Isaiah did not move.
“Walk!”
Nothing.
“I said walk!”
Isaiah remained still.
His wrists were bleeding.
The cuffs had already begun turning the skin purple.
Pike's frustration became visible.
“Or I'll take you down.”
Isaiah looked at him.
“You've already used force.”
Then he raised his voice so the neighbors and their cameras could hear.
“Officer Pike, I am a decorated combat veteran of the United States Army. I hold an active Top Secret clearance and consult for the Department of Defense. If you strike me or force me into that vehicle after confirming this is my address, your badge will not survive the day.”
Pike's eyes narrowed.
Then he reached for his baton.
Morris stepped forward.
“Pike, don't.”
The baton rose.
For one terrifying second, Isaiah wondered whether he would actually have to defend himself.
His body remembered Afghanistan.
Angles.
Distance.
Balance.
Threat.
His muscles prepared for movement even while his mind ordered them to remain still.
Then another sound rolled through Briar Glen Lane.
Not sirens.
Engines.
Heavy engines.
Three black government SUVs turned onto the street.
They moved slowly through the neighborhood, completely unlike the frantic arrival of the police.
The lead vehicles stopped.
Doors opened.
Men in dark suits stepped out.
And then the rear door of the armored Lincoln Navigator opened.
A polished black military boot touched the pavement.
The man who emerged wore a full military dress uniform.
Four stars rested on each shoulder.
Medals covered his chest.
Near the top was the pale-blue ribbon of the Medal of Honor.
General Nathaniel Cross had arrived.
Uncle Nate
General Cross did not look at the neighbors.
He did not look at the police cruisers.
He looked directly at Isaiah.
Then he saw the cuffs.
Then the blood.
Then the raised baton.
His expression changed.
“Officer,” Cross said.
Pike lowered the baton slightly.
“This is an active police scene.”
Cross raised one hand.
Pike stopped talking.
The general walked toward Isaiah.
His security detail followed.
Cross stopped three feet away.
His eyes moved to Isaiah's wrists.
“If those cuffs are not off my godson in five seconds,” he said quietly, “my men will remove them.”
The street became silent.
Pike stared at him.
“Sir, we received a 911 call—”
“You have four seconds.”
Morris moved immediately.
“I've got it.”
He pulled the key from his belt.
His hand shook.
The key slipped once.
Then caught.
Click.
Click.
The cuffs opened.
Isaiah slowly brought his hands forward.
General Cross stepped closer.
“Are you hurt?”
“I've had worse.”
Cross looked at the bruises.
“That wasn't my question.”
Isaiah sighed.
“I'm fine.”
Cross pulled him into an embrace.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Isaiah murmured: