“Uncle Nate.”
The general stepped back.
His eyes were no longer those of a commander.
They were the eyes of a man looking at family.
He turned toward Pike.
“What is your name and badge number?”
“Nolan Pike. Badge 3178.”
Cross nodded.
“Agent Ward.”
A tall federal agent stepped forward.
“Yes, General?”
“Contact the Alexandria chief of police.”
Ward touched his earpiece.
“Tell her she has ten minutes to arrive at 288 Briar Glen Lane.”
Cross looked at Pike.
“And tell her why.”
The Chief Arrives
An unmarked black Ford Explorer arrived minutes later.
Chief Marjorie Sloan stepped out.
She immediately recognized General Cross.
Everyone in the region knew him.
She also recognized the problem.
A federal convoy.
An injured civilian.
A police officer with a baton.
And dozens of neighbors recording everything.
“General Cross,” Sloan said carefully. “I'm Chief Sloan.”
Cross did not return the greeting.
“There has been an aggravated assault under color of authority.”
Sloan looked toward Isaiah.
His wrists were still bleeding.
She turned to Pike.
“Is that accurate?”
Pike said nothing.
Morris looked at the ground.
The silence told her everything.
Sloan's expression hardened.
“Officer Pike, step away from Mr. Grant.”
Pike obeyed.
Cross spoke again.
“Your officer drew a weapon on an unarmed homeowner, restrained him after confirming his identity and address, and prepared to strike him with a baton.”
Sloan closed her eyes briefly.
“We will investigate.”
“No,” Cross replied.
“You will investigate,” Sloan said.
Cross's voice remained cold.
“The Department of Defense will investigate too.”
He paused.
“And so will the Department of Justice.”
The chief looked at Isaiah.
“Who is he?”
Cross answered.
“Isaiah Grant. Decorated Army Ranger. Defense cybersecurity contractor. Lead architect on a classified infrastructure project protecting federal energy systems along the Eastern Seaboard.”
Sloan's face changed.
This was no longer a simple police complaint.
A cleared federal contractor had been detained at his secured residence.
The consequences could reach Washington.
The Recording
Inside the house, Isaiah sat on the living room couch.
The room was still filled with unopened boxes.
The smell of sawdust remained in the air.
Agent Ward cleaned the cuts on Isaiah's wrists.
“The cuffs were too tight,” Ward said. “You may have nerve pain.”
“I'll survive.”
“That doesn't make it acceptable.”
General Cross stood by the window.
An agent entered carrying a secure tablet.
“General, we have the 911 audio.”
Cross turned.
“Play it.”
The recording began.
Evelyn's voice filled the room.
“There is a dangerous-looking man breaking into the house at 288.”
Isaiah's jaw tightened.
Then came the lie about the weapon.