"You just slipped a forged piece of evidence... into the luggage of someone you shouldn't have touched."
That's when his confidence began to crumble. For the first time since the start of his shift, a look of utter panic appeared on Ryan Cole's pale face. He took half a step back.
But Mercer still tried to salvage his arrogance. He recovered quickly. "What the hell did you just say?"
Marcus glanced at his suitcase, then shifted his gaze to Cole, fixing him in place. "You heard me perfectly well."
At that moment, due to Marcus's movement, the hem of his polo shirt lifted slightly. Mercer's eyes inadvertently caught sight of the edge of the leather card holder. He frowned, reached out, pulled it forcefully from his belt, and flipped it open.
Under the fluorescent lights, the solid gold badge bearing the FBI's eagle gleamed with majesty.
Mercer's expression changed abruptly. His jaw tightened. But the survival instinct of a criminal disguised as a police officer forced him to deny the truth. He forced out a dry laugh. "A fake."
Marcus's eyes narrowed, cold. "Go ahead and check the card numbers." "I don't need orders from a drug dealer!" Mercer roared, trying to make his voice louder to drown out the fear creeping in. "You really should verify it." Marcus emphasized each word.
Mercer slammed the card onto the metal table, creating a jarring noise. "You're guilty of impersonating a federal officer."
Cole, now sweating profusely, stepped closer. "Dale... wait..." Mercer interrupted his colleague. He pulled handcuffs from his belt.
Marcus maintained his eerily calm demeanor. He subtly extended his hands forward. "Handcuff me." Mercer was stunned. Marcus continued, his voice even, as if pronouncing a sentence: "Handcuff me. Then, explain why your colleague secretly slipped this packet of powder into my suitcase."
The atmosphere around Lane Seven instantly froze. The surrounding passengers held their breath. Cole took a step forward, trembling: "Watch your mouth."
Marcus turned sharply to look directly into Cole's shattered soul. "I saw your hand. Very clearly."
Cole's face was drained of all color. He stood frozen. Mercer, furious, grabbed Marcus's arm and yanked it hard. Marcus let him turn him around. He didn't resist. He didn't struggle. He didn't raise his voice. He let the cold metal of the handcuffs tighten around his right wrist. Then his left wrist.
"Tighten your grip," Marcus whispered. Mercer froze. He had never faced a situation like this. The guilty usually wept and pleaded. The innocent usually screamed and resisted indignantly. But this man... he spoke with the tone of an inspector documenting the crimes of the very people he was holding captive.
Mercer gritted his teeth, pressing the handcuffs down hard, causing them to click loudly. "You can't scare anyone."
Marcus slowly raised his head, his gaze directed toward the nearest black dome-shaped camera on the ceiling. "No," he smiled, a faint but haunting smile. "I don't need to scare you. Those cameras... they'll do the work later."
Cole gasped, his gaze fixed on the ceiling in panic. The dark sphere of Lane Seven was pointed directly at them. Then he looked at the second camera in the corner. Then the third one on the pillar. His breathing became ragged, his chest heaving violently. "Dale..." Mercer yelled, cold sweat beading on his forehead, "Don't lose your composure! This bastard is just bluffering!" "He knows," Cole stammered. "He knows everything." "Everyone knows there are cameras here!" Mercer tried to justify. "No," Cole whispered desperately. "He knows about the evidence package..."
Marcus turned around, looking directly at the young officer. "Officer Cole." Cole froze like an animal caught in a spotlight. Marcus raised his voice loud enough for the microphone to pick up every word: "The package of drugs you just dropped into my briefcase was retrieved from Evidence Lot 24-1187."
Mercer's face hardened like a melting wax mask. Marcus continued his devastating psychological onslaught: "That shipment was seized six weeks ago from a suspicious vehicle on Peachtree Industrial Avenue."
Cole staggered back a step. "How... how do you know that?" Marcus looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. "Because I personally read the evidence file." Mercer tried to protest in vain: "You're only reading the label on this package." "The weight isn't printed on the label," Marcus retorted immediately.
Silence enveloped the space. The noise of the airport seemed to be sucked away. Marcus continued his hammer blows to their minds: "The initial shipment that was seized consisted of twelve packages." Mercer stared at him. "But the central evidence room only received... eleven packages." Cole's face turned as white as a sheet. Marcus shifted his razor-sharp gaze to Mercer. "The missing package weighs exactly eighty-four grams." He gestured slightly with his chin towards the plastic bag on the table. "And that package of drugs... weighs exactly eighty-four grams."
At this point, Mercer finally understood what was happening. This wasn't an ordinary passenger. This wasn't some unlucky businessman. This wasn't a random inspection that would benefit them.
This was a perfect trap. A spiderweb had been spun. And they, with their greed and arrogance, willingly walked straight into the center of the web.