The call went to a towing company that had handled ordinary impounds for the Meridian Police Department for years. Kirby asked for a heavy-duty flatbed, told the dispatcher the vehicle was large, and added that the owner was already secured in his cruiser. He did not mention the federal exemption flag, the credential he had been shown, or the request to contact an agency liaison. The omission mattered because the tow dispatcher was trying to determine what equipment the assignment required and what the company was being asked to assume responsibility for.
"Big SUV," Kirby said. "Nothing unusual. Just needs to be moved."
The dispatcher asked whether the vehicle had been properly cleared for an impound. Kirby answered that he was the officer on scene and had made the decision. He spoke with the casual impatience of someone who believed the question was administrative clutter. After the call, he returned to his cruiser and began writing notes, moving between the mobile terminal and a yellow pad on his lap.
Toby watched the officer's fingers through the partition. He could not see the words, but he understood what a report looked like while it was being assembled under the pressure of embarrassment. The most important facts had already occurred in a sequence that would be difficult to change: the registration system indicated federal status, Kirby had been shown a credential, no verification had been completed, and the detention came anyway. An accurate account would need to contain those things whether Kirby liked them or not.
He leaned slightly forward. "Officer Kirby, I need you to hear me before the tow truck arrives."
Kirby glanced over his shoulder. "You suddenly decide to cooperate?"
"I have cooperated with every physical instruction. The vehicle is an active federal security asset. I am asking you to stop the tow and contact your supervisor or liaison. You can verify everything without releasing me first."
"You already told me your story."
"It isn't a story. And this can still be resolved without anyone getting hurt or anything being damaged."
Kirby shook his head. "Funny how everybody finds a reason to be important when a tow truck's on the way."
A city bus passed close enough to rattle the cruiser, and Toby waited for its noise to fade. The temptation to say something cutting rose in him and passed. Kirby wanted a contest in which the person who spoke loudest won, and Toby knew he would gain nothing by accepting those rules. He settled back against the seat and concentrated on breathing evenly.
In his earpiece, Nadia requested another status acknowledgment. Toby made a minimal movement that did not produce the expected response, and the radio fell quiet. He knew a missed acknowledgment would cause the team to increase its concern, but the larger operation could not be jeopardized merely to spare him an unpleasant encounter. He hoped the coordinator would treat the interruption as a problem needing evaluation rather than a reason to rush armed people into an ordinary street.