Thorne pulled a pair of heavy tactical flex-cuffs from his belt. "Turn around, Briggs. Put your hands behind your back."
As Thorne secured the flex-cuffs around Briggs's wrists—far tighter than Briggs had intended to cuff Elara—the neighborhood began to notice the commotion. Doors crept open. Neighbors stepped out onto their lawns, whispering and pointing at the surreal scene of local police officers being disarmed and detained by men in black suits on Elara's lawn.
"Marcus," Elara said, looking at the growing crowd. "Get the local Chief of Police on the line. I want him here. Ten minutes ago."
"Already on it, Director," one of the female agents by the cars called out. "Chief Harrison is en route. ETA is four minutes. He sounds... panicked."
"He should be," Elara replied flatly.
She walked over to her small patio table, picked up her cold chamomile tea, and took a sip. She watched as Briggs and Kowalski were marched to the front of the black SUV and forced to sit on the curb, their heads bowed in profound humiliation. The neighborhood bully had been brought to heel.
Less than five minutes later, a white SUV with the Chief of Police insignia came tearing down Maplewood Drive, lights flashing but sirens off. It slammed to a halt behind the FBI Suburban.
Chief Harrison, an older man nearing retirement, practically threw himself out of the vehicle. He was sweating profusely, his uniform slightly rumpled. He took one look at his disarmed officers sitting on the curb, the federal agents standing guard, and the massive black vehicle blocking his cruiser.
He jogged up the walkway, his eyes wide. He stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, swallowing hard as he looked up at Elara.
"Deputy Director Vance," Harrison breathed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. "I... I don't even know what to say. I received the call from your detail..."
"Chief Harrison," Elara said coldly. "I bought a house in your jurisdiction because I was told it was safe. Yet, within six months, I am cornered on my own porch and assaulted by your officers based on a baseless, racially motivated phone call."
"Director, I assure you, this is not indicative of my department—"
"Save it, Chief," Elara cut him off. "I want their badges. Now. And I want a full internal affairs investigation on my desk by Monday morning, running parallel to the federal civil rights charges my office will be filing."
Harrison nodded furiously. "Yes, ma'am. Immediately." He walked over to Briggs and Kowalski, reaching down and physically ripping the tin badges from their chests. "You are both suspended immediately without pay. You disgust me."
With the officers dealt with, Elara turned her gaze across the street. She could see the curtains twitching in Martha Gable’s window.
Elara walked down the steps of her porch, flanked by Agent Thorne. She walked deliberately across the street, up Martha's driveway, and stood on the woman’s pristine welcome mat. Thorne knocked on the door—three heavy, authoritarian thuds.