“This should cover it.”
The clerk examined the paperwork, made a call, then buzzed him through to the evidence processing area.
The room smelled of dust and old paper. Metal shelving units stretched into the shadows.
“Records terminal is here,” she said, gesturing to an old computer. “I’ll need to supervise your search.”
Isaiah nodded, fingers moving efficiently across the keyboard. He pulled up the day’s logs, scanning for Mercer’s badge number.
The timeline emerged in green text.
1835: initial evidence intake.
1847: device logged into storage.
2012: device signed out by Mercer.
Isaiah checked his watch.
The device had been out of secure storage for more than two hours.
“I need to know where Officer Mercer took this item,” he said, pointing to the entry.
The clerk peered at the screen.
“Says here it was transferred to external technical analysis.”
“At this hour? What facility?”
She shrugged.
“Above my clearance. You’d have to ask Officer Mercer directly.”
Isaiah stood, jaw tight.
“Thank you for your assistance.”
Outside, he updated Caldwell while walking to his car.
“Device was removed from evidence two hours ago. Mercer logged it for external analysis, but no destination facility is listed.”
“That’s not protocol,” Caldwell growled. “No authorized analysis would happen off-site, especially not at night. Our team is twenty minutes out. Hold position.”
A police cruiser pulled into the lot, lights off. Through the windshield, Isaiah recognized Officer Mercer’s profile. The young officer parked and hurried inside, carrying what looked like a laptop bag.
“Sir,” Isaiah said, “Mercer just returned to the station. Request permission to maintain surveillance.”
“Granted, but do not engage. I repeat, do not—”
Isaiah ended the call, sliding deeper into the shadows near the building’s side entrance. His trained eyes tracked Mercer through the windows as the officer moved through the station.
Something about his body language set off warning bells.
The furtive glances.
The too-casual pace.
Through the evidence room window, Isaiah watched Mercer approach the clerk’s desk. Their conversation was brief. The clerk checked something on her computer, then shook her head.
Mercer’s shoulders tensed. He turned quickly and left through a different door, still carrying the laptop bag.
Isaiah’s phone vibrated.
A message from Caldwell.
Federal team five minutes out. Hold position.
But Isaiah’s instinct screamed that in five minutes, whatever was happening would be too late to stop.
He watched Mercer’s retreating figure, remembering the young officer’s face during the arrest, the flicker of doubt before following Hargrove’s orders.
The evidence clerk’s voice drifted through the window as she made a call.
“Yeah, Officer Mercer just tried to backdate a transfer log. Said he needed to add a destination facility.”
She paused, listening.
“No, I told him the system doesn’t work that way. He left kind of weird.”
Isaiah’s muscles coiled with practiced readiness.
The missing device was vital to active military operations. If it had been compromised, the consequences could reach far beyond one airport police station.
He touched his phone, considering one last check with Caldwell.
But sometimes in the field, hesitation meant mission failure.
He moved silently through the shadows, following Mercer’s path while maintaining his distance.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the empty hallway as Officer Mercer emerged from the office. His head was down, focused on the laptop bag clutched against his chest.
When he looked up and saw Isaiah standing there, he stumbled backward, face draining of color.
“Commander,” Mercer whispered, eyes darting to the nearest exit.
Isaiah remained motionless, his presence filling the narrow corridor. He did not speak, letting the silence build pressure.
It was an interrogation technique he had learned years ago. Sometimes the best way to get someone talking was to say nothing at all.
Mercer’s hand trembled as he adjusted his grip on the bag.
“I… I was just…”
“The encrypted device,” Isaiah said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of authority without raising its volume. “Where is it?”
Sweat beaded on Mercer’s forehead. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Isaiah. The young officer’s chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths.
“I can’t,” Mercer said, swallowing hard. “Sergeant Hargrove said…”
“Hargrove isn’t here,” Isaiah interrupted. “It’s just you and me. And right now, you’re holding classified military hardware that was removed from evidence without authorization.”
He took one step forward.
“That’s a federal offense.”
Mercer’s shoulders slumped.
“He told me to take it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Said we needed insurance. Leverage. In case you tried to make trouble about the arrest.”
Isaiah studied the younger man’s face, reading the conflict there.
“Walk with me,” he said, gesturing toward an empty breakroom nearby.
Mercer hesitated, then followed.