The target has entered the airport police operations area. And immediately afterwards, a flashing green message appeared: LIVE AUDIO CONNECTION ACTIVELY ACTIVATED.
Marcus wasn't sure if this ridiculous arrest would see through to the end. He didn't know how panicked Mercer would become, or whether Cole would actually break down and cooperate. But one thing he knew for sure: the operation had crossed a point of no return.
At 10:14 a.m., Senior Agent Diane Porter was standing in the field command post, a cup of cold coffee in her hand. A message appeared on the screen: They've brought the target inside.
Diane set down her coffee cup, her eyes fixed on the grid-tied surveillance screen. Marcus was sitting inside the airport police detention office. Mercer loomed behind him, his shadow falling like a dark cloud. Cole huddled against the wall, looking like a lifeless corpse. Everything—from the sharp images to the crystal-clear audio—was being recorded and stored directly on federal servers.
Diane turned to the group of agents in tactical armor, weapons at the ready. "Everyone hold your positions." A young agent frowned impatiently. "Sir, Hail is being held captive." "I know." "Why aren't we raiding immediately?" "Because we need the entire chain of evidence intact."
They had been waiting for this moment for five long months. Rushing in too early could create legal loopholes. Corrupt officers could hire lawyers to accuse the FBI of entrapment or improper interference. But if they raided too late, Mercer—a cunning old fox—could destroy the evidence.
Diane held her breath, watching the screen. Inside the room, Mercer approached a steel filing cabinet. He unlocked it, revealing dozens of sealed envelopes containing evidence. He roughly pulled out a brown envelope. Cole blinked, watching him. Mercer tossed the envelope to Cole, who caught it, turning it over and over to examine the seal. Then he looked up at Marcus, his eyes filled with bewilderment. "Where did this come from?" Cole asked timidly. Mercer growled, his voice thick with menace: "Don't ask so many questions."
Cole still clutched the envelope tightly, his fingers trembling so much that the paper rustled. Marcus didn't miss that detail. "Officer Cole." Marcus's voice was soft but carried immense weight. Cole looked up at him with lifeless eyes. "Put it down on the table."
Mercer yelled furiously, "Don't do as he says!" But Marcus remained unfazed, repeating in a hypnotic tone, "Put it down on the table."
Cole stood hesitating between obedience and fear. His mind was torn. Finally, his hands dropped, and he gently placed the envelope down on the table.
Mercer lunged forward, grabbing it like a hungry beast. "You'll have to follow my procedures!" Cole looked at his commander, his eyes reflecting a weak but desperate resistance. "What procedures?" The question stunned Mercer. Cole continued, his voice choked with resentment, "You yourself taught me never to question anything."
Mercer stepped closer, pressing his face against Cole's, spitting with each word: "Because stupid questions will get you into trouble." Cole laughed, a chillingly bitter laugh. "Perhaps that's the problem."
SLAP! A thunderous slap landed squarely on Cole's face. The dry, sharp sound echoed against the narrow walls. Marcus remained seated, watching.
Cole staggered back, clutching his cheek where the red marks of fingers were imprinted. "You... you hit me?" Mercer pointed his rough finger directly at his face. "You're finished, you bastard." Cole glared at him, a fire of liberation beginning to burn in his weary eyes. Then he turned to Marcus. "I'll testify." Mercer froze. "What?" Cole's voice trembled but held an unprecedented determination: "I'll testify against you in court."
At that very moment, the iron door burst open. Agent Diane Porter strode in, followed closely by six heavily armed federal agents in bright yellow FBI-branded windbreakers. The airport security personnel standing outside the corridor recoiled in fear, not daring to move.
Diane strode directly in front of Mercer, her demeanor commanding and overwhelming. "Sergeant Dale Mercer?" Mercer's eyes widened, his jaw agape. "Yes...?" "I am Senior Agent Diane Porter, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Mercer glanced nervously out the hallway crowded with federal agents, then stared intently at Marcus.
Diane declared emphatically, "You are under arrest pending indictment on federal charges." Mercer tried to salvage his last shred of dignity with a sneer. "On what stupid basis?" Diane pulled a stack of papers wrapped in a plastic bag from her breast pocket. "Based on a federal arrest warrant for forgery and destruction of evidence."
Mercer's smile vanished. "I'm a police officer under the jurisdiction of this airport!" "So what?" Diane retorted coldly. "You can't just barge in here as if it's your own place." "We have a warrant from the federal court." Diane pointed her shoe at the envelope lying on the table. "And you're forbidden to touch it." Mercer took a step back, raising his hands in the air. In the corner, Cole let out a long sigh, his face showing a clear sense of relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Diane turned to look at her colleague. "Agent Hail." Marcus stood up, adjusting his collar. "Good morning, Diane." Mercer rolled her eyes, pointing at Marcus. "Hail? You...?" "Yes," Marcus replied curtly. "You lied about your name!" "I only use a pseudonym while on duty." "You deliberately set us up!" Mercer yelled indignantly.
Marcus slowly approached him, his deep eyes seeing through all his guilt. "Not at all." Mercer shook his head wildly. "You entered this airport with the sole purpose of making us out to be guilty." Marcus replied, his voice like a death knell: "You have made yourselves guilty."
That statement resonated deeply with Mercer. Later, prosecutors would repeat it dozens of times in court. Journalists would use it as the headline for sensational investigative reports on the front page. But at that moment, in this cramped room, it simply marked the end of a criminal empire.
FBI field technicians swarmed the room. They carefully picked up each package of evidence and placed it in a sealed bag. They photographed every square meter of the room. They photographed the suitcase, the items inside, even the red marks on Marcus's wrists left by the handcuffs. They sealed every filing cabinet, every computer, every phone, and every access card.
Mercer's personal phone was immediately placed in a Faraday shield to prevent remote data deletion. Cole voluntarily handed over his phone along with the password. Mercer initially tried to resist, but Diane leaned close to his ear and whispered, "If you make any attempt to destroy evidence, I will gladly add the charge of obstructing a law enforcement officer to your sentence." Mercer immediately stood still and obediently.
Within twenty minutes, the tech experts had successfully recovered the deleted messages between Mercer and Cole. Within an hour, they had apprehended three more forensic technicians implicated in the case. Within three hours, they had uncovered a series of records detailing stolen drug shipments. By evening, they had identified twenty-three passengers who appeared to have been wrongly framed. And by midnight, that number had soared to thirty-eight.