The sound that filled the command center wasn’t static. It was crystal clear. It bounced off the acoustic ceiling tiles and vibrated through the floorboards.
It was Mayor Sterling’s voice. Slurring. Angry.
“I don’t care if he blew a point-one-five! He’s my son! Tell the officers at the checkpoint to let him go, or I will have their badges by morning!”
The recording looped. The Mayor’s voice echoed through the room, a ghost trapped in the digital waveform on the main monitor.
Sterling’s smile vanished. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking pale and sickly under the harsh fluorescent lights. He gripped the edges of the wooden podium. His knuckles turned white.
“Turn it off!” he screamed. His voice cracked. “Turn it off right now!”
The camera crew didn’t move. The red recording lights on their cameras blinked like angry eyes. They were live-streaming to the local news affiliates. The Mayor had brought them in to film his victory. Now, they were filming his downfall.
Officer Paul Cale didn’t look shocked anymore. The confusion in his eyes hardened into something sharp and dangerous. He stepped away from the podium. He reached for his belt.
“Richard Sterling,” Paul said. His voice was steady, cutting through the blare of the recording. “You are under arrest for obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, and conspiracy to commit a felony.”
Sterling laughed. It was a dry, hysterical sound. He pointed a shaking finger at Paul. “You’re a rookie! You don’t have the authority to arrest a sitting Mayor! I am your Commander in Chief!”
“You’re a suspect,” Paul corrected him. He pulled the handcuffs from his leather holster. The metal clinked in the quiet room. “And I have the audio.”
I took off my headset. I set it gently on the console. My hands were shaking, but my breathing was steady. I watched the two uniformed officers who had walked in with the Mayor. They didn’t move to help him. They just looked at the floor. They knew. Everyone knew.
Sterling lunged across the podium. He reached for the main power cable of the console. “I’ll smash the drives myself!”
Paul moved fast. He stepped in front of the console. He grabbed Sterling’s wrist and twisted it behind his back. The Mayor cried out, a sharp, ugly sound. He was shoved face-first against the wooden podium.
“Richard Sterling, you are under arrest,” Paul repeated. He snapped the cuffs around the Mayor’s wrists. The sound was final.
The camera crew zoomed in. The flash of a photographer’s bulb popped in the corner of the room.
Sterling was pulled away from the podium. He was dragged past the wall of monitors, past the glowing maps of Chicago. He looked at me as they marched him toward the glass doors. His eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, clawing rage.
“You’re fired, Vance!” he spat. “I’ll make sure you never work in this city again!”
I didn’t answer. I just watched him disappear through the doors. The heavy glass swung shut, cutting off the noise.
The command center was quiet again. The recording had stopped. The waveform on the main monitor was a flat, steady line.
Paul walked back to the center of the room. He adjusted his uniform. He looked at the camera crew.
“Get out,” Paul said. “The press conference is over.”
The crew packed up their gear and left. The room was empty, save for the dispatchers.
I looked at the empty wooden podium. I looked at the blinking lights of the servers. I sat back down in my chair. I picked up my headset and slipped it over my ears.
Unit 42 was calling for backup on 4th Street. I pressed the transmit button, and went back to work.