"You're not giving me instructions."
"I'm not trying to."
"Then stop talking."
Daniel looked over his shoulder.
"This road is part of a restricted movement corridor."
The officer laughed.
"Of course it is."
"I'm telling you because your cruiser is positioned in the wrong place."
The officer tightened the cuffs.
"You can explain it downtown."
Daniel felt the metal bite into his wrists.
He said nothing.
Sometimes the hardest part of his job wasn't protecting important people.
It was remaining calm when another person didn't understand how dangerous a situation had become.
The officer opened the rear door of the cruiser.
"Get in."
Daniel hesitated.
Not because he was afraid of arrest.
Because the convoy was now less than ten minutes away.
And the officer had just placed his own vehicle directly beside the route.
Daniel stepped inside.
The door slammed shut.
Through the window, he watched the officer return to his cruiser.
Daniel's earpiece remained hidden beneath his collar.
A voice suddenly whispered through it.
"Carter, we've lost your position."
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
He couldn't reach the transmitter.
His hands were cuffed.
The voice returned.
"Carter, acknowledge."
He remained silent.
Then another transmission broke through.
"Command is asking for immediate status."
Daniel looked through the rear window.
The officer's cruiser was still parked across part of the road.
And somewhere beyond the darkness, the convoy was coming.
Daniel opened his eyes.
This was no longer a traffic stop.
It was becoming a problem.
And he had only minutes to solve it.
Officer Mitchell sat inside his cruiser and stared at Daniel's sedan.
The vehicle bothered him.
It was too clean.
Too anonymous.
Too unusual for a deserted county road at two in the morning.
He entered the license plate into his computer.
The system hesitated.
Then an error appeared.
RECORD RESTRICTED.
Mitchell frowned.
He tried again.
The same message appeared.
"Come on."
He leaned toward the screen.
The plate wasn't registered like an ordinary government vehicle. The ownership field was partially sealed.
Mitchell picked up his radio.
"Dispatch, I've got a vehicle with restricted registration. Requesting verification."
The dispatcher responded.
"Stand by."
Mitchell glanced toward the back seat.
Daniel was sitting quietly.
No shouting.
No pleading.
No visible panic.
That irritated Mitchell more than anything else.
Most people became nervous when they were handcuffed.
This man looked as though he were waiting for a meeting to begin.
Mitchell opened the rear door.
"Who are you?"
Daniel looked up.
"I already explained that I need you to move your cruiser away from this road."
"I asked who you are."
Daniel paused.
Then he answered.
"Daniel Carter."
"Occupation?"
"Federal employee."
Mitchell smiled.
"That's not an occupation."
"It is tonight."
Mitchell shut the door.
Back inside the cruiser, he tried another system.
Nothing.
He called his supervisor.
No answer.
He tried dispatch again.
"Any update?"
"Negative. We're still waiting."
Mitchell looked toward the road.
Something felt wrong.
He could now hear a low vibration beneath the tires.
At first it was almost imperceptible.
Then it became clearer.
Vehicles.
Many vehicles.
Mitchell looked at the clock.
02:24.
Daniel's warning suddenly sounded less ridiculous.
He stepped out.
The darkness ahead was beginning to glow.
Daniel pressed his cuffed hands against the window.
"Officer Mitchell!"
Mitchell looked back.
"Move your vehicle."
"Stay in the car."
"Listen to me."
"I'm not listening to you."
"You have less than two minutes."
Mitchell turned toward the approaching lights.
Several white beams appeared around the bend.
Then red.
Then blue.