Before Travis could lunge forward with the cuffs, the radio mounted on his shoulder burst into life with a piercing alert tone that overrode all standard precinct communications.
“All units in Sector 4, hold positions immediately. Be advised, federal tactical units are entering Metro Park via the North Access Road. Command authority has been assumed by Executive Protection Detail. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage.”
Travis froze, his fingers still wrapped around his steel handcuffs. He stared at his radio, then at his partner. "What the hell is dispatch talking about?"
Before Melissa could answer, the roar of heavy V8 engines thundered down the narrow park access path. Three matte-black armored Chevrolet Suburbans tore onto the pedestrian walkway, mounted tires tearing through the carefully manicured lawn. They swerved with military precision, sliding into a tight defensive triangle that completely cut off the fountain area, trapping Travis’s patrol car between them.
The doors flew open in unison. Eight heavily armed agents wearing tactical gear with no precinct markings leaped out, automatic rifles raised in low-ready positions, securing a perimeter within seconds.
Pedestrians scattered in terror, while Travis backed away, his face instantly draining of color. "What is this?! Who authorized this?!"
From the rear passenger seat of the center Suburban stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark tailored overcoat. His hair was silver, his jaw was set like granite, and his eyes burned with an terrifying intensity. It was General Marcus Monroe, the Director of National Security Operations—one of the most powerful military intelligence figures in the United States government.
Travis put a hand on his holster instinctively. "Stand down! This is a local police scene!"