Chapter 4 - THE CALL
Before Voss could respond, a sudden, loud vibration echoed across the hard laminate surface of the booking desk.
Amara’s black smartphone—lying next to her unpacked notebook and car keys—was buzzing violently against the wood, its screen illuminating with a high-priority incoming call notification.
The display read: UNKNOWN - RESTRICTED LINE.
The phone stopped buzzing for two seconds, then instantly began vibrating again. Then again. A relentless, non-stop sequence of incoming calls bypassing standard network queues.
Carter looked from the screen to Amara, then at his sheriff.
Voss was sweating profusely now, his hand twitching near his belt holster, his mind frantically trying to calculate a way out of the legal sandtrap he had just dug for himself.
"Give her the phone, Carter," Amara ordered smoothly.
Carter didn't ask Voss for permission. He picked up the vibrating smartphone and held it carefully against Amara’s ear while her hands remained locked securely behind her back in Voss’s handcuffs.
Amara accepted the call with a single word.
"Whitlock."
From the small phone speaker, a sharp, authoritative voice resonated—a voice accustomed to commanding entire carrier strike groups and theater-level logistics networks.
"Colonel Whitlock, where the hell are you?" the voice demanded, the audio crisp despite the speakerphone compression. "Your escort vehicle has been waiting at the regional airfield for twenty minutes. The Pentagon briefing is scheduled for zero-nine-hundred."
Amara kept her gaze fixed directly on Voss’s wide, terrified eyes. She didn't blink. She didn't raise her voice.
"I am currently at the Oakhaven County Sheriff’s Office," Amara reported flatly. "I was arrested five minutes ago at a local diner."
Silence heavy as lead hung over the phone line for two full seconds.
"You were what?" the voice on the phone asked, the tone dropping into a dangerous, icy register.
"Arrested," Amara repeated. "Charges listed as armed theft, resisting arrest, and obstruction. I am currently handcuffed at the booking counter."
Voss’s face turned completely white. A sudden wave of panic surged through his chest. He lunged forward, extending a thick arm toward the desk.
"Give me that phone!" Voss bellowed, trying to grab the smartphone from Carter’s hand to cut the line. "This is a local police matter! You don't get to make calls during—"
Before Voss’s fingers could touch the device, Deputy Carter did something he had never done in his four years on the force.
He stepped directly into Sheriff Voss’s path, placing his hand firmly against his commander's broad chest and shoving him back.
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"Sheriff... stop!" Carter yelled, his voice echoing through the small room. "Stop touching her! Stop talking!"
Voss stared at his deputy in absolute disbelief, his mouth agape as he realized his absolute grip on his own department was shattering in real-time.
