The system was doing exactly what it had been designed to do.
Keller had crossed a geofence forty minutes earlier.
The cruiser’s transponder had been observed from the moment the stop began.
The plate scan on Vance’s truck had triggered a second layer.
Then Keller manually ran his driver’s license.
That had triggered everything else.
The task force wanted to know whether a suspected patrol unit would behave differently when confronted with a protected identifier.
It had not.
Keller had behaved exactly as expected.
Worse, actually.
Vance said, “You’ve got about two minutes before this becomes very crowded.”
Keller stared.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
“Sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a schedule.”
Pike looked back toward the cruiser.
The terminal pinged again.
He ran to it.
Keller shouted, “Pike!”
The young deputy ignored him.
That was new.
Vance noticed.
So did Keller.
Pike leaned through the open passenger door.
His fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.
Then he stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Keller cursed and walked toward him.
“What?”
Pike backed away from the cruiser.
“Keller…”
“What?”
Pike looked at Vance.
Then his partner.
“There’s a federal task-force protection flag.”
Keller’s face went blank.
“What task force?”
Pike read.
“Interstate Public Integrity Coordination Group.”
Vance saw the moment Keller understood the phrase.
Public Integrity.
Not narcotics.
Not fugitive operations.
Not vehicle theft.
Corruption.
Keller looked at Vance.
“No.”
Vance pulled his phone from his shirt pocket.
This time Keller did not raise the baton.
The screen displayed an active encrypted call timer.
Seven minutes and twelve seconds.
A red location marker pulsed over the cruiser.
Keller stared.
Vance said quietly, “You turned your camera off.”
Keller’s face tightened.
“But not your cruiser.”
Pike whispered, “Oh, God.”
Vance looked toward the east.
Nothing yet.
Then came the engines.
Low.
Fast.
Two black Dodge Chargers crossed the median half a mile away.
Dry grass exploded beneath the tires.
Keller turned.
Pike stepped away from him.
The Chargers accelerated along the shoulder.
A third dark SUV appeared behind them.
Keller looked toward his own cruiser.
Then toward Vance’s truck.
His hand moved toward his vest.
The cash.
Vance saw the thought.
Get rid of it.
Keller reached inside.
Vance said, “Don’t.”
The deputy stopped.
“You don’t want to turn theft into evidence tampering.”
Keller stared at him.
“Who the hell are you?”
The first Charger braked behind the cruiser.
The second stopped at an angle ahead of Vance’s pickup, closing the shoulder.
Doors opened.
Men and women in plain clothes stepped out.
Badges visible.
Weapons holstered.
Nobody rushed.
That was intentional.
A gray-haired Black man in a dark suit emerged from the lead Charger.
Ellis Mercer.
Sixty-one.
Former Kansas Bureau of Investigation supervisor.
Now director of the task force’s western corridor operation.
He looked at Vance first.
Then at Keller.
Then at Pike.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Keller lifted his hands slightly.
“Mercer.”
Mercer stopped.