“My military discharge papers.”
“Irrelevant,” Whitlock waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever you did in the Army—peeling potatoes, driving supply trucks—it doesn’t matter here. This is the real world. Sign the paper.”
BOOM.
The heavy steel door of the precinct’s holding area down the hall slammed open with enough force to shake the cinder block walls.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Reed stood up, his hand reflexively reaching for his weapon.
Voices were shouting in the hallway. Not police voices. These were louder, deeper, absolute authoritative voices.
“FEDERAL AGENT! STAND DOWN! STEP AWAY FROM THE DOOR!”
The door to the interrogation room was kicked open.
Two men in full tactical gear carrying M4 carbines stepped into the room, scanning the corners instantly, their weapons at the low-ready. They were followed by a man in a crisp Army green service uniform. Three silver stars glistened on his shoulder boards.
Lieutenant General Marcus Halloway.
Reed’s jaw dropped. He instinctively took his hand off his gun and raised his hands in surrender.
Whitlock looked confused, then deeply annoyed. “Excuse me!” Whitlock shouted, trying to assert his corporate dominance. “This is a private legal interrogation! You can’t just barge in here. Do you know who my client is?”
General Halloway ignored the lawyer completely. He walked straight to Harper, who was still cuffed to the table. The General, a man who commanded the United States Special Operations Command, stopped in front of the nurse. He snapped to attention.
“Major,” Halloway said, his voice echoing in the small room.
“General,” Harper replied.
“Get these cuffs off her,” Halloway ordered, glancing at Reed with eyes that promised violence. “Now.”
“Now wait a minute!” Whitlock stepped between them, his face turning red. “She is under arrest for assaulting a prominent surgeon! You have no jurisdiction here!”
Halloway turned to Whitlock. The look he gave the lawyer was the kind of look usually reserved for enemy combatants.
“Jurisdiction?” Halloway’s voice was low and terrifyingly calm. “Son, this woman is a protected Tier-1 asset of the United States government. The man she ‘assaulted’ nearly killed a highly decorated Master Sergeant who is currently under my protection. And you?” Halloway poked a finger into Whitlock’s expensive chest. “Are interfering with a federal investigation into medical malpractice and negligence affecting a United States service member.”
“Medical malpractice?” Whitlock stammered, the blood draining from his face.
“Unlock her,” Halloway barked at Reed.
Reed fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking so badly he dropped them once before managing to unlock the handcuffs.
Harper stood up, rubbing her raw wrists.
“Did they harm you, Major?” Halloway asked.
“Negative, sir,” Harper said. “Just wasted my time.”
“Good,” Halloway said. “We have a chopper waiting at the helipad. Knox is awake. He’s asking for you.”
Harper turned to Whitlock, who was now pale and sweating profusely. She leaned in close, tossing the unsigned NDA onto his briefcase.
“Tell Preston,” Harper said, her eyes gleaming, “that the bug just hit back.”
The rooftop of Seattle Grace Memorial had been converted into a temporary military command post.
