“Nice stuff.”
Marcus said nothing.
Mercer picked up a sealed manila folder from the passenger footwell.
“That stays closed.”
Mercer looked at him.
“Why?”
“It contains work-related material.”
“Work?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Confidential.”
Mercer laughed.
“Now it’s confidential.”
He tore the folder open.
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
The material was sensitive but not classified, administrative copies connected to federal work that should not have been exposed in public.
Mercer flipped through the first pages.
Federal letterhead appeared.
He paused.
Danner saw it too.
“Sarge.”
Mercer looked at him.
“What?”
“That says—”
“Paper says lots of things.”
He tossed the documents onto the pavement.
Marcus’s voice changed.
“Stop.”
Mercer turned slowly.
“You don’t have the authority to scatter restricted federal records on a public roadway.”
“Federal?”
“Yes.”
“Government property again?”
“Yes.”
Mercer walked to the back of the SUV.
“Let me guess. Secret agent?”
Marcus did not answer.
Mercer opened the cargo door.
An emergency first-aid kit came out first.
Then road flares.
A compact tool set.
Communications accessories.