Story code: ST-000432
Part 2: The Mandate
The second man’s hand closed over the fabric of her tailored jacket, his thick fingers digging hard into the wool blend. Kel reacted on pure, ingrained muscle memory. She dropped her left shoulder just a fraction of an inch, rotated her hips, and brushed his heavy forearm away with a sharp, upward parry. She didn’t strike him, intentionally keeping her hands open and visible to avoid presenting a lethal threat, but the sheer speed and kinetic force of the deflection broke his grip instantly.
The investigator stumbled back half a step, his polished shoes squeaking sharply against the waxed linoleum. His professional detachment vanished, replaced immediately by the flushed, wide-eyed look of wounded pride. His right hand instinctively dropped toward his hip, the navy blazer sweeping back just enough to reveal the dark, checkered grip of a holstered sidearm.
“Do not touch me,” Kel said. She kept her voice tightly controlled, raising the volume just enough to carry down the hall, projecting the outrage of a respected citizen rather than the tactical readiness of a soldier.
The heavy double doors of the gymnasium swung open, and a trio of elderly men wearing oversized veteran caps stepped out, chuckling at a shared joke. They froze, taking in the scene of their newly minted hometown hero backed against the cinderblock wall by two aggressive strangers.
The first man didn’t miss a beat. He smoothly angled his broad shoulders to block the veterans’ view, reaching into his inner pocket with his free hand. He flipped open a leather wallet, letting a silver badge catch the harsh fluorescent overhead lights. “State Investigations. Please return to the auditorium, gentlemen. We have a minor security situation to clear.”
The veterans hesitated, glancing at Kel, but the sheer authority in the investigator’s voice, coupled with the intimidating badge, won out. They muttered apologies and shuffled back into the loud, brass-filled sanctuary of the rally. The gymnasium doors clicked shut, severing Kel’s only visual lifeline to the public. The brightly lit hallway felt suddenly colder, the isolation absolute.
“Against the wall,” the second man growled, stepping forward again, his hand hovering dangerously close to his weapon. “We know exactly who you are, Major. And we know what you’re doing.”
Kel calculated her rapidly shrinking options. The tablet in the first man’s hand was still pulsing its silent, damning rhythm, locked onto the encrypted burner phone in her right pocket. The phone was the digital anchor dragging her down.
“I don’t know what you think you’re tracking,” Kel said, maintaining her mask of indignant confusion. She slowly reached into her right pocket with two fingers, telegraphing every millimeter of movement to ensure they didn’t draw their weapons. “But if it’s this…”
She pulled out the thick, black-cased burner phone and tossed it onto the tiled floor between them. The device clattered loudly against the baseboards. On the first man’s tablet, the pulsing crimson circle immediately detached from Kel’s location, sliding over to the edge of the digital map where the physical phone now lay.
“There,” Kel said, raising her hands to shoulder height, though she kept her left elbow pinned tightly to her ribs, securing the hidden blister packs. “You found a phone someone slipped into my pocket while I was shaking hands in the crowd. Are we done? I’d like to use the restroom before the reception.”
The first man crouched and scooped up the burner. He didn’t look convinced. He tapped a rapid sequence onto his tablet, syncing it directly with the physical device. Lines of scrolling code cascaded down his screen, reflecting in his dark eyes.
“Nice try,” he murmured, his thumb swiping across the intercepted data. “But this device is transmitting a highly restricted handshake protocol. It’s the exact encrypted frequency our cyber division has been hunting for three months. And the internal pedometer and geolocation data put it right on the stage with you ten minutes ago, pacing back and forth during the mayor’s speech.”
The second man stepped closer, invading her personal space, his breath smelling faintly of stale coffee and peppermint. “We aren’t just here for the comms, hero. We want the cargo. Jacket off. Now.”
“I am not stripping in a public hallway for two un-uniformed men who haven’t cited a warrant,” Kel said, her heart hammering against her ribs, vibrating right through the concealed foil. Removing the jacket was out of the question. The custom tear-away seam would be obvious the second they handled the garment, and the contraband inside carried a mandatory minimum of fifteen years.
“Article 4 of the new State Health Mandate,” the first man said, not bothering to look up from the tablet. “Warrantless searches are pre-authorized for any suspected carriers of prohibited medical agents. Take off the jacket, or we will physically remove it for you.”
Before Kel could formulate a physical counter-move, the burner phone in the first man’s hand buzzed violently. The locked screen illuminated the dim space between them.
Kel’s breath caught in her throat. She had given her client-a terrified nineteen-year-old college student named Maya-strict, unambiguous orders never to text unless it was a matter of life and death.
The investigator tilted the screen toward himself, his eyes scanning the preview text of the intercepted message. A cruel, triumphant smile spread across his face, entirely devoid of the patriotic warmth the town had shown Kel moments ago.
“Well, well,” he said softly, reading aloud. “‘I am in the third stall. Someone is checking the doors. Please hurry, I’m scared.'”
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath Kel. The dragnet wasn’t just confined to the hallway. The state had coordinated a simultaneous sweep. They had operatives already inside the restrooms.
“Looks like we have the buyer,” the second man sneered. He reached up and tapped the coiled wire of his earpiece. “Team Two, target is confirmed in the women’s restroom, stall three. Move in and detain.”
“Copy that,” a tiny, tinny voice crackled from the earpiece. “Making entry now.”
Through the thick, wooden door of the women’s room just ten feet away, Kel heard a heavy thud, followed by a man’s muffled voice barking a harsh order to clear the sinks.
The trap had snapped completely shut. If they found Maya, the girl would be thrown into the same merciless penitentiary system just for desperately seeking the medication currently taped to Kel’s ribs.
“Hands behind your back,” the second man ordered, unspooling a pair of heavy-duty plastic flex-cuffs from his belt. “You’re going to be the governor’s biggest trophy this year.”
Kel glanced at the heavy restroom door, then at the rigid flex-cuffs advancing toward her wrists. The brass band in the gymnasium launched into a deafening, celebratory crescendo, shaking the floorboards beneath her feet. She had less than five seconds before Team Two broke down stall three.