The sound came from a secured communications unit installed inside a locked compartment of the Phantom. It wasn't a police siren or an alarm designed to frighten anyone. It was a warning tone associated with equipment I had been authorized to transport as part of a sensitive Army CID investigation.
The unit had lost its expected connection after Garrett damaged part of the vehicle's electrical system.
Under ordinary circumstances, that wouldn't have been an emergency by itself.
But I had already missed a scheduled check-in.
And the secure equipment had stopped reporting its normal status.
Miles looked toward the car, then at his watch.
His face changed.
"Garrett," he said, suddenly sounding much more urgent, "you need to stop right now."
Garrett released the retention strap on his handgun.
Across the fence, Ruth continued recording.
I forced myself not to move.
Then Miles raised his radio.
"Dispatch, this is Unit Twelve. Emergency traffic. I need a supervisor and state police at our location. We have an officer-involved use-of-force incident, a detained federal investigator, and a threatened civilian witness."
Garrett stared at him.
For the first time that afternoon, the deputy looked genuinely afraid.
But the real trouble hadn't arrived yet.
And the biggest secret wasn't the badge I carried.
It was the reason somebody had wanted my vehicle stopped on that particular highway.
Three hours earlier, my day had begun in a private conference room at a small hotel outside Fort Calhoun, a fictional Army installation located in the rolling country several counties away.
I had chosen the location because it was quiet, accessible, and suitable for an authorized confidential meeting with a civilian source. The hotel sat beside a commercial business park, far enough from the installation that our conversation wouldn't attract unnecessary attention. My supervisor had approved the meeting, and our evidence-handling procedures had been arranged before I ever left the office.
The woman sitting across from me was a thirty-nine-year-old civilian accountant employed by a defense logistics subcontractor.
She had spent six months trying to persuade somebody to examine suspicious payments passing through her employer's books. At first, she believed the company was merely overbilling the government. Then she discovered that several expensive shipments of military medical and communications equipment had been reported as delivered even though the receiving records did not match.
The discrepancies weren't small.
The suspected losses had reached several million dollars.
And the people signing the paperwork appeared to include individuals with access to military supply systems and private transportation contracts.
The accountant had brought carefully organized copies of records she was authorized to disclose to investigators. She was nervous, understandably so, and had asked that her identity be protected while the allegations were examined. I had spent most of the morning listening, asking questions, and distinguishing what she knew personally from what she suspected.