"Oh?" said Warren, raising his eyebrows a tad, only glancing at the shiny badge being shown to him. "I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment."
"Make it possible," Mitchell told him, removing the indictment and the arrest warrant. They were printed in large script on the finest hemp paper available. "I have a federal indictment and an arrest warrant ordering me to take her into custody."
"An indictment and an arrest warrant huh?" Warren asked, still with no hint of surprise or alarm in his voice. "This sounds rather serious. May I take a look at them?"
Mitchell considered threatening him with obstruction for a moment but finally decided it would be easier to just do as he was asked. Besides, that way the greenie would get to see the official proof of the downfall of his governor. Maybe that would put the expression of fear that he craved upon his face. He slid them through the small slot at the bottom of the glass.
Lieutenant Warren picked them up and looked at them, reading through each document carefully, word for word. Neither Mitchell nor any of his men saw him keying the transmission button on his radio pack three times, sending out a pre-arranged, encrypted signal to the other members of the platoon and General Jackson upstairs. It took him more than two minutes to get through everything. Once he was finished he looked up, his expression still carefully polite and neutral. "Well Agent uh..."
"Mitchell," he provided, more than a little testily.
"Agent Mitchell. Things do seem to be in order here. This is an official indictment and an official arrest warrant for Governor Whiting."
"I'm glad you agree," he said. "Now are you going to buzz us into the building or are we going to have to force our way in?"
"No need for threats," Warren told him. He placed his hands upon a panel on his computer screen and the glass doors slid open. "Come on in. I'll call for the elevator for you."
Mitchell had the vague thought that things were going just a little too easily. It was a thought that he should have listened to. Instead, excited at the thought of getting this over quickly, he dismissed it. He took a quick glance behind him, seeing that the media vans from the big three, responding to the tip that had been given to them less than an hour ago, were pulling up and positioning themselves across the street. That was good. Soon they would film him leading that troublemaking bitch out in handcuffs. He waved his men forward and into the lobby of the capital building, moving past Warren's security booth and onto the simple Martian red carpet that covered the lobby floor.
The lobby was a huge area, stretching from one end of the building to the other. It was decorated as one might expect a seat of government's lobby to be. Ornate sculptures were located in many places along the walls. Decorative planters and even a working wishing well with benches around it were in the center. It was actually quite a nice place and one that workers in the building and tourists enjoyed lounging about in to eat their lunch or rest their feet. At the moment however, the entire area was completely deserted except for Lieutenant Warren. Or at least that was how it seemed to the FLEB agents as they trooped inside.
Mitchell had never been a soldier before and he wasn't even really a cop with a cop's instincts. He noted the lack of people in the lobby and it did strike him as a bit odd for the beginning of a workday but this failed to trigger any danger signals within him. He never considered for a moment that all of the planters and sculptures, all of the benches and information booths, were ideal places to hide security troops that did not wish to be seen.
The glass doors slid shut behind them, latching with a clank of steel mechanisms coming together.
Mitchell turned to Warren. "Keep those doors open," he told him. He wanted his men outside to be able to enter the building in a hurry if it became necessary. He didn't know that it was already necessary.
"I'm afraid not, Agent Mitchell," Warren said, smiling now. "You are now sealed into the lobby. Your men outside will be shortly taken into custody. You and all of your men will put your rifles down on the floor and then throw your sidearms down there with them."
"What?" Mitchell said, his face scrunching into an expression of annoyance. "Listen to me, greenie. I don't know what you think you're trying to pull here, but I'll advise you that attempting to interfere with a federal arrest is a crime punishable..."
"I'm not attempting to interfere," Warren told him. "I have interfered. You will not be taking Governor Whiting anywhere. You are surrounded on all sides by my security forces, all of whom are veterans of the special forces division. You will put your weapons on the ground and prepare to be taken into custody or you will be fired upon."
Mitchell took a moment to digest these words and then keyed up his radio. "All teams," he said into his microphone. "We need some assistance in here! We're getting resistance from..."
"Your radios are being jammed," Warren said matter-of-factly. "We have dampers set up all around the edges of the lobby and set to your frequency."
Mitchell wanted to disbelieve his words but the lack of response on the channel kept him from doing so. He looked around, seeing the stunned, nervous faces of his men. He didn't know what to do. He had never been faced with a situation such as this before. He was a federal agent! People feared him. They didn't attempt to take him hostage. The very idea was absurd!
"There is no need for this to come to violence," Warren told him. "Drop your weapons and surrender. You will be held here in the capital for the duration of this little crisis and you will be treated well. If you don't, however, my men will be forced to take you down by force. Go the easy way, Mitchell. Let's keep this thing civilized."
It might have ended peacefully. Mitchell was just about to order his men to do as they were told, knowing that the guard would probably not be bluffing about what he was saying. After all, he had looked into Whiting's security force himself when he'd been examining the possibilities of arranging an assassination. But special agent Brackford, the youngest member of the team, had other thoughts on the matter. At only twenty-eight years of age and an appointee to the FLEB by virtue of family connections instead of ability, Brackford was known for his short temper and impulsive actions. These were traits which had earned him reprimands in the past and that would now cost him much more than a black mark on his file. Outraged that the greenies would actually threaten federal agents carrying out their duties, he took matters into his own hands.
"Fuck you, greenie!" he yelled arrogantly. Before Mitchell could stop him he raised his M-24 and pointed it at the guard booth. It is doubtful that the shots would have penetrated the glass, but they never got a chance to find out.
Flashes appeared from four different directions followed by the harsh popping of M-24s. Brackford's head rocked back and forth as two of the rounds slammed into his helmet, drilling through into his skull. The other two slammed into his chest, penetrating with ease through the Kevlar of his armor vest. He dropped to the carpeted lobby without even firing a shot.
The reaction from the rest of the agents was ill advised but instinctive. They raised their weapons and turned towards the flashes they'd seen, opening fire. From all around the lobby, from behind plants, behind staircases, behind counters, gunfire and bright flashes erupted. Bullets streaked across the lobby in both directions, the ones fired from FLEB guns striking the walls and the windows and the solid objects that the MPG troops were using as cover, the ones fired by the security force finding chests and heads and legs. Agents screamed and thumped to the ground as the supersonic rounds ripped into them. Warren had planned his takedown well. There was nowhere for the agents to find cover, nowhere for them to run. Mitchell himself managed to trigger off a single burst towards the staircase before he felt his chest peppered with hammer blows and his feet were suddenly refusing to hold him up. He dropped to the ground, blood now running from his mouth, his eyes looking at the carpet against his face, his mind wondering just what the hell had happened.