"Check the ID, Miller. Just look at the ID," Vance gritted out, the edge of the hood digging painfully into his ribs.
Instead of looking at the credentials that had fallen onto the hood, Miller grabbed Vance’s left arm. He didn't just pull it back to apply handcuffs; he wrenched it upward with unnecessary, punishing force.
A sharp, tearing pain shot through Vance’s shoulder socket. The angle was entirely unnatural. It was a pain-compliance technique, heavily applied to a subject who was already complying.
"Stop resisting!" Miller yelled automatically, a trained phrase meant for dashboard cameras and witnesses, despite Vance remaining entirely still.
"I am not resisting," Vance said, his voice strained as the tendons in his shoulder screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breathing to remain steady. He could disarm Miller in three seconds. A simple hip escape, a wrist lock, a sweep. But doing so meant a brawl on the pavement.
Down on the highway, beneath the overpass, a new sound began to build. It started as a low, vibrating hum, distinct from the sirens. It was the synchronized roar of heavy engines.
The vanguard was here.
The metal of the hood was slick with the gathering humidity, a fine mist of condensation that smeared beneath Vance’s cheek. The pain in his left shoulder was no longer just a sharp twinge; it was a deep, burning ache that radiated down to his fingertips. Officer Miller had his arm cranked at an extreme angle behind his back, a textbook maneuver designed to force compliance through sheer agony.
"I said, stop resisting!" Miller screamed again, his voice cracking slightly with the adrenaline dump.
"I am not moving," Vance replied, keeping his voice deliberately low and devoid of emotion. In crisis negotiations and hostile encounters, matching an aggressor’s volume only fueled the fire. Vance was a professional. He knew that the moment he fought back, he became the very thing Miller’s tunnel vision believed him to be: a threat.
The heavy, ratcheting sound of handcuffs filled the air. Click-click-click. The cold steel bit brutally into Vance’s left wrist. Miller didn’t bother to check for a finger’s width of space; he clamped the metal down to the bone.
"Give me the other hand," Miller commanded, shifting his weight and driving his knee harder into Vance's hamstring.
Vance slowly moved his right hand from the hood, bringing it behind his back. "Miller, my credentials are right in front of my face. Open the leather case. You are making a catastrophic mistake."
"Shut up!" Miller grunted, snatching Vance's right wrist and violently wrenching it to meet the left. The second cuff clicked into place, locking Vance's hands together in a tight, agonizing bind.
With Vance secured, Miller stepped back for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving. He reached forward and grabbed the scruff of Vance's windbreaker, hauling the federal agent off the hood of the Charger. Vance stumbled backward but caught his balance, turning to face the enraged local officer.
Between them, resting on the wet hood of the Dodge, was the open leather wallet. The gold federal badge gleamed under the flashing red and blue strobes of the police vehicles. Beside it, the laminated identification card clearly displayed Vance’s photo, the seal of the United States, and the signature of the Director.
"Look at it," Vance said, nodding toward the hood. "Just take three seconds to look at it."
Miller glared at the badge, then looked back at Vance. His face was a mask of stubborn, righteous indignation. In his mind, he had already committed to the narrative. Admitting he was wrong now, admitting that he had just assaulted and handcuffed a federal agent during a National Special Security Event, would be the end of his career. Cognitive dissonance took over.
"Anyone can buy a fake badge online," Miller sneered, reaching out and sweeping the leather wallet off the hood. It clattered onto the wet asphalt, landing face down in a puddle of oily water.
Vance felt a cold, hard knot form in his stomach. The situation had officially moved past a misunderstanding. It was now a critical security failure.
"I am disarming you," Miller announced, stepping beside Vance. He reached down to Vance’s right hip, unsnapping the retention holster and pulling out the Glock 19. Miller checked the chamber, his hands shaking slightly, and shoved the weapon into his own tactical cargo pocket.
"You've taken my comms. You've taken my weapon. You've ignored federal credentials," Vance stated, his eyes locking onto Miller’s. "When the Secret Service Counter Assault Team comes up this ramp, how do you think they are going to interpret this scene?"
Miller grabbed Vance by the bicep, his fingers digging into the muscle. "I think they’re going to thank me for getting a lunatic in a fake cop car out of the way. Let's go."
Chapter 5: Deaf Ears
Miller began to shove Vance toward the open rear door of the Fairfax County SUV. Every step was a jarring reminder of the unnatural angle of Vance's shoulders. The handcuffs were so tight that Vance's fingers were already beginning to tingle, the circulation severely compromised.
"Officer," Vance tried again, planting his feet firmly for a brief second to halt their momentum. "Look over the edge of the overpass. Look at the highway. Do you see a single civilian car moving? Do you see the hard closures?"
"Keep walking," Miller shoved him hard, nearly throwing Vance off balance.
"The highway is closed because the President is three miles away," Vance continued, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the idling engines. "I am the Route Control Agent for Sector Four. By taking me out of commission, you are leaving an active flank completely unguarded."
"You're a maniac," Miller muttered, practically dragging Vance the last few feet. "You think you're in a movie. You're going to jail for impersonating an officer, resisting arrest, and interfering with a public safety operation."
Vance realized with chilling clarity that words were entirely useless. Miller was deaf to logic, deaf to the situational evidence around him, and completely consumed by his own bruised ego. The officer had been stuck in traffic, frustrated by a disabled unit call, and when he finally found an outlet for his frustration, he unleashed all of it onto Vance.