Kendrick swayed on his feet, grabbing the table for support. Fifty-eight years. It was a life sentence in all but name.
"Sheriff Voss," Caldwell continued. "As the ringleader, you betrayed every officer who wears a badge. You are sentenced to life in federal prison without the possibility of parole." The gavel banged. It sounded like a gunshot.
But the true hard karma wasn't just the time. It was the destination. As the bailiffs led them away, Lieutenant Commander Lang leaned over to the defense table and handed Thorn a piece of paper. "Transfer orders," Lang said with a grim smile.
"Where are they going?" Thorn asked, packing his briefcase, already mentally moving on to his next client. "Low security? Club Fed?" "No," Lang said.
"The Bureau of Prisons has designated them high risk due to their law-enforcement background. They can't be in general population with the gangs they arrested, so they are being sent to a special protective administrative unit." "Where?" "Leavenworth," Lang said.
Kendrick froze at the door. He heard Lang. "Leavenworth," Kendrick whispered. Darius walked up to the railing. He looked Kendrick in the eye one last time.
"It's a tough facility, Deputy," Darius said softly. "The guards are all MPs, Marines, Army Rangers, Navy Masters-at-Arms, men and women who wear the uniform you spat on." Kendrick's eyes widened in absolute terror. He wasn't going to a prison where he would be a cop among criminals. He was going to a prison where he would be the man who disgraced the flag, guarded by the men and women who defended it.
Every day for the next fifty-eight years, he would have to look into the eyes of a soldier and remember the mistake he made at pump number four.
"Enjoy the stay," Darius said. Kendrick was dragged out, his legs giving way, screaming as the heavy oak doors swallowed him whole.
Days later, the sun was setting over the Oak Haven Veterans Cemetery. The air was cool, the heat wave finally breaking. Commander Darius Kane stood before a fresh grave. The headstone was simple white marble: Master Chief Petty Officer Thomas Langford, U.S. Navy SEAL.
The only easy day was yesterday.
Darius was alone. The media trucks were gone. The lawyers were gone. It was just him and the memory of the man who had taught him everything. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Trident pin.
It was the same one Kendrick had pried off. Darius had straightened the needle, but the gold still bore a small scratch, a scar from the battle. He knelt down and pressed the Trident into the soft earth at the base of the headstone.
"Sorry I was late, Chief," Darius whispered. "Ran into a little trouble on the road, but I handled it." He stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees. He adjusted his cover, snapped a slow, perfect salute to the grave, and turned to walk back to his car.
He didn't look back. The war was over. The uniform was clean, and justice, though it had taken the scenic route, had finally arrived.