“It is secure government communications equipment.”

He smirked.

“Sure it is.”

“I strongly advise you not to attempt to access, damage, or interfere with it.”

“You advising me again?”

“Yes.”

Boyd dropped the device onto the passenger seat beside him.

Sarah leaned back.

There would be a record now.

Not merely of the arrest.

Of the seizure.

And because the device was built precisely for the possibility that somebody unauthorized might take it, there would already be another record somewhere very far from Oak Haven.

Boyd drove toward town.

Sarah watched the highway disappear behind them.

She had a flight she would no longer make.

She had a classified briefing scheduled for the following morning.

She had an encrypted device outside her control.

Those were problems.

Boyd Cleary was still only beginning to understand that he had one too.

Oak Haven’s sheriff’s department occupied a low brick building beside the county administrative offices. The flag above the entrance hung limp in the heat.

Boyd led Sarah inside by the arm.

Deputy Toby Miller looked up from behind the booking desk.

He was younger than Boyd by almost twenty years, narrow-faced and soft-spoken, with the cautious posture of a man who had learned to keep his opinions from entering rooms before he did.

His eyes moved to Sarah’s cuffs.

Then to Boyd.

“What happened?”

“Traffic stop turned into an attitude problem.”

Sarah said nothing.

Toby's gaze lingered on her wrists.

The skin beneath the cuffs was beginning to redden.

“Want me to book her?”

“I’ll do it.”

Boyd sounded pleased with himself.

He guided Sarah to the counter.

“Empty your pockets.”

Sarah did.

Wallet.

Lip balm.

Rental keys.

A folded airport itinerary.

Then the black device.

Boyd placed each item into a gray plastic evidence tray.

Toby picked up the secure device carefully.

“What is this?”

“Fancy burner phone,” Boyd said.

Sarah looked at Toby.

“It is United States government property containing protected communications systems.”

Toby froze.

Boyd barked a short laugh.

“You hear that? Protected communications systems.”

He took the device from Toby and turned it over.

There were no manufacturer markings.

That should have bothered him.

Instead it amused him.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

Sarah looked at him.

“My identification is in your possession.”

“Your driver’s license says Sarah Hayes.”

“That is correct.”

“No occupation listed.”

“Driver’s licenses generally do not list occupations.”

Toby looked down to hide the beginning of a reaction.

Boyd noticed.

“You find something funny?”

“No, Sheriff.”

Boyd tossed the black device into the tray.

The impact made Toby wince.

Sarah’s voice remained measured.

“Do not do that again.”

Boyd leaned over the desk.

“You’re in my jail now.”

“That does not alter ownership of the device.”

“I’m getting tired of your tone.”

“I haven’t changed it.”

Toby looked between them.

That answer produced no satisfaction in Sarah. No sarcasm. That was what made it worse.

Boyd could fight anger.

He understood anger.

Sarah was giving him facts.

He hated facts he could not bully.

“Take her prints,” he told Toby.

Sarah was photographed, fingerprinted, searched, and processed under charges Boyd wrote himself.

Disorderly conduct.

Failure to comply.

Resisting arrest.

He hesitated above the incident report, then added unsafe lane movement.

Toby saw it.

His forehead tightened.

“You got dash footage?”

Boyd looked up.

“What?”

“For the lane violation.”

“You doing traffic review now?”

“No. Just asking.”

“Then stop.”

Toby nodded.

Sarah watched him.

Not ally, she decided.

Not yet.

But not comfortable either.

Sometimes that mattered.

Boyd led her to a small holding cell at the end of the corridor.

Concrete bench.

Stainless steel toilet.

Scratched paint.

A camera in the corner.

He opened the door.

Sarah stepped inside.

The cuffs came off.

She rotated her wrists.

Boyd remained at the threshold.

“Maybe a couple hours in here will help your attitude.”

Sarah sat on the bench.

“You should preserve your dash-camera recording.”

Boyd's smile disappeared.

“What?”

“The recording of the stop. Preserve it.”

“You planning to tell me how to do my job?”

“No. I’m preventing you from later claiming you were unaware it mattered.”

Toby had followed them down the hall.

He stared at Sarah.

Something in her phrasing had changed the atmosphere.

Not a threat.

A deposition.

Boyd slammed the cell door.

“Enjoy your stay.”

He walked away.

Toby remained half a second longer.

Sarah looked at him.

“Deputy Miller.”

He stopped.

She had read his name tag once.

“Ma’am?”

“Please ensure the property log accurately reflects the secure communications device.”

Toby glanced toward Boyd’s retreating back.

“I’ll make sure everything’s listed.”

“Thank you.”

Sarah sat quietly.

Toby walked away.

Thirty minutes later, she asked for a telephone call.

Part II — The Red Phone

Boyd made her wait another eleven minutes.

Sarah knew because a wall clock hung directly across from the cell.

At 4:17 p.m., Toby returned.

“Sheriff says you can make your call.”

Sarah stood.

Boyd was sitting behind the booking counter drinking coffee when Toby brought her out.

“Calling your attorney or your mama?”

Sarah ignored him.

Toby set an old wired telephone on the counter.

“Local or long distance?”

“Long distance.”

Boyd smiled.

“Hope they accept collect calls.”

Sarah lifted the receiver.

Then she dialed twelve digits from memory.

Toby noticed.

Boyd did not.

The line clicked.

A neutral synthetic voice answered.

“Authentication required.”

Boyd slowly lowered his coffee cup.

Sarah’s posture changed.

The transformation was subtle but immediate.

At the roadside she had been a detained motorist.

In the holding cell she had been a prisoner documenting procedure.

Now her shoulders squared as if she had entered a command post.

“Echo Seven Tango Niner,” she said. “Authorization code Black Sky Four. Priority Flash.”

Toby stopped breathing for a moment.

The synthetic voice disappeared.

A human voice replaced it.

“National Military Command Center. Go ahead.”

Boyd stared.

Sarah’s tone became clean and precise.

“This is Brigadier General Sarah Hayes, United States Army. My encrypted communications device has been confiscated. I am presently being detained inside an unsecured local law-enforcement facility without lawful cause. Trace my device, notify General Thomas Reed, and initiate extraction protocol.”

Silence on the line.

Then:

“Confirm status, General.”

“Uninjured. Restrained during arrest. Device handled by unauthorized personnel. Facility designation Oak Haven Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Boyd Cleary detaining officer.”

Boyd stepped toward her.

“That’s enough.”

Sarah raised one finger without looking at him.

Boyd actually stopped.

The person on the other end asked another question.

Sarah answered.

“Unknown compromise. Treat device as exposed pending inspection.”

Another pause.

“Understood.”

Sarah’s gaze moved to the evidence tray behind Boyd.

“Also preserve local digital and video records immediately. There may be evidence integrity concerns.”

Boyd snatched the receiver from her hand.

“Call’s over.”

He slammed it down.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then Boyd laughed.

Too loudly.

“What was that?”

Sarah looked at him.

“My phone call.”

“You expect me to believe you’re a general?”

“I did not ask you to believe anything.”

Toby stared at the black device.

Boyd noticed.

“Oh, come on.”

He jabbed a finger toward Sarah.

“She’s playing you.”