He didn't look for mom or lawyer. He tapped an app that looked like a simple calculator. He punched in a six-digit code. The screen shifted, turning a solid, alarming red.
A secure dialer interface appeared.
He pressed a single speed dial button labeled Archangel. It rang once. "This is Washington," Zeke said. "Status code black.
Location Oak Haven, Alabama.
I'm being detained by local law enforcement. Badge numbers?" He glanced at the metal on Dalton's chest. "492 and him?"
He looked at Carver. "510. Hostile extraction required.
Authorize override." There was a pause on the other end. Then a voice that sounded like gravel crunching under tires spoke. It wasn't a secretary.
It was General Colton Sterling, Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Zeke, are you compromised?" "Negative, physically.
But I'm in cuffs, General. They're seizing my device." "Put them on," the General said. The voice was so loud and commanding it distorted the tiny speaker.
Zeke looked at Dalton. "He wants to talk to you." Dalton rolled his eyes.
"Who is this? Your pimp?" He leaned toward the phone Carver was holding. "Listen here, whoever this is.
This is Sergeant Royce Dalton of the Oak Haven Sheriff's Department. Your boy here is in deep." "Sergeant Dalton," the voice cut him off.
It wasn't a shout. It was the terrifying calm of a man who commanded nuclear arsenals. "This is General Colton Sterling, United States Marine Corps. You are currently holding a Tier 1 asset of the United States government.
If you do not remove those handcuffs within the next few seconds, I will have Federal Marshals at your location.
And if they have to come get him, they will not be knocking." Dalton froze. He blinked. "General who?"
"Sterling. Look it up. You have a computer in that car, don't you, son?
Google it. I'll wait." Dalton looked at Zeke. He looked at the phone.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, cutting through the grease on his face. He snatched the phone from Carver.
"Hold on," Dalton muttered. He leaned into the cruiser, typing furiously on the laptop mounted to the dash. The screen loaded. The first image was a man in a dress uniform, chest heavy with ribbons, shaking hands with the president.
The face on the screen was the same voice on the phone.
Dalton's stomach dropped through the floor. He looked back at Zeke. Zeke was just watching him, an eyebrow slightly raised. "You know this guy?"
Dalton stammered into the phone. "Know him?" Sterling's voice crackled.
"I served with him. Now, sergeant, I am tracking your GPS. I see you are on Route 66. I am going to stay on this line.