal status, and assaulted me during this arrest."
Sergeant Miller froze. The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk. He looked at Bennett. "Did you check his pockets, Kyle?"
"He's lying, Sarge! He's just some guy trying to talk his way out of a charge."
"Check his breast pocket," Miller ordered, standing up. His voice had lost all its lethargy.
Bennett scowled, stepping up to Marcus. He roughly reached into the breast pocket and pulled out the leather folio. He flipped it open.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Staring back at Bennett was a gleaming federal badge and a rigid, laminated ID card bearing Marcus Thorne's unsmiling face, flanked by the seal of the Department of Homeland Security. Signatures from the Inspector General and the Secretary of Homeland Security were stamped at the bottom.
Bennett’s face drained of color. The arrogant flush vanished, replaced by the pale, sickly hue of a man who suddenly realizes he has stepped off a very high ledge.
"Take the cuffs off him," Sergeant Miller whispered, his eyes wide. "Take them off right now."
Ten minutes later, the handcuffs were gone. Marcus sat in the precinct Captain's office, massaging the deep red indentations on his wrists. Across the desk sat Captain Harris, a man who looked like he was rapidly developing a bleeding ulcer. Officer Bennett stood rigidly in the corner, looking physically ill.
"Mr. Thorne... Agent Thorne," Captain Harris stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I cannot express how deeply sorry we are for this misunderstanding. Officer Bennett is young. He was overzealous."