“They’re trying to spin it, Mama,” Isaiah said. His voice was tired but determined. “Making me out to be the threat.”
“Let them try,” Lillian said, her voice hardening. “Truth shows itself in time.”
She paused, debating whether to mention the threats.
Not yet.
He had enough to handle.
Outside her window, a car drove past slowly, its occupants staring at her house. She drew the curtains with practiced casualness.
In the parking lot of his hotel, Isaiah sat in his rental car, scrolling through endless social media posts about the incident. New angles of footage appeared hourly: his medals skittering across the floor, Hargrove’s sneer, the crowd’s shocked faces.
A notification popped up. Hargrove’s interview was trending.
Isaiah watched his attacker defend the assault with rehearsed phrases about officer safety and proper procedure.
His phone buzzed with a text from Angela Ruiz, the TSA supervisor.
They’re trying to bury my incident report. Document everything.
Isaiah opened his evidence log, cataloging the items returned after his release.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone.
Mother’s gift.
Damaged uniform items.
He frowned, scrolling back through the list.
Something nagged at his training-sharpened mind.
The encrypted device.
Small, flat, designed to look like a common power bank, standard issue for sensitive transport missions. He had carried it in his inner uniform pocket when Hargrove took him down.
It was not listed in the returned items.
He checked the evidence forms again methodically.
Nothing.
The device containing sensitive defense data was missing.
Isaiah’s pulse quickened, but his face remained composed. Years of training had taught him to process threats without revealing awareness. He reviewed the viral footage again, focusing now on Mercer’s hands as they searched him.
The young officer had definitely removed something from his uniform pocket.
But where was it now?
More cars pulled into the hotel parking lot. News vans, their satellite dishes raised like periscopes. They had found his hotel. The media frenzy was about to begin another cycle.
In the rearview mirror, Isaiah studied his reflection. The bruises were darkening, telling their own story. But now there was something bigger at play.
The missing device was not just evidence of police misconduct anymore.
It was a national security breach.
Isaiah’s fingers hovered over his phone’s keypad in the darkened rental car. The weight of what he was about to report settled heavily in his chest.
He dialed Admiral Caldwell’s direct line, a number few had access to.
“Caldwell,” came the crisp answer on the first ring.
“Admiral, Commander Rollins. We have a situation.”
Isaiah kept his voice low, scanning the parking lot where news vans continued to gather.
“The encrypted transport device wasn’t returned with my personal effects.”
A long pause followed. When Caldwell spoke again, his tone had shifted from administrative to tactical.
“Say again, Commander.”
“The device is missing, sir. Not listed in any of the return documentation.”
A sharp breath came through the line.
“That device contains operational data for…”
Caldwell caught himself.
“Hold for verification.”
Isaiah waited, watching a reporter set up a camera tripod near his car. He slouched lower in his seat, though the tinted windows provided some cover. His mind raced through the arrest sequence. Hargrove’s takedown. Mercer’s search. The evidence processing.
Caldwell’s voice returned, tight with controlled urgency.
“Device was logged into airport police evidence at 1847 hours. Signing officer: K. Mercer.”
“Mercer,” Isaiah repeated, remembering the young officer’s nervous energy during the search. “He conducted the initial pat-down.”
“I’m activating federal retrieval protocols now. This elevates everything.”
More typing sounded through the phone.
“Our cyber team confirms no unauthorized access attempts on the encrypted channels. But that doesn’t mean—”
“Permission to investigate locally, sir,” Isaiah interrupted, his training already mapping out a careful approach. “I can be back at the station in fifteen minutes.”
“Negative, Commander. Pentagon oversight is en route. Stand down and maintain—”
“Sir,” Isaiah said, still respectful but firm. “By the time oversight arrives, that device could be anywhere. You know my capabilities. Let me do what I’m trained for.”
Another pause. Isaiah could almost hear the admiral weighing operational security against time sensitivity.
“You have one hour,” Caldwell finally said. “Reconnaissance only. Do not engage. The moment our team arrives, you step back. Clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
Isaiah ended the call and started the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, two news vans attempted to follow. He used careful route changes and traffic timing to lose them before heading back toward the airport police station.
The station sat in a separate building from the main terminal, a squat concrete structure with high security fencing. Isaiah parked in the public lot, noting camera positions and guard rotations, automatic threat assessment ingrained from years of missions.
Inside, fluorescent lights hummed overhead as he approached the front desk. The night shift clerk looked up, recognition flickering across her face.
“I need to review the evidence inventory from my arrest,” Isaiah said, placing his military ID on the counter. “Specifically items logged at 1847 hours by Officer Mercer.”
“Sir, evidence requests require federal authorization.”
Isaiah slid a document across the counter, emergency access credentials Caldwell had just texted him.