"I'm opening the door," he said. "My hands will remain visible."
"Keep them where I can see them," Kirby snapped.
Toby stepped onto the pavement in a plain dark shirt and trousers, boots polished but unremarkable, shoulders relaxed. He stood a little over six feet tall and moved like someone who had been taught that hurrying unnecessarily could make a tense person even more nervous. Kirby looked him up and down, then pointed to the hood.
"Hands on the vehicle. Spread your feet."
Toby obeyed. The armored hood felt faintly warm beneath his palms, and beyond it he could see the traffic light changing from amber to red. He paid attention to details because details were the only things he could control at that moment.
"What exactly is the basis for this detention?" he asked.
"I decide that, not you."
"You may decide how to proceed, Officer, but the basis still matters."
Kirby began a rough pat-down. He moved quickly, pressing harder than necessary and giving little explanation of what he was checking. Toby remained still, allowing the search to finish while recording in his memory the order in which it occurred. When Kirby reached the authorized sidearm at his hip, the officer's whole manner brightened as though he had discovered the proof he had been missing.
"Well, look at that," Kirby said. "An armed man in a fake federal vehicle."
"The weapon is issued and authorized," Toby answered. "The same verification channel can confirm that."
"No visible carry permit. No normal registration. Funny how none of your paperwork exists where I can see it."
"The information exists," Toby said. "You haven't checked it."
Kirby removed the weapon, handled it with more confidence than care, and returned to his cuffs. "You're being detained until we figure out exactly what you're doing here."
Toby offered his wrists without resistance. The metal closed tightly, and the pressure told him Kirby had made no effort to check the fit once it was secured. For an instant he thought of his mother watching news footage of someone else's son being pushed against a vehicle. He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the fact that the encounter now had witnesses, a location, a time, and a set of decisions that could be reviewed.
"I am complying," Toby said. "Please make sure that is included in your report."
Kirby gave a short laugh. "You can tell your lawyer all about it."
He guided Toby to the rear of the cruiser with a hand between his shoulder blades. Toby sat inside the cramped back compartment, shoulders angled because of the cuffs, and watched the door close. Through the scratched partition he could see the Suburban sitting where he had left it, not damaged but now unattended at an operational position that was supposed to remain staffed.
The officer returned to the sidewalk and took out his phone. Toby saw him glance at the vehicle, smile to himself, and make a call that had nothing to do with verifying a federal credential. Outside the cruiser, the city went on making its ordinary Friday noises, unaware that a security assignment had just been interrupted over a plate the local database had already identified as federal.