“Let’s see if she’s got any more speeches about the Constitution when she’s sitting on concrete.”
The cold steel clamped around Sarah’s wrists, clicking twice, three times, squeezed far tighter than necessary.Sarah did not utter a sound.
She did not scream, she did not plead, and she did not reveal her rank.
She could have ended it right there.
She could have said, “I am Major General Sarah Reynolds, Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics, United States Army. Call my headquarters immediately.”
But Sarah Reynolds had dedicated thirty years of her life to the military precisely because she believed in the founding principles of the republic.
She believed that the Constitution was not a shield reserved exclusively for high-ranking officers, politicians, or the powerful.
It belonged to every citizen walking the streets of the nation.
If a citizen could be thrown into a concrete box on a deserted highway simply for standing up for their rights, then the uniform she wore was meaningless.
She would let Sheriff Thomas Ryker dig his own grave using his own shovels.CHAPTER TWO: THE OAK HAVEN SHERIFF’S OFFICE
The Oak Haven County Sheriff’s Office was a squat, single-story cinderblock building constructed in the late 1970s.
Its exterior paint was peeling in long strips near the roofline, and the parking lot was cracked and overrun with crabgrass.
Sarah sat in the back of Deputy Miller’s patrol car during the eight-minute drive to the precinct.
Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, forcing her to sit at an awkward, painful angle, but her posture remained straight.
She watched the water towers and faded billboards of Oak Haven pass by.
Upon arrival, Miller opened the door and pulled her out by her upper arm.
They walked her through a side security entrance into the intake booking room.
The room smelled of stale coffee, industrial pine cleaner, and decades of sweat.
Behind a high Formica counter sat Dispatcher Brenda Lawson.
Brenda was fifty-six, with permed blonde hair that had begun to fade into gray, a faded blue cardigan draped over her shoulders, and a heavy brass chain holding her reading glasses around her neck.
She had been working the night and day shifts for Oak Haven County for twenty-two years.
Brenda looked up from her computer terminal as Ryker walked in, followed by Miller holding Sarah.“What we got, Thomas?”
Brenda asked, her voice flat with the boredom of a long shift.
“Got us a live one,” Ryker said, tossing Sarah’s driver’s license onto the counter.
“Disorderly, resisting, and throw in reckless driving.”
Brenda looked at the license, then glanced over her spectacles at Sarah.
Sarah stood quietly by the booking bench, her white linen blouse slightly wrinkled, her expression completely serene.
She did not look like the usual suspects Miller brought in—she wasn’t drunk, she wasn’t shouting, she wasn’t disheveled, and she wasn’t crying.
“Reckless driving?”
Brenda repeated, her pen hovering over the paper intake log.
“You didn’t put that on the radio dispatch, Jared.”
“She was swerving all over 119,” Ryker lied smoothly, taking a cup of cold coffee from the pot nearby.
“Endangering public safety.
Put it down.”
“I request permission to make a phone call to my legal counsel,” Sarah stated clearly, directing her statement toward Brenda.Ryker turned slowly, pointing a finger at Sarah’s face.
“You get a phone call when I say you get a phone call, lady.
Right now, you’re in my house, and you’re going to follow my rules.
Empty her pockets, Jared.”
Miller stepped up to Sarah.
“Items on your person?”
“I have a civilian smartphone in my front right pocket,” Sarah said.
“I also have a secure government mobile device in my inner left pocket.”
Miller reached into her pockets, pulling out her personal iPhone and a heavy, dark-gray, ruggedized smartphone with an encrypted sat-com antenna housing on the top edge.
On the back of the heavy phone was a small, laser-etched seal of the Department of Defense, along with a warning sticker: PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT. UNOFFICIAL USE PROHIBITED. IF FOUND, CALL INTEL HOTLINE IMMEDIATELY.
Miller didn’t even read the text.
To him, it looked like some outdated, bulky industrial phone used by truck drivers or construction foremen.
He threw both phones into a clear plastic property bag along with her wallet, car keys, and small leather handbag.
“Put her property in Box 4,” Ryker ordered.
He walked over to the booking counter, picked up a set of keys, and unlocked the heavy iron door leading down the central holding corridor.
“Sheriff,” Sarah said again, her voice firm.
“Under Georgia law, a detained individual is entitled to access legal representation within a reasonable timeframe.
I am formally requesting immediate contact with an attorney.”
Ryker leaned down until his eyes were level with hers.
He smiled, showing a row of yellowed teeth.
“You want a lawyer, Sarah?
You can talk to a public defender on Monday morning when the magistrate comes in.
Until then, you’re going to take a nice, long weekend break in Cell Four.
Maybe by Monday you’ll learn how to talk to law enforcement.”
He shoved her by the shoulder through the heavy metal door.